"What does this mean?" they whispered. "Martin-Guerre not Martin-Guerre? What diabolical sorcery is at the bottom of all this?"
Several of the good people crossed themselves, and repeated beneath their breath certain words designed to exorcise evil spirits. The majority began to look upon their host with something like terror.
Arnauld du Thill saw that it was time for him to strike some decisive blow to win back these timid and yielding creatures to his side; so turning to her whom he called his wife, he cried,—
"Bertrande, speak, I conjure you! Am I or am I not your husband?"
Poor Bertrande, terrified and gasping, thus far had simply, without uttering a word, watched first her husband and then Gabriel, with her great eyes open to their fullest extent.
But at Arnauld du Thill's imperious gesture and his threatening tone, she hesitated no longer, but threw herself into his arms with effusion.
"Dear Martin-Guerre!" she cried.
At these words the charm was broken, and the offensive murmurs were turned against Gabriel.
"Monsieur," said Arnauld du Thill, triumphantly, "in the face of my wife's testimony and that of all my friends and kinsmen, do you still persist in your strange accusation?"
"I do indeed," was Gabriel's reply.