[21]
There's a pimple on it, said she.
'Tis a dead nose, replied the inn-keeper.
'Tis a live nose, and if I am alive myself, said the inn-keeper's wife, I will touch it.
I have made a vow to saint Nicolas this day, said the stranger, that my nose shall not be touched till—Here the stranger, suspending his voice, looked up—Till when? said she hastily.
It never shall be touched, said he, clasping his hands and bringing them close to his breast, till that hour.—What hour? cried the inn-keeper's wife.—Never!—never! said the stranger, never tell I am got—For heaven sake into what place? said she.—The stranger rode away without saying a word.
The
