“Perchance,” said Ulenspiegel, pointing to Sirius with a finger, “if some spirit descends from the cold star.”
At his movement a will-o’-the-wisp flitting about him perched on his finger, and the more he sought to be rid of it, the tighter it clung.
Nele trying to set Ulenspiegel free, she, too, had her will-o’-the-wisp on the tip of her hand.
Ulenspiegel, striking at his, said:
“Answer! art thou the spirit of a Beggar or of a Spaniard? If thou be the soul of a Beggar, depart into paradise; if the soul of a Spaniard, return into hell whence thou comest.”
Nele said to him:
“Do not insult souls, were they even the souls of butchers.”
And making the will-o’-the-wisp dance on her finger tip:
“Wisp,” said she, “dear wisp, what tidings dost thou bring us from the country of souls? What are they employed in over there? Do they eat and drink, since they have no mouths? for thou hast none, darling wisp! or do they indeed take human shape only in the blessed paradise?”
“Canst thou,” said Ulenspiegel, “waste time in this fashion conversing with this wretched flame that hath neither ears to hear thee with nor mouth to answer thee withal?”