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It was further ordered that such property as he had should be devoted to the maintenance of the child which had been born to him by Bertrande de Rols. At the same time, the court had very serious thoughts of punishing Martin Guerre, because his abandonment of his wife had led to the mischief, and his desertion of his country's flag seemed to merit censure.
Bertrande remained a few moments as if annihilated by this appalling revelation; then, endeavoring to repel the horrible thought "No," she cried, "no, it is impossible! It is a lie intended to ruin him-to ruin us all." "What! you do not believe me?" "No, never, never!" "Say rather you pretend to disbelieve me: the truth has pierced your heart, but you wish to deny it.
The guilt of his wife, Bertrande de Rols, was thought even more apparent, and that a woman could be deceived in her husband was a proposition few could digest. Yet, as the woman's life-long character was good, and it spoke well for her that not only the population of Artigues, but also the man's four sisters, had shared her delusion, it was finally determined to discharge her.
"Ah! uncle!" exclaimed the woman, turning towards an old man who had just emerged from the house. "Yes, Bertrande," continued the new-comer, "you must get reconciled to the idea that my nephew has ceased to exist. I am sure he was not such a fool as to have remained all this time without letting us hear from him.
Bertrande remembered with terror her first feelings at the sight of the returned Martin Guerre, her involuntary repugnance, her astonishment at not feeling more in touch with the husband whom she had so sincerely regretted. She remembered also, as if she saw it for the first time, that Martin, formerly quick, lively, and hasty tempered, now seemed thoughtful, and fully master of himself.
Much moved, Bertrande swept aside his hair, and looked at the scar visible on his forehead. "But," she said, with surprise not free from alarm, "this scar seems to me like a fresh one." "Ah!" Martin explained, with a little embarrassment; "it reopened lately. But I had thought no more about it.
The women remembered having envied Bertrande, especially the pretty Rose, daughter of Marcel, the apothecary, she who had roused the demon of jealousy in, the poor wife's heart. And Rose knew quite well that the jealousy was not without some cause; for Martin had indeed shown her attention, and she was unable to see him again without emotion.
After so much weariness, my rest is in again beholding you, and my happiness after so many trials will be found in your love. That hope has supported me throughout, and I long to be assured that it is no illusion." So saying, he endeavoured to raise her. "Oh," she murmured, "I pray you leave me." "What!" he exclaimed angrily. "Bertrande, is this your love? Is it thus you keep faith with me?
Bertrande was delighted at this reconciliation, and dreamed only of happiness.
And even the very intrigue suspected by Bertrande, which had aroused her jealous anger, this very intrigue, if it really existed, was it not another proof of the verity of his claim, since the person concerned, as interested and as penetrating as the legitimate wife; had also accepted him as her former lover? Surely here was a mass of evidence sufficient to cast light on the case.
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