"How did you entertain yourself?" asked he.
"Very well," said Master Spazzo. The jug was empty.
"I do not know ..." began the Abbot.
"Certainly!" said Master Spazzo, nodding his head. Then the third jug was brought.
Meanwhile Rudimann had returned home from his expedition. The sun was far inclining to the west; the sky was all a-glow and faint purple gleams of light were falling through the narrow windows, on the carousing party.
When Master Spazzo again drank bumpers with the Abbot, the red wine glistened like fiery gold in the cup, and he saw an aureole of light, flickering round the Abbot's head. He tried to collect his scattered senses. "By the life of Hadwig," said he solemnly, "who are you?"
The Abbot did not understand him.
"What did you say?" asked he. Then Master Spazzo recognised the voice. "Ah so," cried he, striking the oak table with his fist. "The sovereign rights shall not be trampled upon, by monastic insolence!"
"Certainly not," rejoined the Abbot.
Then the chamberlain felt a spasmodic pain in the forehead, which he knew very well, and which he used to call "the waker." The waker came only when he was sitting behind the wine-jug, and whenever it announced itself, it was a sure signal, that in half an hour later, the tongue would be paralysed, and the speech refuse to come. If "the waker" came for the second time, then the feet also were threatened with temporary paralysis. So he arose.