On the benches along the walls, the old fishermen have seated themselves, their hands folded on their knees; some of them seem to be slumbering; others are smoking their pipes.

They speak meditatively and cautiously, as though eager to utter no unnecessary words.

Whenever a belated fisherman comes in, he looks first at the curtain, then he silently squeezes himself into the crowd, and those who have no place on the bench apparently feel embarrassed.
The abbot paces the room heavily, his hands folded on his back, his head lowered; when any one is in his way, he quietly pushes him aside with his hand.

He is silent and knits his brows convulsively.

Occasionally he glances at the door or at the window and listens.
The only woman present there is Mariet.