ved. He mentioned also an Augustinian monk who had taught him to
read, and another reverend father, a Capuchin, whose irregular conduct
had caused much scandal in the neighbourhood. In short, notwithstanding
his prolonged absence, he seemed to have a perfect recollection of
places, persons, and things. The good people overwhelmed him with
congratulations, vying with one another in praising him for having the
good sense to come home, and in describing the grief and the perfect
virtue of his Bertrande. Emotion was excited, many wept, and several
bottles from Martin Guerre's cellar were emptied. At length the assembly
dispersed, uttering many exclamations about the extraordinary chances of
Fate, and retired to their own homes, excited, astonished, and gratified,
with the one exception of old Pierre Guerre, who had been struck by an
unsatisfactory remark made by his nephew, and who dreamed all night about
the chances of pecuniary loss augured by the latter's return.

It was midnight before the husband and wife were alone and able to give
vent to their feelings. Bertrande still felt half stupefied; she could
not believe her own eyes and ears, nor realise that she saw again in her
marriage chamber her husband of eight years ago, him for whom she had
wept; whose death she had deplored only a few hours previously. In the
sudden shock caused by so much joy succeeding so much grief, she had not
been able to express what she felt; her confused ideas were difficult to
explain, and she seemed deprived of the powers of speech and reflection.
When she became calmer and more capable of analysing her feelings, she
was astonished not to feel towards her husband the same affection which
had moved her so strongly a few hours before. It was certainly himself,
those were the same features, that was the man to whom she had willingly
given her hand, her heart, herself, and yet now that she saw him again a
cold barrier of shyness, of modesty, seemed to have risen between them.
His first kiss, even, had not made her happy: she blushed and felt
saddened--a curious result of the long absence! She could not define the
changes wrought by years in his appearance: his countenance seemed
harsher, yet the lines of his face, his outer man, his whole personality,
did not seem altered, but his soul had changed its nature, a different
mind looked forth from those eyes. Bertrande knew him for her husband,
and yet she hesitated. Even so Penelope, on th