"Until they gave him, as a ransom, a man weighing five hundredweight"—
"And what do they want with him?" gasped Vendel.
"And therefore they are determined to weigh you to-morrow; and if you strike the weight, they will immediately hand you over to the Emperor of the French! All this they whispered very low; but I heard them, master, for all that."
"But what does he want with me, Hanzli? do you not know what he wants?"
"Oh, it will kill you, master, to hear it! Nothing more nor less than"—
"Than what?"
"Than to preserve you in spirits for his museum!"
"All ye saints!" roared Vendel, leaping up on his bed; "preserve me in spirits of wine like the four-legged hen, or the double-tailed lizard!"
"Just so, master, and alive too!"
"But it shall not be!" roared Vendel. "They shall not preserve me in spirits; I have no desire for such an honour—none at all! Come, help me up. Where are my slippers? Holy prophet Jonas! no wish for it whatever! Reach me my jacket and my cap. St. Florian and Habakkuk! help me to dress. My cloak, my cloak, Hanzli—St. Cecilia! my cloak! Let us run, my lad, run"—