Towards ten o'clock on the evening of a dark night, the door of a small house lying about half a gunshot from the village opened gently for the exit of a man wrapped in a large cloak, followed by a young woman, who accompanied him some distance.Arrived at the parting point, they separated with a tender kiss and a few murmured words of adieu; the lover took his horse, which was fastened to a tree, mounted, and rode off towards Rieux.When the sounds died away, the woman turned slowly and sadly towards her home, but as she approached the door a man suddenly turned the corner of the house and barred her away.Terrified, she was on the point of crying for help, when he seized her arm and ordered her to be silent.
"Rose," he whispered, "I know everything: that man is your lover.In order to receive him safely, you send your old husband to sleep by means of a drug stolen from your father's shop.This intrigue has been going on for a month; twice a week, at seven o'clock, your door is opened to this man, who does not proceed on his way to the town until ten.I know your lover: he is my nephew."Petrified with terror, Rose fell on her knees and implored mercy.
"Yes," replied Pierre, "you may well be frightened: I have your secret.I have only to publish it and you are ruined for ever:"You will not do it! "entreated the guilty woman, clasping her hands.
"I have only to tell your husband," continued Pierre, "that his wife has dishonoured him, and to explain the reason of his unnaturally heavy sleep.""He will kill me!"
"No doubt: he is jealous, he is an Italian, he will know how to avenge himself--even as I do.""But I never did you any harm," Rose cried in despair."Oh! have pity, have mercy, and spare me!""On one condition."
"What is it?"
"Come with me."
Terrified almost out of her mind, Rose allowed him to lead her away.
Bertrande had just finished her evening prayer, and was preparing for bed, when she was startled by several knocks at her door.Thinking that perhaps some neighbour was in need of help, she opened it immediately, and to her astonishment beheld a dishevelled woman whom Pierre grasped by the arm.He exclaimed vehemently--"Here is thy judge! Now, confess all to Bertrande!"Bertrande did not at once recognise the woman, who fell at her feet, overcome by Pierre's threats.
"Tell the truth here," he continued, "or I go and tell it to your husband, at your own home!" " Ah! madame, kill me," said the unhappy creature, hiding her face; "let me rather die by your hand than his!"Bertrande, bewildered, did not understand the position in the least, but she recognised Rose--"But what is the matter, madame? Why are you here at this hour, pale and weeping? Why has my uncle dragged you hither? I am to judge you, does he say? Of what crime are you guilty?""Martin might answer that, if he were here," remarked Pierre.
A lightning flash of jealousy shot through Bertrande's soul at these words, all her former suspicions revived.
"What!" she said, "my husband! What do you mean?""That he left this woman's house only a little while ago, that for a month they have been meeting secretly.You are betrayed: I have seen them and she does not dare to deny it.""Have mercy!" cried Rose, still kneeling.
The cry was a confession.Bertrande became pate as death."O God!"she murmured, "deceived, betrayed--and by him!""For a month past," repeated the old man.
"Oh! the wretch," she continued, with increasing passion; " then his whole life is a lie! He has abused my credulity, he now abuses my love! He does not know me! He thinks he can trample on me--me, in whose power are his fortune, his honour, his very life itself!"Then, turning to Rose--
"And you, miserable woman! by what unworthy artifice did you gain his love? Was it by witchcraft? or some poisonous philtre learned from your worthy father?""Alas! no, madame; my weakness is my only crime, and also my only excuse.I loved him, long ago, when I was only a young girl, and these memories have been my ruin.""Memories? What! did you also think you were loving the same man?
Are you also his dupe? Or are you only pretending, in order to find a rag of excuse to cover your wickedness?"It was now Rose who failed to understand; Bertrande continued, with growing excitement--"Yes, it was not enough to usurp the rights of a husband and father, he thought to play his part still better by deceiving the mistress also....Ah! it is amusing, is it not? You also, Rose, you thought he was your old lover! Well, I at least am excusable, I the wife, who only thought she was faithful to her husband!""What does it all mean?" asked the terrified Rose.
"It means that this man is an impostor and that I will unmask him.
Revenge! revenge!"
Pierre came forward."Bertrande," he said, "so long as I thought you were happy, when I feared to disturb your peace, I was silent, Irepressed my just indignation, and I spared the usurper of the name and rights of my nephew.Do you now give me leave to speak?""Yes," she replied in a hollow voice.
"You will not contradict me?"
By way of answer she sat down by the table and wrote a few hasty lines with a trembling hand, then gave them to Pierre, whose eyes sparkled with joy.
"Yes," he said, "vengeance for him, but for her pity.Let this humiliation be her only punishment.I promised silence in return for confession, will you grant it?"Bertrande assented with a contemptuous gesture.
"Go, fear not," said the old man, and Rose went out.Pierre also left the house.