"Yes, in his room, the day of his departure, when I asked him to return the ring to Martin. I did not dare confess my fault to him, being a stranger. And yet he ought to have understood me; and if he did understand, how could he have told me?" "What--what did he tell you? Go on!" cried Pierre. "Alas! that Martin-Guerre was already married!" said Babette. "Miserable wretch!" ejaculated Pierre Peuquoy, beside himself, and springing at his sister with uplifted hand. "Ah! it is true, then!" said the poor child, in a faint voice; "I feel now that it is true." She fell fainting upon the floor. Jean had had time to seize Pierre around the waist and hold him back. "What are you doing, Pierre?" said he, sternly. "It is not the unfortunate victim that you should strike, but the villain who caused her ruin." "You are right," Pierre responded, already ashamed of his blind rage. He stepped apart, stern and gloomy, while Jean, leaning over Babette, tried to resuscitate her. There was a long silence. At last Babette opened her eyes, and seemed to be trying to remember. "What has happened?" she asked. She looked up with a wandering expression into the kind face of Jean Peuquoy bending over her. Strangely enough, Jean seemed not to be very melancholy. There even was to be seen upon his pleasant face, mingled with deep pity, a sort of secret satisfaction. "My good cousin!" said Babette, giving him her hand. Jean Peuquoy's first words to the beloved sufferer were,-- "Don't give up hope, Babette; don't give up hope!" But Babette's eyes fell at this moment upon the sombre and desolate figure of her brother, and she gave a convulsive start, for everything came back to her memory at once. "Oh, Pierre, forgive me!" she cried. As Jean made him an appealing gesture to urge him to be pitiful, Pierre advanced to his sister, raised her from the floor, and led her to a seat. "Don't be alarmed," said he. "I have no ill-will against you. You have suffered too much. Don't be alarmed. I will say to you as Jean did, don't give up hope." "Ah, what have I to hope for now?" she said. "No reparation, to be sure, but vengeance, at all events," Pierre replied, frowning. "And I," whispered Jean,--"I say to you, vengeance and reparation at the same time." She looked at him in amazement. But before she could question him, Pierre resumed,-- "Once more, my poor sister, I forgive you. Your fault is surely no greater because a cowardly villain has deceived you twice. I love you, Babette, as I have always loved you." Babette, happy even in her grief, threw herself into her brother's arms. "However," continued Pierre, when he had embraced her, "my anger is by no means burned out; it is only shifted to other shoulders than yours. I repeat, I would like now to have under my foot that villanous perjurer and scoundrel Martin-Guerre!" "Dear brother!" Babette interposed piteously.