"My friend, don't try that trick on me again. Besides, it is not a real cure. The duke's time has come; he must go to his appointed place; and it is my duty to conduct him thither. You think you have saved him from me and he thinks so, but you are both mistaken. All you have given him is a moment's respite."
The years went by and Martin grew old. His hair whitened and his muscles stiffened. The infirmities of age came upon him and life was no longer a joy.
"Dear Godmother Death," he cried, "I am old and tired! Take me!"
But Death shook her head.
"No, my friend, I can't take you yet. You lengthened the candle of your life and now you must wait until it burns down."
At last one day as he was riding home after visiting a sick man, Death climbed into the carriage with him. She talked with him of old times and they laughed together. Then jokingly she brushed his chin with a green branch. Instantly Martin's eyes grew heavy. His head slipped lower and lower and soon he fell asleep on Death's lap.
"He's dead," the people said, when they looked in the carriage. "The famous Doctor Martin is dead! Oh, what a great and good man he was! Alas, who can take his place!"
He was buried with great pomp and all the world mourned his death.
His son, whose name was Josef, was a stupid fellow. One day as he was going to church, his godmother met him.
"Well, Josef," she asked, "how are you getting on?"