"Yes," he continued, "I have read and -re-read them....See, you spoke then of your love and the sorrows of absence.But why all this trouble and terror? You tremble, just as you did when I first received you from your father's hands....It was here, in this very room....You begged me then to leave you, to let you spend the night in prayer; but I insisted, do you remember? and pressed you to my heart, as I do now.""Oh," she murmured weakly, "have pity!"
But the words were intercepted by a kiss, and the remembrance of the past, the happiness of the present, resumed their sway; the imaginary terrors were forgotten, and the curtains closed around the marriage-bed.
The next day was a festival in the village of Artigues.Martin returned the visits of all who had come to welcome him the previous night, and there were endless recognitions and embracings.The young men remembered that he had played with them when they were little;the old men, that they had been at his wedding when he was only twelve.
The women remembered having envied Bertrande, especially the pretty Rose, daughter of Marcel, the apothecary, she who had roused the demon of jealousy in, the poor wife's heart.And Rose knew quite well that the jealousy was not without some cause; for Martin had indeed shown her attention, and she was unable to see him again without emotion.She was now the wife of a rich peasant, ugly, old, and jealous, and she compared, sighing, her unhappy lot with that of her more fortunate neighbour.Martin's sisters detained him amongst them, and spoke of their childish games and of their parents, both dead in Biscay.Martin dried the tears which flowed at these recollections of the past, and turned their thoughts to rejoicing.
Banquets were given and received.Martin invited all his relations and former friends; an easy gaiety prevailed.It was remarked that the hero of the feast refrained from wine; he was thereupon reproached, but answered that on account of the wounds he had received he was obliged to avoid excess.The excuse was admitted, the result of Martin's precautions being that he kept a clear head on his shoulders, while all the rest had their tongues loosed by drunkenness.
"Ah!" exclaimed one of the guests, who had studied a little medicine, "Martin is quite right to be afraid of drink.Wounds which have thoroughly healed may be reopened and inflamed by intemperance, and wine in the case of recent wounds is deadly poison.Men have died on the field of battle in an hour or two merely because they had swallowed a little brandy."Martin Guerre grew pale, and began a conversation with the pretty Rose, his neighbour.Bertrande observed this, but without uneasiness; she had suffered too much from her former suspicions, besides her husband showed her so much affection that she was now quite happy.
When the first few days were over, Martin began to look into his affairs.His property had suffered by his long absence, and he was obliged to go to Biscay to claim his little estate there, the law having already laid hands upon it.It was several months before, by dint of making judicious sacrifices, he could regain possession of the house and fields which had belonged to his father.This at last accomplished, he returned to Artigues, in order to resume the management of his wife's property, and with this end in view, about eleven months after his return, he paid a visit to his uncle Pierre.
Pierre was expecting him; he was extremely polite, desired Martin , to sit down, overwhelmed him with compliments, knitting his brows as he discovered that his nephew decidedly meant business.Martin broke silence.
"Uncle," he said, "I come to thank you for the care you have taken of my wife's property; she could never have managed it alone.You have received the income in the family interest: as a good guardian, Iexpected no less from your affection.But now that I have returned, and am free from other cares, we will go over the accounts, if you please."His uncle coughed and cleared his voice before replying, then said slowly, as if counting his words--"It is all accounted for, my dear nephew; Heaven be praised! I don't owe you anything.""What!" exclaimed the astonished Martin, "but the whole income?""Was well and properly employed in the maintenance of your wife and child.""What! a thousand livres for that? And Bertrande lived alone, so quietly and simply! Nonsense! it is impossible.""Any surplus," resumed the old man, quite unmoved,--" any surplus went to pay the expenses of seed-time and harvest.""What! at a time when labour costs next to nothing?""Here is the account," said Pierre.
"Then the account is a false one," returned his nephew.
Pierre thought it advisable to appear extremely offended and angry, and Martin, exasperated at his evident dishonesty, took still higher ground, and threatened to bring an action against him.Pierre ordered him to leave the house, and suiting actions to words, took hold of his arm to enforce his departure.Martin, furious, turned and raised his fist to strike.
"What! strike your uncle, wretched boy!" exclaimed the old man.
Martin's hand dropped, but he left the house uttering reproaches and insults, among which Pierre distinguished--"Cheat that you are!"
"That is a word I shall remember," cried the angry old man, slamming his door violently.
Martin brought an action before the judge at Rieux, and in course of time obtained a decree, which, reviewing the accounts presented by Pierre, disallowed them, and condemned the dishonest guardian to pay his nephew four hundred livres for each year of his administration.
