And with a great noise he brake the bowls and dishes, and no one durst say anything to him. The servants would have cleared up the debris but he would not allow them, but went on drinking yet more; and growing more and more enraged he strode up and down the room, treading the broken pieces and stamping upon them furiously.
Ulenspiegel was brought before him.
“Well?” he said. “What news of your friends the monks?”
“They have been hanged,” said Ulenspiegel. “And those cowards of executioners, whose game it is to kill for profit, have cut one of them open to sell the fat to an apothecary. And now the word of a soldier is gold no more. Parole de soldat n’est plus parole d’or.”
Then de Lumey stamped again upon the broken dishes.
“So you defy me, do you, you good-for-nothing beast! But you also shall be hanged, not in my barn forsooth, but in the open street, most ignominiously, where all can see you!”
“Shame on you,” cried Ulenspiegel. “Shame on us all! Parole de soldat n’est plus parole d’or.”
“Shame on you!” cried Ulenspiegel
“Silence, Iron-pate!” said Messire de Lumey.