They blossomed forth like an old blackthorn which has nothing but thorns and a ragged bark.

They are sinners.

But am I imploring God for their sake?
I am imploring you.
Robber, dearest--" Mariet looks now at Haggart, now at the priest.

Haggart is hesitating.
The abbot keeps muttering: "Robber, do you want me to call you son?
Well, then--son--it makes no difference now--I will never see you again.

It's all the same! Like an old blackthorn, they bloomed--oh, Lord, those scoundrels, those old scoundrels!" "No," Haggart replied sternly.
"Then you are the devil, that's who you are.