"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.
"No! no pity for him!" cried the stern burgher. "But I owe an apology to his master, Monsieur d'Exmès; frankly, I must admit that."
"I told you so. Pierre," rejoined Jean.