“Come back here no more,” she said. “You are a Beggar, a foe to the Pope, do not come back....”
“Thy mother!” said he.
“Aye,” she said, blushing. “Dost thou know where she is at this moment? She is listening where the fire is. Dost thou know where she will go presently? To the Red Dog, to report all she knows and make ready the work for the duke that is to come. Flee, Ulenspiegel; I save thee, but flee. Another kiss, but come back no more; still another, thou art goodly, I weep, but begone.”
“Brave girl,” said Ulenspiegel, holding her embraced.
“I was not always,” she said. “I, too, like her....”
“These songs,” said he, “these mute appealings of beauty to men prone to love...?”
“Aye,” said she. “My mother would have it so. Thou, I save thee, loving thee for love’s sake. The others, I shall save them in remembrance of thee, my beloved. When thou art far away, will thy heart pull a little towards the girl that repented? Kiss me, darling. She will never again for money give victims to the stake. Go, go; nay, stay a little still. How soft and smooth thy hand is! There, I kiss thy hand, it is the sign of slavery; thou art my master. Listen, come nearer, hush. Men, ragged scoundrels and robbers and an Italian among them, came here last night, one after the other. My mother brought them into the chamber where thou art, and bade me go out from it, and she shut the door. I heard these words: ‘Stone crucifix.... Borgerhoet gate ... procession ... Antwerp.... Notre Dame,’ suppressed laughter and florins counted out on the table.... Flee, here they are; flee away, my beloved. Keep a kind memory for me; flee....”
Ulenspiegel ran as she bade him as far as the Old Cock, In den ouden Haen, and found there Lamme plunged in melancholy, eating a sausage and draining his seventh quart of Louvain peterman.
And he forced him to run like himself, in spite of his belly.