In a few moments Van Tricasse begged Niklausse to go more slowly, as he felt him on his heels, and it “worried him.” It even did more than worry him; for twenty steps lower down he ordered the counsellor to stop, that he might get on some distance ahead.
The counsellor replied that he did not wish to remain with his leg in the air to await the good pleasure of the burgomaster, and kept on.
Van Tricasse retorted with a rude expression.
The counsellor responded by an insulting allusion to the burgomaster’s age, destined as he was, by his family traditions, to marry a second time.
The burgomaster went down twenty steps more, and warned Niklausse that this should not pass thus.
Niklausse replied that, at all events, he would pass down first; and, the space being very narrow, the two dignitaries came into collision, and found themselves in utter darkness. The words “blockhead” and “booby” were the mildest which they now applied to each other.
“We shall see, stupid beast!” cried the burgomaster,—“we shall see what figure you will make in this war, and in what rank you will march!”
“In the rank that precedes yours, you silly old fool!” replied Niklausse.
Then there were other cries, and it seemed as if bodies were rolling over each other. What was going on? Why were these dispositions so quickly changed? Why were the gentle sheep of the tower’s summit metamorphosed into tigers two hundred feet below it?
However this might be, the guardian of the tower, hearing the noise, opened the door, just at the moment when the two adversaries, bruised, and with protruding eyes, were in the act of tearing each other’s hair,—fortunately they wore wigs.