They were going, they said, to administer the holy sacrament of extreme unction to the valiant Jacobsen who was a Beggar by constraint and fear, but who, now the danger was past, returned into the bosom of the Holy Roman Church to die.
Presently they found themselves face to face with Nele weeping, and perceived the body of Ulenspiegel stretched out upon the turf, covered with his clothes. Nele went upon her knees.
“Daughter,” said the burgomaster, “what makest thou by this dead man?”
Not daring to lift her eyes she replied:
“I pray for my friend here fallen as though smitten by lightning: I am all alone now and I am fain to die, too.”
The curé then puffing with pleasure:
“Ulenspiegel the Beggar is dead,” he said, “God be praised! Peasant, make haste and dig a grave; strip off his clothes before he be buried.”
“Nay,” said Nele, standing straight up, “they are not to be taken from him, he would be cold in the earth.”
“Dig the grave,” said the curé to the peasant who carried the shovel.
“I consent,” said Nele, all in tears; “there are no worms in sand that is full of chalk, and he will remain whole and goodly, my beloved.”