leg. Being carried into a house a an adjoining village, he fell into the
hands of a surgeon, who insisted that the leg must be amputated
immediately, but who left him for a moment, and never returned. Then he
encountered a good old woman, who dressed his wound and nursed him night
and day. So that in a few weeks he recovered, and was able to set out
for Artigues, too thankful to return to his house and land, still more to
his wife and child, and fully resolved never to leave them again.

Having ended his story, he shook hands with his still wondering
neighbours, addressing by name some who had been very young when he left,
and who, hearing their names, came forward now as grown men, hardly
recognisable, but much pleased at being remembered. He returned his
sisters' carresses, begged his uncle's forgiveness for the trouble he had
given in his boyhood, recalling with mirth the various corrections
received. 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