And this, in Flanders, is the signal that the drinkers make when they are angry, and when they are like to ransack and despoil in their wrath the houses of ill fame. So even now did Ulenspiegel raise his glass and drink, and then did he made it vibrate upon the table, crying yet again: "'T is van te beven de klinkaert." And the seven butchers did likewise. Then a great stillness fell upon the company. La Gilline grew pale; La Stevenyne looked astonished. The constables said: "Are the seven with them too?" But the butchers winked their eyes and reassured them; yet all the time they continued without ceasing, and louder and louder as Ulenspiegel led them: "'T is van te beven de klinkaert. 'T is van te beven de klinkaert." La Stevenyne took another draught of wine to give herself courage. Then Ulenspiegel struck his fist on the table in that regular rhythm which the upholsterers use as they beat their mattresses; and the seven did likewise; and the glasses, jugs, trenchers, flagons, and goblets began to dance upon the table, slowly at first, but beginning soon to knock against each other, and to break and to heel over on one side as they fell. And all the time echoed and re-echoed, more sternly menacing, with every monotonous repetition: "'T is van te beven de klinkaert." "Alas!" said La Stevenyne, "they will break everything." And her teeth seemed to show farther out from her lips than ever. And the hot blood of their fury and of their anger began to flame in the souls of the seven butchers, and in the souls of Lamme and Ulenspiegel. Till at last, without ceasing once their melancholy and monotonous chant, all they that were sitting at Ulenspiegel's table took their glasses, and brake them upon the table, and at the same moment they drew their cutlasses and leapt upon the chairs. And they made such a din with their song that all the windows in the house shook. Then like a band of infuriated devils they went round the room, visiting each table in turn, crying without ceasing: "'T is van te beven de klinkaert."