Take him home, Mariet, and wash his hands!" "To whom do you lie, priest ?" asks Haggart, slowly.

"To God or to the devil?
To yourself or to the people?
Or to everybody ?" He laughs bitterly.
"Eh, Gart! You are drunk with blood." "And with what are you drunk ?" They face each other.

Mariet cries angrily, placing herself between them: "May a thunder strike you down, both of you, that's what I am praying to God.

May a thunder strike you down! What are you doing with my heart?
You are tearing it with your teeth like greedy dogs.

You didn't drink enough blood, Gart, drink mine, then! You will never have enough, Gart, isn't that true ?" "Now, now," says the abbot, calming them.