She had brought it upon herself.
Michael Texel indeed! So I went on.

It was excellent sport--such a jest as may not be played every day.

I would show Mistress Helene (so I said to myself) whether she would like it any better if I made love to Katrin than if I went over on an occasional wet day to clean pistolets and oil French musketoons in Christian's guard-house.
So I began to tell Katrin how that woman was the sacredest influence on the life of men, with other things as I could recollect them out of a book of chivalry which I had been reading, the fine sentiments of which it was a pity to waste.

For our Helene would have stamped her foot and boxed my ears for coming nigh her with such nonsense (that is, at this time she would, doubtless--not, however, always).

And as for the lass over the way--Christian's Elsa--she knew no more of letters than her father knew of the mathematics.