Simon.

Damned rot! I warned you! And now, I say—now, I say—that if Mees, my daughter’s betrothed, not to speak of the others, if Mees—there will be murder.

Kaps.

You make me laugh! Go get yourself a dram and talk sense.

[Enter Marietje.]

Simon.

Better have stayed outside. No tidings.

Marietje.

[Softly sobbing.] No tidings.

Simon.