“Baron Vœthaün, colonel of the Munkholm musketeers, which of the men who fought under your command at Black Pillar Pass took Hans of Iceland prisoner? Name him to the court, that he may receive the thousand crowns reward offered for the capture.” The president of the court thus addressed the colonel of musketeers. The court was in session; for according to old Norwegian custom, a court from whose sentence there is no appeal cannot adjourn until the sentence has been carried out. Before the judges stood the giant, who had just been led in again, with the rope round his neck from which he was soon to hang. The colonel, seated at the table with the private secretary, rose and bowed to the court and to the bishop, who had reascended his throne. “My lord judges, the soldier who captured Hans of Iceland is present. His name is Toric-Belfast, second musketeer of my regiment.” “Let him stand forth,” replied the president, “and receive the promised reward.” A young soldier in the Munkholm uniform stepped forward. “You are Toric-Belfast?” asked the president. “Yes, your worship.” “It was you who took Hans of Iceland prisoner?” “Yes, by the aid of Saint Beelzebub, I did, please your worship.” A heavy bag of money was placed before the bench. “Do you recognize this man as the famous Hans of Iceland?” added the president, pointing to the fettered giant. “I am better acquainted with my Kitty’s pretty face than with that of Hans of Iceland; but I declare, by the halo of Saint Belphegor, that if Hans of Iceland be anywhere, it is in the shape of that big devil.” “Advance, Toric-Belfast,” said the president. “Here are the thousand crowns offered by the lord mayor.” The soldier hurried toward the bench, when a voice rose from the crowd: “Munkholm musketeer, you never captured Hans of Iceland.” “By all the blessed devils!” cried the soldier, turning around, “I own nothing but my pipe and the moment of time in which I speak; but still I promise to give ten thousand gold crowns to the man who says that, if he can prove his words.” And folding his arms, he cast an assured glance over the audience: “Well! let the man who spoke, show himself.” “It is I!” said a small man, elbowing his way through the crowd. The new-comer was wrapped in sealskin, like a Greenlander, his outlandish garb hanging stiffly about him. His beard was black; and thick hair of the same color, falling over his red eyebrows, concealed a hideous face. Neither his hands nor his arms were visible. “Oh, it is you, is it?” said the soldier, with a loud laugh. “And who, then, do you say it was, my fine gentleman, that had the honor of capturing that infernal giant?” The little man shook his head, and said with a malicious smile: “It was I.”