"These cowl-bearing monks shall not have the satisfaction of witnessing, how their wine shuts up the mouth of a ducal chamberlain," thought he. He stood quite erect on his feet.
"Stop," said the Abbot, "we must not forget the parting draught!"
Then the fourth jug was brought. It is true that Master Spazzo had arisen, but then between rising and going, a good many things may yet happen. He drank again, but when he wanted to put down his beaker, he placed it in the empty air, so that it fell down and broke to pieces. At this, Master Spazzo got furious; whilst many a thought was crossing in, and confusing his muddled brains.
"Where have you got him?" cried he to the Abbot.
"Whom?"
"The convent-farmer! Out with him, the coarse peasant, who tried to murder my god-child!" He threateningly advanced a few paces towards the Abbot, making only one false step.
"He is at the Schlangenhof," smilingly said the Abbot, "and I willingly deliver him up to you; only you must be pleased to fetch him from there, yourself."
"Murder and rebellion! We will fetch him!" roared Master Spazzo, rattling his sword, as he strode towards the door. "We will drag him out of his bed even, the rascal! And when we have got him, by the knapsack of St. Gallus, if he ... then ... I can tell you ..."
This speech was never ended, as his tongue stood still now, like the sun at Joshuah's bidding, during the battle with the Amorites.
He stretched out his hand for the Abbot's cup, and drank that out. But his speech did not return. A sweet placid smile now settled on the chamberlain's lips. He stepped up to the Abbot to embrace him.