“But,” said she, “if he had not gone up into the plum-tree, what wouldst thou have done, poor beggar-man? And what if he will not let himself fall a second time into thy snare as he did to-day?”
“Wife,” said Smetse, “he will so fall, for my snares are from heaven, and the things which are from God can always get the better of devils.”
“Art not lying again?” she said. “And wilt tell me what they are?”
“That I cannot,” said he, “for devils have sharp ears and would hear me telling thee, no matter how low I spoke; and then I should be taken off to hell without mercy.”
“Ah,” said she, “then I will not ask, though ’tis not pleasant for me to live here in ignorance of everything, like a stranger. Nevertheless I would rather have thee silent and saved than talking and damned.”
“Wife,” he said, “thou art wise when thou speakest so.”
“I will pray,” she said, “every day for thy deliverance, and have a good mass said for thee at St. Bavon.”
“But,” said he, “is it with devil’s money thou wilt pay for this mass?”
“Have no care for that,” said she, “when this money enters the church coffers ’twill become suddenly holy.”
“Do as thou wilt, wife,” said Smetse.