Haggart looks at her and speaks with deep irony.
“Is that it? Well, then, it is not true that you give me anything. You don’t know how to give, woman.”
“I am your wife.”
“No! A man has no wife when another man, and not his wife, grinds his knife. My knife is dull, Mariet!”
Mariet looks at him with horror and sorrow.
“What did you say, Haggart? Wake up; it is a terrible dream, Haggart! It is I—look at me. Open your eyes wider, wider, until you see me well. Do you see me, Gart?”
Haggart slowly rubs his brow.
“I don’t know. It is true I love you, Mariet. But how incomprehensible your land is—in your land a man sees dreams even when he is not asleep. Perhaps I am smiling already. Look, Mariet.”
The abbot stops in front of Khorre.
“Ah, old friend, how do you do? You are smiling already. Look, Mariet.”