Now as he was following them into the festal hall, he noticed twelve blind men coming along the Paris road. And as they passed they were lamenting most piteously their hunger and thirst. But Ulenspiegel said to himself that they should dine that night like kings, and all at the expense of the Dean of Uccle himself, and in memory of the Masses for the dead.
He accosted them, saying:
“Here are nine florins for you. Come in to dinner. Do you not smell the good smell of fricassee?”
“Ah!” they cried, “for the last half-league, and without hope!”
“Now you can eat your fill,” said Ulenspiegel, “for you have nine florins.”
But he had not really given them anything.
“The Lord bless you,” they said. For being blind, each man believed his neighbour had been given the money. And shown the way by Ulenspiegel, they all sat down at a small table while the Brethren of the Jolly Face took their seats at a long one, together with their wives and their daughters.
Then, with the complete assurance that comes from the possession of nine florins:
“Mine host,” cried the blind men insolently, “give us now to eat and to drink of your best.”
The landlord, who had heard tell of the nine florins and thought that they were safe in the blind men’s purse, asked them what they would like for their dinner.