“Long live the law!” cried the crowd. “Lang leve de wet!”
And the bells of Notre Dame tolled for the dead. And the prisoner ground his teeth and hung his head, and now for the first time he let fall a tear. And his hand was cut off and his tongue pierced with a red-hot iron, and he was burned alive in a slow fire in front of the Town Hall.
And Toria cried out:
“He is paying the penalty! He is paying the penalty! See how they writhe—those arms and those legs which helped him to his murdering! See how it smokes, the body of this brute! Burning is the hair of him, all pallid like the hair of a hyena, and burning is his pallid face. He pays! He pays!”
And the fishmonger died, howling like a wolf.
And the bells of Notre Dame tolled for the dead.
And once more did Lamme and Ulenspiegel ride away on their donkeys. And Nele stayed behind in sorrow with Katheline, who never stopped her ceaseless refrain:
“Put out the fire! My head is burning! Come back, come back to me, Hanske, my pet.”