“No!” said he.
“A ducat?”
“No!”
“A carolus?”
“No,” said Ulenspiegel again. “And yet,” he added, sighing, “I should like it in my mother’s purse better than a mussel-shell.”
The dame smiled, then cried out suddenly:
“I have lost my fine rare purse, made of silken cloth and broidered with rich pearls! At Damme it was still hanging at my girdle.”
Ulenspiegel budged not, but the seneschal came forward to the dame.
“Madame,” he said, “send not this young thief to look for it, for you would never see it again.”
“And who will go then?” asked the dame.