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Updated: July 2, 2025
In this dilemma the judge ordered two inquiries one with regard to the likeness or unlikeness of Sanxi Guerre to the accused, and the other as to the resemblance existing between the child and the sisters of Martin Guerre.
And, as if the official interrogatory were not sufficiently complete, he spoke, of his own accord, of his son Sanxi, and of the day he was born; of his own departure, of the persons he met on the road, of the towns he had passed through in France and Spain, and of people with whom he had become acquainted in both kingdoms.
Bertrande, weeping, made the sign of the cross, and bowed her head upon her hands. "Good-bye, Sanxi," said the uncle, tapping the child's, cheek. Sanxi turned sulkily away. There was certainly nothing specially attractive about the uncle: he belonged to a type which children instinctively dislike, false, crafty, with squinting eyes which continually appeared to contradict his honeyed tongue.
For eight or nine years Martin and his wife lived together without issue from their marriage, notwithstanding masses said, consecrated wafers eaten by the wife and charms employed by the husband to drive away the bewitchment under which he supposed himself to labour. But in the tenth year after the marriage a son was born, and was named Sanxi.
Bertrande, weeping, made the sign of the cross, and bowed her head upon her hands. "Good-bye, Sanxi," said the uncle, tapping the child's, cheek. Sanxi turned sulkily away. There was certainly nothing specially attractive about the uncle: he belonged to a type which children instinctively dislike, false, crafty, with squinting eyes which continually appeared to contradict his honeyed tongue.
My Bertrande, my Bertha, my Bertranilla, as I used to call you." She tried to smile, but stopped short, puzzled; the names were the very same, but the inflexion of voice quite different. Martin took her hands in his. "What pretty hands! Do you still wear my ring? Yes, here it is, and with it the sapphire ring I gave you the day Sanxi was born."
My Bertrande, my Bertha, my Bertranilla, as I used to call you." She tried to smile, but stopped short, puzzled; the names were the very same, but the inflexion of voice quite different. Martin took her hands in his. "What pretty hands! Do you still wear my ring? Yes, here it is, and with it the sapphire ring I gave you the day Sanxi was born."
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