When Twardowski descended from the mountain and made his way, book under arm, through the valley, he heard the bells in all the towers of the city ringing out clearly and solemnly on the still night air. He listened, wondering at the unaccustomed noise, then hurried into the town, inquiring from every one he met what the occasion was. But no one seemed to have heard the sound. Then a deep feeling of sadness came over him as he realized the meaning of the bells. They were the funeral knell of his own soul. When morning came, however, doubts were forgotten, and Twardowski was glad to have the devil at his command. The first thing that he demanded was to have all the silver of Poland gathered together in one place and covered over with great mounds of sand. Similar requests followed, and it was not long before the devil repented of his bargain. One day it would please Twardowski to fly without wings through the air; on another, to the delight of the crowd, to gallop backward on a cock; on another to float in a boat without a rudder or sail, accompanied by some maiden who for the moment had inflamed his heart. One day, by the use of his magic mirror, he set fire to the castle of an enemy a mile away. This last feat made him greatly feared by people far and wide. At last the seven years were up. The devil appeared to Twardowski and said: "Twardowski, the time of our pact is over, and I command you to fulfill your promise and go to Rome." "What shall I do there?" "Give me your immortal soul," was the answer. "Do you think I am a fool?" asked Twardowski. "You gave me your promise to go to Rome after seven years." "That I have already done," said Twardowski, "and I did not promise to stay in Rome." "Noble deceiver!" exclaimed the Evil One. "Stupid devil!" cried Twardowski. Then after a struggle the devil vanished and Twardowski returned home. For over a year he pored incessantly over his books of magic, until at last he found a formula for warding off death. Then he called his disciple Famulus to him and explained that he was going to test the formula. "You have always obliged me without question," said Twardowski, "and I expect you to now. Take this knife and thrust it into my heart." "God forbid!" cried Famulus. "Why are you frightened? I know what, I am doing. Take the knife and kill me, as the parchment directs." "I cannot." "You must," insisted Twardowski. "It is impossible!" "No more exclamations. Do as I tell you." "Oh, oh, oh!" wailed Famulus. "Strike!" thundered Twardowski, "or I will kill you this instant." Then Famulus did as he was bid and forced the blade into his master's heart. Twardowski uttered a low cry, fell, and was soon dead. Famulus dropped trembling into a chair and covered his face with his hands. Then he remembered that he must read the remainder of the parchment in order to find out what he must do to restore the body to life.