“You will also take with you,” said Ulenspiegel, “La Gilline, La Stevenyne and the girls. If any one of them tries to escape you will sew her in a sack and throw her into the river.”
“He has not killed me yet!” cried La Gilline, jumping up from her corner and brandishing her viola in the air. And she began to sing:
Sanglant était mon rêve.
Le rêve de mon cœur.
Je suis la fille d’Eve
Et de Satan vainqueur.
But La Stevenyne and the others seemed as if they were going to cry.
“Do not be afraid, my sweets,” said Ulenspiegel. “You are so pretty and so tender that all men will love to caress you wherever you go, and after every victory you will have your share in the spoils.” But the three girls turned upon La Gilline:
“You that were her daughter, her breadwinner, sharing with La Stevenyne the shameful rewards of her espionage, do you still dare to flaunt yourself before us and to insult us with your dress of brocade? Verily it is the blood of the victims and nothing else that has clothed you so richly. But now let us take her dress from her, so she may be like to us.”
“That shall not be,” said Ulenspiegel.