"I see them," answered Lamme. "There are three of them, marching together like soldiers, and one of them is much taller than the others." Ulenspiegel sat himself down by the side of the road, with his legs stretched out in front of him, muttering his prayers on a rosary, just like beggars do. And he held his hat between his knees. And when the three evangelists passed in front of him, he held out his hat as though asking for alms; but they gave him nothing. Then Ulenspiegel got up and addressed them most piteously: "Kind sirs," he said, "do not refuse a patard to a poor quarryman who has recently had an accident and broken his back by falling down a mine. The people in this part of the world are hard of heart, and they have not been willing to give me anything to relieve my distress. Alas! Give me but a patard, and I will say many prayers for you. And God will keep you happy, all your lives long, kind friends!" "My son," said one of the evangelists, "there can be no happiness for us in this world so long as the Pope and the Inquisition remain in power." Ulenspiegel heaved another sigh: "Alas! What are you saying, my lords? Do not speak so loud, if it please you. But give me a patard." "My son," replied one of the evangelists, he that was the smallest of the three, and of a very warlike countenance, "we poor martyrs carry no patards save only just enough to keep us going on our journey." At this Ulenspiegel threw himself on to his knees in front of them. "Give me your blessing then," he said. The three evangelists laid their hands upon the head of Ulenspiegel, albeit with little signs of devotion. Now Ulenspiegel noticed that although they were lean of figure, these men all had very fat stomachs, so he rose from his knees, and then pretended to stumble, knocking against the body of the tall evangelist as he did so. At that a merry tinkle of coin was distinctly audible. Thereupon Ulenspiegel raised himself to his full height and drew his dagger. "My good man," he said, "it is cold and I am but poorly clad; but methinks you have too much about you. Give me some of your wool, that I may get a cloak made for me. I am a Beggarman. Long live the Beggarmen!" The tall evangelist made answer: "You cock of a Beggarman, you carry your crest proudly forsooth, and we are going to cut it off for you!" "Cut it off then," cried Ulenspiegel, giving ground, "but let me warn you that trusty Wind of Lead is going to sing for you or ever he sings for the Prince my master! Beggar I am! Long live the Beggarmen!"