you like with him, only rid me of his presence,” she implored.
Less than a week later armed men from Rieux arrived at the farm and arrested the master of the house. They brought him in irons from the field to the kitchen for a final identification by Bertrande. His own men followed after, angry and sullen. Standing beside the master’s chair, before the hearth, Bertrande identified him as the man who had claimed, but falsely, to be her husband.
“I accuse him,” she said clearly, “of being an impostor and not the true Martin Guerre.”
It was the first time since the birth of the child that she had left her room. Uncle Pierre stood beside her. It was evident that the men from Rieux had been expected.
Sanxi, seeing his father in chains, burst into a passion of weeping, flung himself, first upon his father, and then, kicking and scratching, upon the two guardsmen.
“Madame,” said his father quietly, above the turmoil thus raised, “is it indeed you who do this to me?”
Bertrande bowed her head, and turned her back upon him.
The man sighed, and nodded, as if to himself. Then, turning to the housekeeper, he asked that the youngest child be brought. The old woman, all in tears, held up the little one to his father to be kissed. The people of the farm crowded about, and the priest, entering in haste, cried to the men-at-arms:
“This is folly—you do not know what you are doing!” He stretched out his hands and would have prevented their departure.
“Let be,” said the prisoner, still quietly. “It is not the fault of the men. They must do as they have been commanded.” And then, addressing his people, he said: “Good-by, my children. God willing, I shall return to you safely.”
“It is a mistake,” said the priest again to the guardsmen. “You do not understand that the woman is mad.”
But the guard moved forward, with the prisoner between them, through the wide doorway into the courtyard of the farm. The housekeeper, Sanxi and the other servants followed closely behind them. There was some delay in the courtyard as a horse was brought for the prisoner. Bertrande, who had continued to stand with her back to the room, her eyes upon the hearth, turned now and looked about her. She was entirely alone. In the courtyard the servants shouted their last farewells. She heard Sanxi’s voice.
“Good-by, my father, my dear father!”
II. Rieux
The accusation had been made at Rieux, since Artigues was too small a place to boast a court, and thither Bertrande went with her uncle, Pierre, and the servants who were to be called as witnesses. She stayed in the house of her mother’s sister, occupying the same room which she had been given on her earlier visit, and in which the sun had always seemed to shine through western windows in the morning. But this time the sun shone from the east, as it should do, and Bertrande marveled that she had ever felt confused about the direction. In the same fashion she marveled that she should have permitted herself to be deceived concerning the identity of the man who had called himself her husband. Her present belief was inescapable and plain, and yet she found herself alone in it, alone, that is, save for the support of honest Pierre. She left in Artigues a house in which the very servants looked at her askance. Of Martin’s four sisters, two had not hesitated to declare that they thought her malicious. They said openly, so that the report returned to her:
“For years during Martin’s absence she was sole mistress of the farm. Now she cannot bear to be put back into her proper place. She has a greed of authority, and of money. She was severe to us before we married, severe and miserly. This is all a plan to destroy Martin and possess the farm.”
The other sisters, particularly the youngest, defended her. She had done no more in the management of the estate and of the family than their mother would have required her to do, and her strange fancy that Martin was not her husband had arisen from the grief of the long separation. They were sure that she was insane. The charity and the coldness were alike difficult for Bertrande; and at Rieux, even her aunt supported the claim of the impostor.
“My poor child,” she said to Bertrande, “your years of suffering have told on your brain in a strange way. Why, I have known the boy all his life! Of course I shall testify in his favor, if I am asked, and when the courts have decided that he is really your husband, perhaps you will have some peace, although it’s all a great pother to go through with in order to convince a wife of what she ought to know without help.”
At the first session of the court the crime was formally charged to the prisoner of misrepresentation and theft. Bertrande then demanded through Pierre Guerre, and in fact only because of the uncle’s insistence, that the prisoner be made to do penance publicly, that he pay a fine to the king, and that he pay to herself the sum of ten thousand livres. She was then asked to state her reasons for the accusation.
“My lords,” she began, “there is the testimony of the soldier from Rochefort.”
She was interrupted.
“We ask you for your testimony only,” they reminded her.
She bent her head, and after a moment, told them just what she had told the priest. Upon being questioned further, she added:
“I also found it curious, upon remarking the prisoner at sword practice with my son, that Martin Guerre should fence so awkwardly; he was known to be distinguished in the art.”
The prisoner smiled, and shrugged his shoulder slightly. A brief smile also flitted across the face of one of the judges, and Bertrande, seeing it, exclaimed:
“You may smile, my lord, and my testimony may seem innocent to you and of small importance, but I swear by God and all His holy angels that this man is not my husband. Of that I am certain, though I should die for it.”
“Well, we shall inquire, Madame, we shall inquire,” said the justice, and called for the accused to be examined.
The prisoner stepped forward with an easy manner, as if he stood before his own hearth. He explained that during his absence he had served the King of Spain, that he had traveled extensively both through Spain and France, and that he had not known until he came to Rieux, some three years earlier, that his parents were dead; that upon learning that he was head of the house, he had made all haste to return to his wife and child, and had endeavored in every way to make up for his past neglect. He furnished the names and addresses of people who could verify the story of his wanderings. He told of his return to Artigues, of how Pierre Guerre, his uncle, had been the first person in the village to recognize and welcome him, and averred that Pierre had been to him in all things friendly until he, Martin, had found reason to question Pierre about the disposition of a certain sum of money which he had left in the care of his uncle. Since that time, he said, his uncle had sought to destroy him. He even hinted in conclusion that an attempt had been made upon his life.
The judges then asked him a great number of questions regarding the history of his family, the date of his own wedding, the date of birth of Sanxi, to all of which he answered without hesitation.
“Madame,” said the judges to Bertrande, “you have heard these answers. Are they correct?”
“They are all correct, my lords,” said Bertrande, “but still the man is not my husband.”
The judges conferred together and presently announced that the case would be dismissed for a short time while an examination should be made into the characters of the accusers.
