“There was nobody among us who passed by.  Tell us, Thomas.”

Thomas takes out his pipe: 

“I am a neighbour of Philipp’s, of that man there—­” he points at the curtain.  “Yes, yes, you all know that I am his neighbour.  And if anybody does not know it—­I’ll say it again, as in a court of justice:  I am his neighbour—­I live right next to him—­” he turns to the window.

An elderly fisherman enters and forces himself silently into the line.

“Well, Tibo?” asks the abbot, stopping.

“Nothing.”

“Haven’t you found Haggart?”

“No.  It is so foggy that they are afraid of losing themselves.  They walk and call each other; some of them hold each other by the hand.  Even a lantern can’t be seen ten feet away.”

The abbot lowers his head and resumes his pacing.  The old fisherman speaks, without addressing any one in particular.

“There are many ships now staring helplessly in the sea.”

“I walked like a blind man,” says Tibo.  “I heard the Holy Cross ringing.  But it seems as if it changed its place.  The sound comes from the left side.”

“The fog is deceitful.”

Old Desfoso says: 

“This never happened here.  Since Dugamel broke Jack’s head with a shaft.  That was thirty—­forty years ago.”

“What did you say, Desfoso?” the abbot stops.

“I say, since Dugamel broke Jack’s head—­”

“Yes, yes!” says the abbot, and resumes pacing the room.

“Then Dugamel threw himself into the sea from a rock and was dashed to death—­that’s how it happened.  He threw himself down.”

Mariet shudders and looks at the speaker with hatred.  Silence.

“What did you say, Thomas?”

Thomas takes his pipe out of his mouth.

“Nothing.  I only said that some one knocked at my window.”

“You don’t know who?”

“No.  And you will never know.  I came out, I looked—­and there Philipp was sitting at his door.  I wasn’t surprised—­Philipp often roamed about at night ever since—­”

He stops irresolutely.  Mariet asks harshly: 

“Since when?  You said ‘since.’”

Silence.  Desfoso replies frankly and heavily: 

“Since your Haggart came.  Go ahead, Thomas, tell us about it.”

“So I said to him:  ’Why did you knock, Philipp?  Do you want anything?’ But he was silent.”

“And he was silent?”

“He was silent.  ’If you don’t want anything, you had better go to sleep, my friend,’ said I. But he was silent.  Then I looked at him —­his throat was cut open.”

Mariet shudders and looks at the speaker with aversion.  Silence.  Another fisherman enters, looks at the curtain and silently forces his way into the crowd.  Women’s voices are heard behind the door; the abbot stops.

“Eh, Lebon!  Chase the women away,” he says.  “Tell them, there is nothing for them to do here.”