The bells of Notre Dame rang for the dead.
“For thee even as for me are those bells tolling,” said he to Ulenspiegel; “thou shalt be hanged, for thou hast killed.”
“The fishmonger lies,” cried all the common folk; “he lies, the murdering ruffian.”
And Toria, like a madwoman, cried out, flinging a stone at him that cut his forehead:
“If he had drowned thee, thou wouldst not have lived to bite my poor girl, like a bloodsucking vampire.”
As Ulenspiegel uttered no word, Lamme said:
“Did any see him throw the fishmonger in the water?”
Ulenspiegel made no answer.
“No, no,” shouted the people; “he lied, the murderer!”
“No, I lied not,” cried the fishmonger, “he threw me in, while I implored him to forgive me, and by the same token, I got out by the help of a skiff tied up alongside the high bank. Wet through and shivering, I could scarcely get back to my poor home. I had the fever then, none looked after me, and I deemed I must die.”