“When I die,” said he, “my stomach will die with me, and down there in purgatory they will leave me to fast, and I shall have to carry my poor belly about with me, all empty and limp.”
“I like the black ones best,” said Ulenspiegel.
“You have eaten six already,” said La Sanginne, “and you won’t have any more.”
“You may be sure,” said Lamme, “that you will be well treated here, and you will have just the same to eat as I do.”
“I shall remember this promise of yours,” said Ulenspiegel. But seeing that what his friend had told him was the truth, Ulenspiegel was well content, and the puddings that he had swallowed gave him such courage that on that very day he polished the kettles and the pots and the pans till they shone like the sun. And he lived happily in that house, frequenting willingly the kitchen and the wine-cellar, and leaving the loft to the cats.
One day La Sanginne had two poulets to roast, and she asked Ulenspiegel to turn the spit while she went to market for some herbs for a seasoning. The two poulets being well roasted, Ulenspiegel took one of them and ate it. When La Sanginne returned from the market she remarked:
“There were two poulets, but now I can only see one.”
“Just open your other eye,” answered Ulenspiegel, “and you will see the two of them all right!”
But she was angry, and went to Lamme Goedzak to tell him what had happened. Lamme came down into the kitchen and said to Ulenspiegel:
“Why do you make fun of my serving-maid? There were certainly two poulets.”