All this time Ulenspiegel was snoring away in his bed, hearing nothing, till the door of the loft opened and Nele came in, out of breath, sobbing, and with scarcely anything on. As hastily as she could the girl dragged against the door a table, some chairs, an old heating stove, any bit of furniture that was to hand. With these she made a rough-and-ready barricade. Meanwhile, outside, the last stars were paling in the heavens and the cocks beginning to crow.
Ulenspiegel had turned over in his bed at the noise Nele was making, but now he had gone to sleep again. Nele, meanwhile, had thrown herself on to Soetkin’s neck.
“Soetkin,” she said, “I am afraid. Light the candle, do!”
Soetkin did so, and all the time Nele never left off moaning. By the light of the candle Soetkin looked the girl up and down. Her shift was torn at the shoulder and in front, and there were traces of blood upon her neck and cheek, such as might be left by the scratch of a finger-nail.
“Whence have you come? And what are these wounds?” Soetkin asked her.
Trembling and groaning all the time, the girl made answer:
“For mercy’s sake, Soetkin, do not bring us to the stake!”
Ulenspiegel meanwhile had awakened from his sleep, and was blinking his eyes in the sudden light of the candle. Soetkin said:
“Who is it down there?”
“Not so loud!” Nele whispered. “It is the husband Katheline desired for me.”