XXVII
When Ulenspiegel came back from Dudzeele, he saw Nele at the entrance to the town, leaning up against a barrier. She was eating a bunch of grapes, crunching them one by one, and was doubtless refreshed and rejoiced by the fruit, but allowed none of her pleasure to be seen. She appeared, on the contrary, to be angry, and plucked the grapes from off the bunch with a choleric air. She was so dolorous and showed a face so marred, so sad and so sweet, that Ulenspiegel was overcome with loving pity, and going up behind her, gave her a kiss on the nape of her neck.
But she returned it with a great box on the ear.
“I can’t fathom that!” exclaimed Ulenspiegel.
She wept with heavy sobs.
“Nele,” said he, “are you going to set up fountains at the entrance to the villages?”
“Begone!” she said.
“But I cannot be gone, if you weep like this, my dear.”
“I am not your dear,” said Nele, “and I do not weep!”
“No, you do not weep, but none the less water comes from your eyes.”