“Don’t!” says Haggart.

“Very well,” replies Mariet obediently.  “He commands and I must obey—­he is my husband.  Let little Noni sleep.  But I am not sleeping, I am here.  Why, then, didn’t you ask me:  ’Mariet, how was it possible that your husband, Haggart, should kill Philipp’?”

Silence.  Desfoso, who has returned and who is agitated, decides: 

“Let her speak.  She is his wife.”

“You will not believe, Desfoso,” says Mariet, turning to the old fisherman with a tender and mournful smile.  “Desfoso, you will not believe what strange and peculiar creatures we women are!”

Turning to all the people with the same smile, she continues: 

“You will not believe what queer desires, what cunning, malicious little thoughts we women have.  It was I who persuaded my husband to kill Philipp.  Yes, yes—­he did not want to do it, but I urged him; I cried so much and threatened him, so he consented.  Men always give in—­isn’t that true, Desfoso?”

Haggart looks at his wife in a state of great perplexity, his eyebrows brought close to each other.  Mariet continues, without looking at him, still smiling as before: 

“You will ask me, why I wanted Philipp’s death?  Yes, yes, you will ask this question, I know it.  He never did me any harm, that poor Philipp, isn’t that true?  Then I will tell you:  He was my betrothed.  I don’t know whether you will be able to understand me.  You, old Desfoso—­you would not kill the girl you kissed one day?  Of course not.  But we women are such strange creatures—­you can’t even imagine what strange, suspicious, peculiar creatures we are.  Philipp was my betrothed, and he kissed me—­”

She wipes her mouth and continues, laughing: 

“Here I am wiping my mouth even now.  You have all seen how I wiped my mouth.  I am wiping away Philipp’s kisses.  You are laughing.  But ask your wife, Desfoso—­does she want the life of the man who kissed her before you?  Ask all women who love—­even the old women!  We never grow old in love.  We are born so, we women.”

Haggart almost believes her.  Advancing a step forward, he asks: 

“You urged me?  Perhaps it is true, Mariet—­I don’t remember.”

Mariet laughs.

“Do you hear?  He has forgotten.  Go on, Gart.  You may say that it was your own idea?  That’s the way you men are—­you forget everything.  Will you say perhaps that I—­”

“Mariet!” Haggart interrupts her threateningly.

Mariet, turning pale, looking sorrowfully at his terrible eyes which are now steadfastly fixed upon her, continues, still smiling: 

“Go on, Gart!  Will you say perhaps that I—­Will you say perhaps that I dissuaded you?  That would be funny—­”

Haggart—­No, I will not say that.  You lie, Mariet!  Even I, Haggart—­ just think of it, people—­even I believed her, so cleverly does this woman lie.