nd cobwebs, beside the ink spots on the floor all around the table.
This table had only two legs, the other two being replaced by piles of
tiles.

The poet wrote, scratched out, and chewed the end of his pen. On the
window-sill lay a piece of bread and some cheese and it occurred to
the poet that this food was intended for his consumption. But first he
must use the ink in his pen; before this was finished, a second,
third, and fourth thought had crowded on the first; meantime three
mice had come out of a chink, sported about the tempting morsel and
then gnawed away until there was nothing left. After which they had
glided back to their holes.

The poet had worked the Pegasus harnessed to his plow until his senses
were gone. When he finally roused himself and looked for his bread and
cheese he discovered that only crumbs were left, concluded that he had
already eaten and imagined that he was satisfied; so he set himself
down again and went on with his poetry. While he was subduing the
flesh in this way, there was a scratching at the door; somebody
rattled the hinge evidently mistaking it for the latch, and naturally
could not open the door. This noise rudely frightened Clement from his
poetic thought. When he had called out several times to no purpose
that the door was not locked he found himself obliged to rise and open
it to prevent the visitor from breaking the latch or taking off the
hinge.

There stood a Wallachian with a sealed letter in his hand. He seemed
to be much frightened when the door opened, although that was the
fulfilment of his wishes.

"What is it?" said Clement, becoming angry when the peasant did not
speak.

The Wallachian raised his round eyebrows, looked at the poet with
wide-opened eyes and asked: "Are you the man who lies for money?"

In this choice language the Wallachian described the office of our
Clement. His veins swelled with anger. "Whose ox are you?" he
thundered at the Wallachian.

"The gracious lord's who sent this letter," answered the peasant,
slily.

"What is his name?" asked Clement, furiously, and tore the letter from
the Wallachian's hand.

"Gracious lord is what he is called."

Clement opened the letter and read: "Come at once to me where the
bearer will lead you."

Clement was already raging, but now the thought that he had been
summoned somewhere and had no boots made him beside himself.

"Go," he shouted to the Wallachian. "Tell your lord whoever he is,
that