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."

Lebon goes out.

"Wait," the abbot stops. "Ask how the mother is feeling; Selly is taking
care of her."

Desfoso says:

"You say, chase away the women, abbot? And your daughter? She is here."

The abbot looks at Mariet. She says:

"I am not going away from here."

Silence. The abbot paces the room again; he looks at the little ship
fastened to the ceiling and asks:

"Who made it?"

All look at the little ship.

"He," answers Desfoso. "He made it when he wanted to go to America as a
sailor. He was always asking me how a three-masted brig is fitted out."

They look at the ship again, at its perfect little sails--at the little