Bertrande came and knelt beside her husband, regarding him attentively
with an uneasy smile, which did not appear to please him by any means.

"What is the matter?" said he. "Why do you examine me thus?"

"I do not know--forgive me, oh! forgive me! . . . But the happiness
of seeing you was so great and unexpected, it is all like a dream. I
must try to become accustomed to it; give me some time to collect myself;
let me spend this night in prayer. I ought to offer my joy and my
thanksgiving to Almighty God--"

"Not so," interrupted her husband, passing his arms round her neck and
stroking her beautiful hair. "No; 'tis to me that your first thoughts
are due. After so much weariness, my rest is in again beholding you, and
my happiness after so many trials will be found in your love. That hope
has supported me throughout, and I long to be assured that it is no
illusion." So saying, he endeavoured to raise her.

"Oh," she murmured, "I pray you leave me."

"What!" he exclaimed angrily. "Bertrande, is this your love? Is it thus
you keep faith with me? You will make me doubt the evidence of your
friends; you will make me think that indifference, or even another
love----"

"You insult me," said Bertrande, rising to her feet.

He caught her in his arms. "No, no; I think nothing which could wound
you, my queen, and I believe your fidelity, even as before, you know, on
that first journey, when you wrote me these loving letters which I have