"Sit and die then," cried
she, "but now it is time to set to work; for I have other trade to
follow here." She threw off her black cloak, and so stood in hideous
nakedness; then she ran round in circles, and large folios came
tumbling down to her; out of these she tore parchment leaves, and,
rapidly patching them together in artful combination and fixing
them on her body, in a few instants she was dressed as if in strange
party-colored scale harness. Spitting fire, the black Cat darted out
of the ink-glass, which was standing on the table, and ran mewing
toward the crone, who shrieked in loud triumph and along with him
vanished through the door.

Anselmus observed that she went toward the azure chamber, and directly
he heard a hissing and storming in the distance; the birds in the
garden were crying; the Parrot creaked out: "Help! help! Thieves!
thieves!" That moment the crone returned with a bound into the room,
carrying the Golden Pot on her arm, and, with hideous gestures,
shrieking wildly through the air; "Joy! joy, little son!--Kill the
green Snake! To her, son! To her!"

Anselmus thought he heard a deep moaning, heard Serpentina's voice.
Then horror and despair took hold of him; he gathered all his force,
he dashed violently, as if nerve and artery were bursting, against the
crystal; a piercing clang went through the room, and the Archivarius
in his bright damask nightgown was standing in the door.

"Hey, hey! vermin!--Mad spell!--Witchwork!--Hither, holla!" So shouted
he; then the black hair of the crone started up like bristles; her
red eyes glanced with infernal fire, and clenching together the peaked
fangs of her ample jaws, she hissed: "Hiss, at him! Hiss, at him!
Hiss!" and laughed and haw-hawed in scorn and mockery, and pressed
the Golden Pot firmly toward her, and threw out of it handfuls of
glittering earth on the Archivarius; but as it touched the nightgown
the earth changed into flowers, which rained down on the ground.
Then the lilies of the nightgown flickered and flamed up; and the
Archivarius caught these lilies blazing in sparky fire and dashed them
on the witch; she howled for agony, but still as she leapt aloft and
shook her harness of parchment the lilies went out and fell away into
ashes.

"To her, my lad!" creaked the crone; then the black Cat darted through
the air, and plunged over the Archivarius' head toward the door; but
the gray Parrot fluttered out against him and caught him with