So the fountain was made; and as Zoza was one day standing at the
window, grave and demure, and looking as sour as vinegar, there
came by chance an old woman, who, soaking up the oil with a
sponge, began to fill a little pitcher which she had brought with
her. And as she was labouring hard at this ingenious device, a
young page of the court passing by threw a stone so exactly to a
hair that he hit the pitcher and broke it to pieces. Whereupon the
old woman, who had no hair on her tongue, turned to the page, full
of wrath, and exclaimed, "Ah, you impertinent young dog, you
mule, you gallows-rope, you spindle-legs! Ill luck to you! May you
be pierced by a Catalan lance! May a thousand ills befall you and
something more to boot, you thief, you knave!"

The lad, who had little beard and less discretion, hearing this string
of abuse, repaid the old woman in her own coin, saying, "Have you
done, you grandmother of witches, you old hag, you child-strangler!"

When the old woman heard these compliments she flew into such
a rage that, losing hold of the bridle and escaping from the stable
of patience, she acted as if she were mad, cutting capers in the air
and grinning like an ape. At this strange spectacle Zoza burst into
such a fit of laughter that she well-nigh fainted away. But when the
old woman saw herself played this trick, she flew into a passion,
and turning a fierce look on Zoza she exclaimed: "May you never
have the least little bit of a husband, unless you take the Prince of
Round-Field."

Upon hearing this, Zoza ordered the old woman to be called; and
desired to know whether, in her words, she had laid on her a curse,
or had only meant to insult her. And the old woman answered,