“Soon,” said Lamme, “shall I see my ancient home and perchance my wife.”
But Ulenspiegel made no answer.
“Man of wood,” said Lamme, “heart of stone, nothing then can affect you, neither the nearness of the places in which you spent your boyhood, nor the dear shades of poor Claes and poor Soetkin, the two martyrs. What! you are neither sad nor glad; what then hath dried up your heart in this way? Look at me, anxious, uneasy, bounding in my belly; look at me....”
Lamme looked at Ulenspiegel and saw him with head livid, pale and hanging, his lips trembling, and weeping without saying a word.
And he held his tongue.
They marched thus in silence as far as Damme, and came into it by the street of the Heron, and saw no one in it, because of the heat. The dogs, with their tongues hanging out, lying on their sides, were gaping before the thresholds of the doors. Lamme and Ulenspiegel passed directly in front of the Townhall, before which Claes had been burned; the lips of Ulenspiegel trembled more, and his tears dried up. Finding himself over against the house of Claes, occupied by a coalman, he said to him as he went within:
“Dost thou know me? I am fain to rest here.”
The master coalman said:
“I know thee; thou art the son of the victim. Go wherever thou wouldst in this house.”
Ulenspiegel went into the kitchen, then into the bedchamber of Claes and Soetkin, and there he wept.