“Indeed?” said the monster, with a malicious grin. “I tell you again, Sir Brigand, that I am hangman for the province.” “If I were not myself I should like to be you,” replied the brigand. “I can’t say the same for you,” rejoined the hangman; then rubbing his hands with a conceited and complacent smirk, he added: “My friend, you are right; ours is a fine trade. Ah! my hand knows the weight of a man’s head.” “Have you often tasted blood?” asked the brigand. “No; but I have often used the rack.” “Have you ever devoured the entrails of a living child?” “No; but I have crushed men’s bones in a vise; I have broken their limbs upon the wheel; I have dulled steel saws upon their skulls; I have torn their quivering flesh with red-hot pincers; I have burned the blood in their open veins by pouring in a stream of molten lead and boiling oil.” “Yes,” said the brigand, with a thoughtful look, “you have your pleasures too.” “In fact,” added the hangman, “Hans of Iceland though you be, I imagine that my hands have released more human souls than yours, to say nothing of your own, which you must render up to-morrow.” “Always provided that I have one. Do you suppose, then, executioner of Throndhjem, that you can release the spirit of Ingulf from Hans of Iceland’s mortal frame without its carrying off your own?” The executioner laughed heartily. “Indeed, we shall see to-morrow.” “We shall see,” said the brigand. “Well,” said the executioner, “I did not come here to talk of your spirit, but only of your body. Hearken! your body by law belongs to me after your death; but the law gives you the right to sell it to me. Tell me what you will take for it?” “What I will take for my corpse?” said the brigand. “Yes, and be reasonable.” Hans of Iceland turned to his jailer: “Tell me, mate, how much do you ask for a bundle of straw and a handful of fire?” The jailer reflected. “Two gold ducats.” “Well,” said the brigand to the hangman, “you must give me two gold ducats for my corpse.” “Two gold ducats!” cried the hangman. “It is horribly dear. Two gold ducats for a wretched corpse! No, indeed! I’ll give no such price.” “Then,” quietly responded the monster, “you shall not have it.” “Then you will be thrown into the common sewer, instead of adorning the Royal Museum at Copenhagen or the collection of curiosities at Bergen.” “What do I care?” “Long after your death, people will flock to look at your skeleton, saying, ‘Those are the remains of the famous Hans of Iceland!’ Your bones will be nicely polished, and strung on copper wire; you will be placed in a big glass case, and dusted carefully every day. Instead of these honors, consider what awaits you if you refuse to sell me your body; you will be left to rot in some charnel-house, where you will be the prey of worms and other vermin.” “Well, I shall be like the living, who are perpetually preyed upon by their inferiors and devoured by their superiors.”