Satan smiled and answered, pleasantly:  “To see three cowards stoning a dying lady when they were so near death themselves.”

You could see the superstitious crowd shrink and catch their breath, under the sudden shock.  The blacksmith, with a show of bravado, said: 

“Pooh!  What do you know about it?”

“I?  Everything.  By profession I am a fortune-teller, and I read the hands of you three—­and some others—­when you lifted them to stone the woman.  One of you will die to-morrow week; another of you will die to-night; the third has but five minutes to live—­and yonder is the clock!”

It made a sensation.  The faces of the crowd blanched, and turned mechanically toward the clock.  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.  Then Satan said: 

“Three saw that I threw no stone.  Perhaps there are others; let them speak.”

It struck a kind of panic into them, and, although no one answered him, many began to violently accuse one another, saying, “You said he didn’t throw,” and getting for reply, “It is a lie, and I will make you eat it!” And so in a moment they were in a raging and noisy turmoil, and beating and banging one another; and in the midst was the only indifferent one —­the dead lady hanging from her rope, her troubles forgotten, her spirit at peace.

So we walked away, and I was not at ease, but was saying to myself, “He told them he was laughing at them, but it was a lie—­he was laughing at me.”

That made him laugh again, and he said, “Yes, I was laughing at you, because, in fear of what others might report about you, you stoned the woman when your heart revolted at the act—­but I was laughing at the others, too.”

“Why?”

“Because their case was yours.”

“How is that?”

“Well, there were sixty-eight people there, and sixty-two of them had no more desire to throw a stone than you had.”

“Satan!”