‘Blood and storm! Will ye speak?’ cried the trooper.
‘Never talk much; but an ye say nothing to the Baron,’—thrusting his hand into the straw—‘here’s what’s better than speaking.’
‘Well said!—Eh? Liebfrauenmilch? Ho, ho! a rare bleed!’
Striking the neck of the flask on a wheel, the trooper applied it to his mouth, and ceased not deeply ingurgitating till his face was broad to the sky and the bottle reversed. He then dashed it down, sighed, and shook himself.
‘Rare news! the Kaiser’s come: he’ll be in Cologne by night; but first he must see the Baron, and I’m post with the order. That’s to show you how high he stands in the Kaiser’s grace. Don’t be thinking of upsetting Werner yet, any of you; mind, now!’
‘That’s Blass-Gesell,’ said the voice in the wain, as the trooper trotted on: adding, ‘‘gainst us.’
‘Makes six,’ responded the driver.
Within sight of the Eck, they descried another trooper coming toward them. This time the driver was first to speak.
‘Tribute! Provender! Bread and wine for the high Baron Werner from his vassals over Tonnistein.’
‘And I’m out of it! fasting like a winter wolf,’ howled the fellow.