XVIII
A sharp wind was blowing. The sun, bright as youth in the morning, was veiled and gray as an old man. A rain mixed with hail was falling.
The rain having ceased, Ulenspiegel shook himself, saying:
“The sky that drinks up so much mist must relieve itself sometimes.”
Another rain, still more mingled with hail than the former, beat down on the two companions. Lamme groaned:
“We were well washed, now we must needs be rinsed!”
The sun reappeared, and they rode on gaily.
A third rain fell, so full of hail and so deadly that like knives it chopped the dry twigs on the trees to mincemeat.
Lamme said:
“Ho! a roof! My poor wife! Where are ye, good fire, soft kisses, and fat soups?”