"Hum! Always the same," said the jailer. "Always easy-going and good-natured. If you allow your wife to reassert her former ascendency so quickly, you take a great risk. However, that's your business." The jailer withdrew, shrugging his shoulders compassionately. Two minutes later he returned with Bertrande de Rolles. It was growing darker every instant. "I will leave you alone," said the jailer, "but I shall come to take Bertrande away before it is quite dark: those are the orders. So you have hardly a quarter of an hour; use it to quarrel or to make up, as you choose." And he left the cell again. Bertrande de Rolles came forward, shame-faced and with bent head, toward the pretended Martin-Guerre, who remained seated and silent, leaving it for her to begin the conversation. "Oh, Martin!" said she at last, in a weak and hesitating voice, when she was at his side; "Martin, can you ever forgive me?" Her eyes were wet with tears, and she was literally trembling in every limb. "Forgive you for what?" replied Arnauld, who did not propose to commit himself. "Why, for my stupid mistake," said Bertrande. "Of course I did very wrong not to recognize you. But was there not some excuse for my mistake, since it seems that at times you were deceived yourself? So it was necessary, I confess, to make me believe in my error, that the whole province, Monsieur le Comte de Montgommery, and justice, which knows everything, should prove to me that you are my true husband, and that the other is only a fraud and an impostor." "But let us see," said Arnauld; "which is the acknowledged impostor,--the one whom Monsieur de Montgommery brought hither, or the one whom they found in possession of Martin-Guerre's goods and name?" "Why, the other!" replied Bertrande; "the one who deceived me so, and whom during the last week I have still called my husband, stupid, blind fool that I was!" "Aha, so the thing seems to be pretty well established now, does it?" asked Arnauld, with emotion. "_Mon Dieu_! yes, Martin," Bertrande replied in some confusion. "The gentlemen of the court and your master, the worthy nobleman, told me just now that they had no longer any doubt, and that you were surely the true Martin-Guerre, my dear, good husband." "Ah, indeed," said Arnauld, whose cheek paled in spite of himself. "Thereupon," continued Bertrande, "they gave me to understand that I would do well to ask your forgiveness, and to become reconciled to you before they pronounce judgment; so I asked and obtained leave to see you." She stopped a moment, but seeing that her pretended husband gave no sign of replying, she went on,--