Meanwhile Martin, with no suspicion that his fellow-traveller was spying him from a distance, was shouting at the top of his voice,-- "Hallo there, watchman! Hallo, Cerberus! open the gate, blockhead! It is Bertrand, worthy Bertrand, who has sent me." "Who goes there?" demanded the sentinel from within. "It's too late to come in. Who are you to be making such an uproar?" "Who am I? You drunkard, I am Martin-Guerre, or Arnauld du Thill, if you please; or the friend of Bertrand, if you like that better. I am several people all at once, especially when I am in liquor. I am twenty rakes or so, who are going to give you a good sound drubbing if you don't open the gate for me at once." "Arnauld du Thill! You are Arnauld du Thill?" asked the sentinel. "Yes, I am Arnauld du Thill, twenty thousand cartloads of devils!" said Martin-Guerre, hammering away at the gate with feet as well as fists. Then there was a noise behind the gate as of troops assembling at the call of the sentinel. A man with a lantern opened the gate; and Arnauld du Thill, crouching behind the trees at a little distance, heard several voices crying out together in surprise,-- "Upon my word, it's he! It's he indeed, upon my soul!" Poor Martin-Guerre, recognizing his tyrants, uttered a cry of despair, which struck upon Arnauld's heart in his hiding-place like a malediction. Then he judged from the trampling and yelling that brave Martin, seeing that everything was lost, was making a stout fight for liberty; but he had only two fists against twenty swords. The noise grew less, then died gradually away until it ceased altogether. They had dragged Martin away, blaspheming and cursing. "If he expects to smooth matters over with insults and blows--" said Arnauld, rubbing his hands. When he could hear nothing more, he gave himself up to reflection for a quarter of an hour; for he was a very deep rascal, this same Arnauld du Thill. The result of his meditation was that he penetrated three or four hundred paces into the woods, tied his horse to a tree, laid his saddle and blanket upon the dead leaves, wrapped himself in his cloak, and in a few minutes was sleeping the deep sleep which God makes much easier for, the hardened villain than for the innocent. He slept eight hours without stirring. Nevertheless, when he awoke it was still dark; and he knew from the position of the stars that it must be about four o'clock in the morning. He rose and shook himself, and without disturbing his horse, crept softly out toward the high-road. On the gallows which they had pointed out to him the night before, the body of poor Martin-Guerre was swinging gently to and fro. A hideous smile flickered upon Arnauld's lips. He approached the body without a quiver; but it was hanging too high for him to touch. Then he climbed up the gallows-post, sword in hand, and when he had reached the necessary height, cut the cord with his sword. The body fell to the ground.