“Did I make the bargain with thee?” asked the little Glass-man. “Am I Dutch Michael, who gives riches and cold hearts? Yonder, with him, must thou go seek for thy heart.”
“Alas! he will never give it me back,” replied Peter sorrowfully.
“I pity thee, wicked though thou art,” said the little man after some thought. “And since thy wish was not a foolish one, I cannot, at least, deny thee my help. Listen, then. Thou canst never get back thy heart by force, yet by cunning thou mayst, and without much difficulty either, perhaps; for Michael is still only foolish Michael, after all, though he thinks himself very clever. Therefore go straight to him, and do as I bid thee.” And now he gave Peter full instructions, and handed him a little cross of pure glass. “He cannot endanger thy life,” he concluded, “and he will let thee go free directly thou shalt hold this before him, if thou dost only pray the while. Then, if thou hast got thy desire, come back to me here.”
Peter Munk took the cross, made sure that all the little man’s words were thoroughly fixed in his mind, and went his way to Dutch Michael’s dwelling-place. He called his name three times, and the giant stood before him directly.
“Thou hast killed thy wife,” said he, with a dreadful laugh. “Well, I should have done as much; she was giving all thy wealth away to beggars. But thou wilt have to leave the country for a while, for there will be a stir made when she is not to be found; and thou wilt need money for the journey, and art come to fetch it?”
“Thou hast guessed rightly,” answered Peter; “only it must be a large sum this time, for it is a long way to America.”
Michael went first, and brought him down to his house; there he opened a chest full of gold, and took out roll after roll of it. While he was counting it out on the table, Peter began:—
“Thou art a cunning trickster, Michael, to have taken me in with that tale of my having a stone in my breast, and of thy having got my heart!”
“And is it not the truth?” asked Michael in surprise; “dost thou feel thy heart, then? Is it not like ice? Dost thou know fear, or sorrow, or remorse?”