“That is on the road to the castle—­none of us ever go there.  Is it true that these stones stop the passersby with the question:  ’Where are you going?’”

“No, they are mute.  Why is your land so mournful?  It is almost a week since I’ve seen my shadow.  It is impossible!  I don’t see my shadow.”

“Our land is very cheerful and full of joy.  It is still winter now, but soon spring will come, and sunshine will come back with it.  You shall see it, Haggart.”

He speaks with contempt: 

“And you are sitting and waiting calmly for its return?  You must be a fine set of people!  Ah, if I only had a ship!”

“What would you have done?”

He looks at her morosely and shakes his head suspiciously.

“You are too inquisitive, little girl.  Has any one sent you over to me?”

“No.  What do you need a ship for?”

Haggart laughs good-naturedly and ironically: 

“She asks what a man needs a ship for.  You must be a fine set of people.  You don’t know what a man needs a ship for!  And you speak seriously?  If I had a ship I would have rushed toward the sun.  And it would not matter how it sets its golden sails, I would overtake it with my black sails.  And I would force it to outline my shadow on the deck of my ship.  And I would put my foot upon it this way!”

He stamps his foot firmly.  Then Mariet asks, cautiously: 

“Did you say with black sails?”

“That’s what I said.  Why do you always ask questions?  I have no ship, you know.  Good-bye.”

He puts on his hat, but does not move.  Mariet maintains silence.  Then he says, very angrily: 

“Perhaps you, too, like the music of your old Dan, that old fool?”

“You know his name?”

“Khorre told me it.  I don’t like his music, no, no.  Bring me a good, honest dog, or beast, and he will howl.  You will say that he knows no music—­he does, but he can’t bear falsehood.  Here is music.  Listen!”

He takes Mariet by the hand and turns her roughly, her face toward the ocean.

“Do you hear?  This is music.  Your Dan has robbed the sea and the wind.  No, he is worse than a thief, he is a deceiver!  He should be hanged on a sailyard—­your Dan!  Good-bye!”

He goes, but after taking two steps he turns around.

“I said good-bye to you.  Go home.  Let this fool play alone.  Well, go.”

Mariet is silent, motionless.  Haggart laughs: 

“Are you afraid perhaps that I have forgotten your name?  I remember it.  Your name is Mariet.  Go, Mariet.”

She says softly: 

“I have seen your ship.”

Haggart advances to her quickly and bends down.  His face is terrible.

“It is not true.  When?”

“Last evening.”

“It is not true!  Which way was it going?”

“Toward the sun.”