X. Of the Bloody Councillor.
At length the day came on which the good smith was due to hand over his soul to the devil, for the seventh year had run out, and plums were once again ripe.
At nightfall, when certain workmen were busy on a grating for the Franciscan brothers which was to be done that night, and had stayed behind with Smetse for that purpose, there came into the forge an evil-looking fellow, with greasy white hair, a rope round his neck, his jaw dropped, his tongue hanging out, and dressed in an ill-found habit like a nobleman’s servant fallen on evil days.
This fellow, without being heard by any one there as he walked across the floor, came quickly up to Smetse and put his hand on his shoulder. “Smetse,” he said, “hast packed thy bundle?”
Hearing this the smith swung round. “Packed,” he said, “and how does my packing concern thee, master bald-pate?”
“Smetse,” replied the fellow in a harsh voice, “hast forgotten thy restored fortunes, and the good times thou hast enjoyed, and the black paper?”
“No, no,” said Smetse, doffing his bonnet with great humility, “I have not forgotten; pardon me, my lord, I could not call to mind your gracious countenance. Will you be pleased to come into my kitchen, and try a slice of fat ham, taste a pot of good bruinbier, and sip a bottle of wine? We have time enough for that, for the seven years are not yet struck, but want, if I am not mistaken, still two hours.”
“That is true,” said the devil; “then let us go into thy kitchen.”
So they entered in and sat down to the table.
The good wife was greatly astonished to see them come in. Smetse said to her: “Bring us wine, bruinbier, ham, sausages, bread, cakes, and cheeses, and the best of each that we have in the house.”