The jailer of the night before reappeared, introducing the Comte de Montgommery.
"The devil! now the crisis is at hand!" said Arnauld du Thill to himself. "I must be on my guard."
He waited anxiously for Gabriel's first word when he should look at him.
"Good-morning, my poor Martin-Guerre," Gabriel began.
Arnauld breathed again. The Comte de Montgommery had looked him straight in the face as he called him by name. The misunderstanding began again, and Arnauld was saved!
"Good-morning, my dear, kind Master," he said to Gabriel, with an effusiveness of gratitude which was in truth not wholly feigned.
He had the assurance to add,—
"Is there anything new, Monseigneur?"
"The sentence will be pronounced this morning in all probability," Gabriel replied.
"At last! God be praised!" cried Arnauld. "I long for the end, I confess. There is no conceivable doubt now,—nothing more to fear, is there, Monseigneur? The right will surely triumph?"