“I know full well,” said Nele, “he hath another house far from here, richer than his own, where some beauteous dame doubtless gives him lodging.”
“That would be good luck indeed for him,” said Soetkin; “mayhap there he feedeth upon ortolans.”
“Why do they not give him stones to eat: speedily would he be here then, the glutton!” said Nele.
Then Soetkin laughed and said:
“Whence doth it arise then, dearest, all this big anger?”
But Claes, who, all pensive, too, was binding faggots in a corner.
“Do you not see,” said he, “that she is infatuate for him?”
“Lo you,” said Soetkin, “the crafty cunning thing that never murmured word of it! Is it so, dearest, that you long for him?”
“Never believe it,” said Nele.
“You will have there,” said Claes, “a stout husband with a big mouth, a hollow belly, and a long tongue, turning florins into liards and never a half-penny for his work, always loafing about and measuring the highways with the ell wand of vagabondage.”