"But what do they carry in the breast in place of them?" asked Peter, whose head began to swim at what he had seen.
"This," answered the giant, handing him, from a drawer, a stone heart.
"What!" exclaimed Peter, as a chill crept over him. "A heart of marble? But look you, Dutch Michel, that must be very cold in the breast."
"Certainly; but it is an agreeable coolness. Why should a heart be warm? In winter the warmth of it is of no account; good cherry rum you would find a better protection against the cold than a warm heart, and in summer, when you are sweltering in the heat, you can not imagine how such a heart will cool you. And, as I said before, there will be no further anxiety or terror, neither any more silly pity, nor any sorrow, with such a heart in your breast."
"And is that all you are able to give me?" asked Peter discontentedly. "I hope for money, and you offer me a stone!"
"Well, I think a hundred thousand guldens will do you to start with. If you handle that well, you can soon become a millionaire."
"One hundred thousand!" shouted the poor charcoal burner joyfully. "There, don't beat so violently in my breast, we will soon be through with one another. All right, Michel; give me the stone and the money, and you may take the restless thing out of its cage."
"I thought you would show yourself to be a sensible fellow," said Dutch Michel smiling. "Come, let us drink once more together, and then I will count out the money."
So they sat down to the wine again, and drank until Peter fell into a deep sleep. He was finally awakened by the ringing notes of a bugle horn, and behold, he sat in a beautiful carriage, driving over a broad highway, and as he turned to look out of the carriage, he saw the Black Forest lying far behind him in the blue distance. At first he could hardly realize that it was he himself who sat in the carriage; for even his clothes were not the same that he had worn yesterday. But he remembered every thing that had occurred so clearly, that he said: "I am Charcoal Pete, that is certain, and nobody else."
He was surprised that he felt no sensation of sorrow, now that for the first time he was leaving behind him his home and the woods where he had lived so long. He could neither sigh nor shed a tear, as he thought of his mother whom he was leaving in want and sorrow; for all this was a matter of indifference to him now. "Tears and sighs," thought he, "homesickness and melancholy, come from the heart, and--thanks to Dutch Michel--mine is cold and stony."