one. She was sitting by the cradle of the lately-born infant, watching
for its awakening, when the door opened, and Pierre Guerre strode in.
Bertrande drew back with an instinct of terror as soon as she saw him,
for his expression was at once wicked and joyful--an expression of
gratified hate, of mingled rage and triumph, and his smile was terrible
to behold. She did not venture to speak, but motioned him to a seat. He
came straight up to her, and raising his head, said loudly--

"Kneel down at once, madame--kneel down, and ask pardon from Almighty
God!"

"Are you mad, Pierre?" she replied, gazing at him in astonishment.

"You, at least, ought to know that I am not."

"Pray for forgiveness--I--! and what for, in Heaven's name?"

"For the crime in which you are an accomplice."

"Please explain yourself."

"Oh!" said Pierre, with bitter irony, "a woman always thinks herself
innocent as long as her sin is hidden; she thinks the truth will never be
known, and her conscience goes quietly to sleep, forgetting her faults.
Here is a woman who thought her sins nicely concealed; chance favoured
her: an absent husband, probably no more; another man so exactly like him
in height, face, and manner that everyone else is deceived! Is it
strange that a weak, sensitive woman, wearied of widowhood, should
willingly allow herself to be imposed on?"