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“You have guessed rightly,” said Peter, “and make it a large amount this time, for America is far away.”

Michel preceded Peter into the hut, where he opened a chest in which was piled a large amount of money, and took out whole rolls of gold. While he was counting them out on the table, Peter said: “You are a frivolous fellow, Michel, to cheat me into thinking that I had a stone in the breast and that you had my heart!”

“And is that not so?” asked Michel, surprised. “Can you feel your heart? Is it not as cold as ice? Can you experience fear or sorrow, or can any thing cause you remorse?”

“You have only made my heart stand still, but I have it just the same as ever in my breast, and Ezekiel, too, says that you have lied to us. You are not the man who can tear a heart from another’s breast without his knowing it, and without endangering his life; you would have to be a sorcerer to do that.”

“But I assure you,” cried Michel indignantly, “that you and Ezekiel, and all the rich people who have had dealings with me, have hearts as cold as your own, and I have their true hearts here in my chamber.”

“Why, how the lies slip over your tongue!” laughed Peter. “You may tell that to some body else. Do you suppose that I haven’t seen dozens of just such imitations on my travels? The hearts in your chamber are fashioned from wax! You are a rich fellow, I admit, but no sorcerer.”

The giant, in a rage, flung open the chamber door. “Come in here, and read all these labels; and look! that glass there holds Peter Munk’s heart. Do you see how it beats? Can one imitate that too in wax?”

“Nevertheless, it is made of wax;” exclaimed Peter. “A real heart doesn’t beat in that way; and besides, I still have my own in my breast. No indeed, you are not a sorcerer!”

“But I will prove it to you!” cried the giant, angrily. “You shall feel it yourself, and acknowledge that it is your heart.” He took it out, tore Peter’s jacket open, and took a stone from the young man’s breast and held it up to him. Then taking up the beating heart, he breathed on it, and placed it carefully in its place, and at once Peter felt it beating in his breast, and he could once more rejoice thereat.

“How is it with you now?” asked Michel smiling.

“Verily, you were right,” answered Peter, meanwhile drawing the little crystal cross from his pocket. “I would not have believed that one could do such a thing!”

“Is it not so? And I can practice magic, as you see; but come, I will put the stone back again now.”

“Gently, Herr Michel!” cried Peter, taking a step backward, and holding up the cross between them. “One catches mice with cheese, and this time you are trapped.” And forthwith, Peter began to pray, speaking whatever words came readily to his mind.

Thereupon, Michel became smaller and smaller, sank down to the floor, writhed and twisted about like a worm, and gasped and groaned, while all the hearts began to beat and knock against their glass cages, until it sounded like the workshop of a clock-maker. Peter was very much frightened, and ran out of the house, and, driven on by terror, scaled the cliffs; for he heard Michel get up from the floor, stamp and rage, and shout after him the most terrible curses. On arriving at the top of the ravine, Peter ran towards the Tannenbuehl. A terrible thunderstorm came up; lightning flashed to the right and left, and shattered many trees, but he reached the Little Glass-Man’s territory unharmed.

His heart beat joyfully, because of the very pleasure it seemed to take in beating. But soon he looked back at his past life with horror, as at the thunder storm that had shattered the trees behind him. He thought of Lisbeth, his good and beautiful wife, whom he had murdered in his avarice. He looked upon himself as an outcast from mankind, and wept violently as he came to the Glass-Man’s hill.