“I have, Captain. The shores will tremble when our cannons speak.”
“Eh, Flerio, comrade! Don’t gnash your teeth, without biting—no one will believe you. Did you put in cannon balls—round, cast-iron, good cannon balls? Give them wings, comrade—let them fly like blackbirds on land and sea.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Haggart laughs:
“I love to think how the cannon ball flies, Mariet. I love to watch its invisible flight. If some one comes in its way—let him! Fate itself strikes down like that. What is an aim? Only fools need an aim, while the devil, closing his eyes, throws stones—the wise game is merrier this way. But you are silent! What are you thinking of, Mariet?”
“I am thinking of them. I am forever thinking of them.”
“Are you sorry for them?” Haggart frowns.
“Yes, I am sorry for them. But my pity is my hatred, Haggart. I hate them, and I would kill them, more and more!”
“I feel like flying faster—my soul is so free. Let us jest, Mariet! Here is a riddle, guess it: For whom will the cannons roar soon? You think, for me? No. For you? no, no, not for you, Mariet! For little Noni, for him—for little Noni who is boarding the ship to-night. Let him wake up from this thunder. How our little Noni will be surprised! And now be quiet, quiet—don’t disturb his sleep—don’t spoil little Noni’s awakening.”
The sound of voices is heard—a crowd is approaching.