But when they have risen, the lowered ocean roars more dully; now they rise still higher--and the heavy, almost voiceless pile of water is shaking helplessly.

Varied voices resound through the expanse of the resplendent distances.

Day has one sorrow, night has another sorrow, and the proud, ever rebellious, black ocean suddenly seems to become an eternal slave.
Her cheek pressed against the cold stone of the wall, Mariet is listening, all alone.

She is growing reconciled to something; she is grieving ever more quietly.
Suddenly, firm footsteps are heard on the road; the cobblestones are creaking under the vigorous steps--and a man appears from behind the church.

He walks slowly and sternly, like those who do not roam in vain, and who know the earth from end to end.