“Take me,” said a girl of sixteen with a little squirrel face.
“I don’t like nut crunchers,” said Lamme.
“We must whip him,” said they, “with what? Fine whips with a lash of dried hide. A sound lashing. The toughest skin cannot resist it. Take ten of them. Carters’ and donkey drivers’ whips.”
“Help! Ulenspiegel!” cried Lamme.
But Ulenspiegel made no answer.
“Ye have a bad heart,” said Lamme, seeking his friend on every side.
The whips were brought; two of the girls set to work to strip Lamme of his doublet.
“Alas!” said he; “my poor fat, that I had so much trouble to make, they will doubtless lift it off with their keen whips. But, pitiless females, my fat will be no use to you, not even to make sauces.”
They replied:
“We shall make candles with it. Is it nothing to see clear without paying for it! She that will henceforth say that out of the whip comes forth candle will seem mad to everybody. We will uphold it to the death, and win more than one wager. Steep the rods in vinegar. There, your doublet is off. The hour is striking at Saint Jacques! Nine o’clock. At the last stroke of the clock, if you have not made your choice, we shall strike.”