The butcher and the weaver seemed smitten with an illness, but the blacksmith braced up and said, with spirit: "It is not long to wait for prediction number one.

If it fails, young master, you will not live a whole minute after, I promise you that." No one said anything; all watched the clock in a deep stillness which was impressive.

When four and a half minutes were gone the blacksmith gave a sudden gasp and clapped his hands upon his heart, saying, "Give me breath! Give me room!" and began to sink down.

The crowd surged back, no one offering to support him, and he fell lumbering to the ground and was dead.

The people stared at him, then at Satan, then at one another; and their lips moved, but no words came.