"Pope's a rogue! Pope's a rogue!" The fishermen laugh merrily.
"This man," roars the abbot, pointing at Haggart, "is my favourite man! He has given me a grandson, and I wrote the Pope about it in Latin.

But that wasn't so hard; isn't that true, Mariet?
But he knows how to look at the water.

He foretells a storm as if he himself caused it.

Gart, do you produce the storm yourself?
Where does the wind come from?
You are the wind yourself." All laugh approval.

An old fisherman says: "That's true, father.