An old man, her father, walked behind her, laden with two net bags, one of fish, the other of game.
“That one,” said Lamme, pointing to her, “I am going to make her my wife.”
“Aye,” said Ulenspiegel, “I know her, she is Flemish from Zotteghem, she lives in the rue Vinave-d’Isle, and the neighbours say that her mother sweeps the street, in front of the house, instead of her, and that her father irons her shifts.”
But Lamme made no answer and said gleefully:
“She looked at me.”
They came together to Lamme’s house, near the Pont-des-Arches, and knocked at the door. A one-eyed serving woman came and opened to them. Ulenspiegel saw she was old, lean and long, flat and fierce.
“La Sanginne,” said Lamme to her, “will you have this one to help you in your work?”
“I will take him on trial,” said she.
“Take him, then,” said he, “and make him know and test the delights of your cookery.”
La Sanginne then put three black puddings on the table, a quart of cervoise ale, and a big hunch of bread.