worked--have you seen their hands, their backs? If you haven't
noticed that, you are a fool! They are tired. They want to rest.
Let them rest, even at the cost of the blood of the one you killed.
I'll give them each a little, and the rest I will throw out into the
sea. Do you hear, Haggart?"

"I hear, priest."

The abbot exclaims, raising his arms:

"O Lord! Why have you made a heart that can have pity on both the
murdered and the murderer! Gart, go home. Take him home, Mariet,
and wash his hands!"

"To whom do you lie, priest?" asks Haggart, slowly. "To God or to
the devil? To yourself or to the people? Or to everybody?"

He laughs bitterly.

"Eh, Gart! You are drunk with blood."

"And with what are you drunk?"

They face each other. Mariet cries angrily, placing herself between
them:

"May a thunder strike you down, both of you, that's what I am praying
to God. May a thunder strike you down! What are you doing with my
heart? You are tearing it with your teeth like greedy dogs. You
didn't drink enough blood, Gart, drink mine, then! You will never