"Oh, yes, deny yourself now, you villain!" cried the ensign. "But luckily here are ten witnesses to contradict you. Before them, notwithstanding your peasant's dress, have you the face to declare that I didn't take you prisoner at the battle of St. Laurent in attendance upon the constable?" "No, no, I am Martin Cornouiller," stammered Martin, who was beginning to lose his head. "You are Martin Cornouiller?" said the ensign, with a contemptuous laugh; "you are not that coward Arnauld du Thill, who promised me a ransom, whom I treated with every consideration, and who only last night made his escape, carrying with him not only the little money that I possessed, but my dearly-loved Gudule, the lovely _vivandière_? Villain! what have you done with Gudule?" "What have you done with Gudule?" echoed his companions, in ominous chorus. "What have I done with Gudule?" said Martin-Guerre, completely crushed. "How can I tell, miserable wretch that I am! Ah, well, do you really all recognize me? Are you perfectly sure that you are not mistaken? Can you swear that my name is--Arnauld du Thill; that this fine fellow took me prisoner at the battle of St. Laurent; and that I have treacherously carried off his Gudule? Can you swear to all this?" "Yes, yes, yes!" cried the ten voices, vigorously. "Very well. I am not surprised," said Martin-Guerre, piteously (he was apt to wander a little, we remember, when this matter of his twofold existence was touched upon). "No, indeed, I am not surprised. I would have insisted until to-morrow that my name is Martin Cornouiller; but you know me as Arnauld du Thill. I was here yesterday, it seems; so I say no more. Expect no more resistance from me, for I submit. From the moment that this turns out to be so, my feet and hands are tied. I did not foresee this. It has been such a long time since my alibis ceased to trouble me. Come on! it's all right. Do with me as you will; carry me off; imprison me; strangle me; what you tell me of Gudule puts the finishing touch to my conviction that you are right. Yes, I recognize my own hand in that! But I am very glad to know that my name is Arnauld du Thill." Poor Martin-Guerre thenceforth confessed everything that they chose, allowed himself to be overwhelmed with insults and reproaches, and offered his all to God by way of penance for the new offences that they charged him with. As he could not tell what had become of Gudule, they loaded him with chains, and subjected him to all varieties of ill-treatment, but without wearing out his angelic patience. All that he regretted was that he had not had time to fulfil his commission to Baron de Vaulpergues; but who could have imagined that new crimes would rise to confront him, and reduce to nothing his splendid schemes for exhibiting his address and presence of mind?