artin'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, I
expected 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 t