'Oh ingenuous countenance,' the magister mused above the pig's mild face. 'Is it not even the spit of the Cleves envoy's? And the Cleves envoy shall eat this adorable monster. Oh, cruel anthropophagist!'
She resigned her burden to the spit and gave the loaf to the boy, wiped her fingers upon her apron, and said:
'That pig shall help thee far upon thy road.'
'Goes it into my wallet?' he asked joyfully.
She answered: 'Nay; into the Cleves envoy's weam.'
'You speak in hard riddles,' he uttered.
'Nay,' she laughed, 'a baby could unriddle it.' She looked at him for a moment to enjoy her triumph of mystery. 'Husband mine, a pig thus stuffed is good eating for Cleves men. I have not kept a hostel for twelve years for envoys and secretaries without learning what each eats with pleasure. And long have I thought that if I wed a man it should be such a man as could thrive by learning of envoys' secrets.'
He leaned towards her earnestly.
'You know wherefore the man from Cleves is come?'
'You are, even as I have heard it said, a spy of Thomas Cromwell?' she asked in return.