“Give her to drink,” said the bailiff.
Cold water was given her, and she swallowed it greedily, holding the goblet in her teeth as a dog does with a bone and not willing to let it go. Then they gave her more water, and she would have gone to take it to Joos Damman, but the tormentor took the goblet out of her hands. And she fell sleeping like a lump of lead.
Joos Damman cried out furiously:
“I, too, I thirst and am sleepy. Why do you give her to drink? Why do you leave her to sleep?”
“She is weak, a woman, and out of her wits,” replied the bailiff.
“Her madness is a game,” said Joos Damman, “she is a witch. I want to drink, I want to sleep!”
And he shut his eyes, but the tormentor’s knechts struck him on the face.
“Give me a knife,” he shouted, “till I cut these clowns to pieces: I am a man of rank, and I have never been struck in the face. Water, let me sleep, I am innocent. It was not I that took the seven hundred carolus, it was Hilbert. Give me to drink! I never committed sorceries or incantations. I am innocent. Let me go. Give me to drink!”
The bailiff then:
“How,” he asked, “hast thou spent thy time since thou didst leave Katheline?”