"Two leagues more!" exclaimed the wayfarer; "and I am quite exhausted now. I would willingly give a pistole for a chance to lie down, and for something to eat at this moment." "A pistole!" said Arnauld, ever on the alert, as of old, when money was to be had. "Well, my good fellow, we can give you, if you wish, a bed in a corner here; and as for dinner,--why, we are going to have an anniversary feast to-day, and one guest more will make no difference. How does that suit you?" "Perfectly," replied the stranger; "for, as I told you, I am almost fainting with fatigue and hunger." "Very well; it's a bargain, then," said Arnauld; "you may remain here for a pistole." "I will pay in advance," said the traveller. Arnauld du Thill sat up to take the money, and at the same time raised his hat, which had concealed his eyes and his face. The stranger was then able to see his features; and at the first glance he cried, recoiling in amazement,-- "My nephew, Arnauld du Thill!" Arnauld looked carefully at him, and turned pale; but he soon collected himself. "Your nephew?" said he. "Why, I don't know you! Who are you?" "You don't know me, Arnauld?" exclaimed the stranger; "you don't know your old uncle, your mother's own brother, Carbon Barreau, to whom you have been the source of so much trouble,--as indeed you have been to the whole family?" "By my faith, no!" said Arnauld, with an insolent laugh. "What! do you deny me and yourself as well?" rejoined Carbon Barreau. "Tell me, do you mean to say that you did not cause your mother, who was my sister, to die of grief,--a poor, lone widow, whom you abandoned at Sagias ten years ago? Ah! you may not recognize me, hard heart; but I know you well." "I have no idea what you mean," replied Arnauld, brazenly, entirely cool and collected. "My name is not Arnauld, but Martin-Guerre; and I am not from Sagias, but belong in Artigues. The old men in the neighborhood have known me from my birth, and will swear to my identity; and if you want to be laughed at, you have only to repeat your statement before my wife, Bertrande de Rolles, and all my kinsfolk." "Your wife! your kinsfolk!" said Carbon Barreau, in bewilderment. "Pardon! Is it possible that I am mistaken? No; it cannot be! Such a resemblance--" "At the end of ten years it is hard to verify," Arnauld interrupted. "Come, your sight is growing dim, my good friend! My real uncles and relatives you can see and talk with yourself very soon." "Oh, very well! In that case," replied Carbon Barreau, who began to be convinced, "you may well boast of your resemblance to my nephew, Arnauld du Thill." "I never heard of him except from you," said Arnauld, sneeringly, "and I never have boasted of it yet."