Ulenspiegel reddened slightly, went on blowing, and stared harder.
“I asked you,” she went on, “if the road that runs from Damme to Dudzeele has not altered?”
“It is not green now since you deprived it of the joy of carrying you,” replied Ulenspiegel.
“Wilt thou guide me?” said the dame.
But Ulenspiegel remained seated, still never taking his eyes from her. And she, seeing him so roguish, and knowing that it was a mere trick of youth, forgave him easily. He got up, and turned to go into his home.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To put on my best clothes,” he replied.
“Go then,” said the dame.
She sat down then on the bench beside the doorstep; the seneschal did the same. She would have talked to Nele, but Nele did not answer her, for she was jealous.
Ulenspiegel came back carefully washed and clad in fustian. He looked well in his Sunday garb, the little man.