"
"Herr Anselmus! Herr Anselmus!" cried Conrector Paulmann, "is there
a crack in your brain? In Heaven's name, what monstrous stuff is this
you are babbling?"
"He is right," interrupted Registrator Heerbrand; "that fellow, that
Archivarius, is a cursed Salamander, and strikes you fiery snips from
his fingers, which burn holes in your surtout like red-hot tinder. Ay,
ay, thou art in the right, brotherkin Anselmus; and whoever says No,
is saying No to me!" And at these words Registrator Heerbrand struck
the table with his fist, till the glasses rattled.
"Registrator! Are you crazy?" cried the angry Conrector. "Herr
Studiosus, Herr Studiosus! What is this you are about again?"
"Ah!" said the student, "you too are nothing but a bird, a
screech-owl, that frizzles toupees, Herr Conrector!" "What!--I
a bird?--screech-owl, a frizzler?" cried the Conrector, full of
indignation; "Sir, you are mad, born mad!"
"But the crone will get a clutch of him," cried Registrator Heerbrand.
"Yes, the crone is potent," interrupted the student Anselmus, "though
she is but of mean descent; for her father was nothing but a ragged
wing-feather, and her mother a dirty parsnip; but the most of her
power she owes to all sorts of baneful creatures, poisonous vermin
which she keeps about her."
"That is a horrid calumny," cried Veronica, with eyes all glowing in
anger; "old Liese is a wise woman; and the black Cat is no baneful
creature, but a polished young gentleman of elegant manners, and her
cousin german.
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