"Even if it be impossible, Martin, for you to bear ill-will toward me for this first involuntary wrong, the second, unfortunately, deserves beyond question all your reproaches and all your anger. When you were not at hand, I might mistake another for you; but when you had presented yourself, and I had leisure to compare you with the other, I should have recognized you at once. But consider whether even in that matter my conduct does not admit of some excuse. In the first place, Arnauld du Thill was, as you say, in possession of the title and name which belong to you, and it was extremely repugnant to my feelings to admit a supposition which would make me guilty. In the second place, I was hardly allowed to see you and speak with you. When I was confronted with you, you were not dressed in your ordinary dress, but were wrapped in a long coat which hid your form and your gait from me. Then, too, I was kept secluded almost as closely as Arnauld du Thill and yourself, and I hardly saw either of you except before the court, always separately and at a considerable distance. In the face of that terrifying resemblance, what means had I of determining the truth? I made up my mind, almost haphazard, in favor of him whom I had called my husband just before. I implore you not to be angry with me for it. The judges to-day assure me that I was mistaken, and that they have abundant proofs of it. Thereupon I come to you, penitent and abashed, trusting only in your kind heart and the love of former days. Was I wrong to rely thus on your indulgence?" After this direct question, Bertrande made another pause; but the false Martin still remained dumb. Surely, in thus renouncing Arnauld du Thill Bertrande was adopting a curious method of softening his heart toward her; but she was acting in perfect good faith, and committed herself more and more irrevocably to that view which she believed to be the true one, in order to touch the heart of him whose forgiveness she supposed herself to be imploring. "As for myself," she resumed humbly, "you will find my disposition much altered. I am no longer the scornful, capricious, ill-tempered virago who made life such a burden to you. The cruel treatment which I have undergone at the hands of that wretched Arnauld, and which ought to have condemned him in my eyes, has had one good result, at least,--in bending and taming my spirit; and you may expect to find me in future as easily managed and obliging as you yourself are gentle and kind-hearted. For you will be gentle and kind with me as you used to be, will you not? You are going to prove that now by forgiving me; and then I shall know you by your good heart, as I know you already by your features." "So you do recognize me now, do you?" said Arnauld du Thill, at last. "Oh, yes! indeed, I do," replied Bertrande; "but I blame myself for having waited for the judgment and decree of the court."