Mariet—­Go—­on—­Haggart.

Haggart—­You are laughing?  Abbot, I don’t want to be the husband of your daughter—­she lies.

Abbot—­You are worse than the devil, Gart!  That’s what I say—­ You are worse than the devil, Gart!

Haggart—­You are all foolish people!  I don’t understand you; I don’t know now what to do with you.  Shall I laugh?  Shall I be angry?  Shall I cry?  You want to let me go—­why, then, don’t you let me go?  You are sorry for Philipp.  Well, then, kill me—­I have told you that it was I who killed the boy.  Am I disputing?  But you are making grimaces like monkeys that have found bananas—­or have you such a game in your land?  Then I don’t want to play it.  And you, abbot, you are like a juggler in the marketplace.  In one hand you have truth and in the other hand you have truth, and you are forever performing tricks.  And now she is lying—­she lies so well that my heart contracts with belief.  Oh, she is doing it well!

And he laughs bitterly.

Mariet—­Forgive me, Gart.

Haggart—­When I wanted to kill him, she hung on my hand like a rock, and now she says that she killed him.  She steals from me this murder; she does not know that one has to earn that, too!  Oh, there are queer people in your land!

“I wanted to deceive them, not you, Gart.  I wanted to save you,” says Mariet.

Haggart replies: 

“My father taught me:  ’Eh, Noni, beware!  There is one truth and one law for all—­for the sun, for the wind, for the waves, for the beasts—­and only for man there is another truth.  Beware of this truth of man, Noni!’ so said my father.  Perhaps this is your truth?  Then I am not afraid of it, but I feel very sad and very embittered.  Mariet, if you sharpened my knife and said:  ’Go and kill that man’—­ it may be that I would not have cared to kill him.  ’What is the use of cutting down a withered tree?’—­I would have said.  But now—­ farewell, Mariet!  Well, bind me and take me to the city.”

He waits haughtily, but no one approaches him.  Mariet has lowered her head upon her hands, her shoulders are twitching.  The abbot is also absorbed in thought, his large head lowered.  Desfoso is carrying on a heated conversation in whispers with the fishermen.  Khorre steps forward and speaks, glancing at Haggart askance: 

“I had a little talk with them, Noni—­they are all right, they are good fellows, Noni.  Only the priest—­but he is a good man, too—­am I right, Noni?  Don’t look so crossly at me, or I’ll mix up the whole thing!  You see, kind people, it’s this way:  this man, Haggart, and I have saved up a little sum of money, a little barrel of gold.  We don’t need it, Noni, do we?  Perhaps you will take it for yourselves?  What do you think?  Shall we give them the gold, Noni?  You see, here I’ve entangled myself already.”

He winks slyly at Mariet, who has now lifted her head.