k, merely to compass the ruin of an unhappy woman! A
terrible idea took possession of her mind, an idea not uncommon in an age
of superstition, namely, that the Enemy himself could assume human form,
and could borrow the semblance of a dead man in order to capture another
soul for his infernal kingdom. Acting on this idea, she hastened to the
church, paid for masses to be said, and prayed fervently. She expected
every day to see the demon forsake the body he had animated, but her
vows, offerings, and prayers had no result. But Heaven sent her an idea
which she wondered had not occurred to her sooner. "If the Tempter,"
she said to herself, "has taken the form of my beloved husband, his power
being supreme for evil, the resemblance would be exact, and no
difference, however slight, would exist. If, however, it is only another
man who resembles him, God must have made them with some slight
distinguishing marks."

She then remembered, what she had not thought of before, having been
quite unsuspicious before her uncle's accusation, and nearly out of her
mind between mental and bodily suffering since. She remembered that on
her husband's left shoulder, almost on the neck, there used to be one of
those small, almost imperceptible, but ineffaceable birthmarks. Martin
wore his hair very long, it was difficult to see if the mark were there
or not. One night, while he slept, Bertrande cut away a lock of hair
from the place where this sign ought to be--it was not there!

Convinced at length of the deception, Bertrande suffered inexpressible
anguish. This man whom she had loved and respected for two whole years,
whom she had taken to her heart as a husband bitterly mourned for--this
man was a cheat, an infamous impostor, and she, all unknowing, was yet a
guilty woman! Her child was illegitimate, and the curse of Heaven was
due to this sacrilegious union. To complete the misfortune, she was
already expecting another infant. She would have killed herself, but her
religion and the love of her children forbade it. Kneeling before her
child's cradle, she entreated pardon from the father of the one for the
father of the other. She would not bring herself to proclaim aloud their
infamy.

"Oh!" she said, "thou whom I loved, thou who art no more, thou knowest no
guilty thought ever entered my mind! When I saw this man, I thought I
beheld thee; when I was happy, I thought I owed it to thee; it was thee
whom I loved in him. S