She burst into tears.
“O Nele,” says he, “are you going to set up fountains at the entrance of all the villages?”
“Be off with you,” says she.
“But I can’t go away and leave you crying like this, my little pet.”
“I am not your little pet,” says Nele; “neither am I crying.”
“No, you are not crying, but there is certainly some water coming out of your eyes.”
“Will you go away?” She turned on him.
“No,” he answered.
All the time she was holding her pinafore in her small trembling hand, tearing at the stuff in little spasms of rage, and wetting it with her tears.
“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “when is it going to be fine again?”