"Pierre, you are killing me; your words are torture. No more mystery, I
entreat. What do you know? What do you suspect? Tell me plainly at
once."

"Have you courage to hear it?"

"I must," said the trembling woman.

"God is my witness that I would willingly have kept it from you, but you
must know; if only for the safety of your soul entangled in so deadly a
snare,... there is yet time, if you follow my advice. Listen: the man
with whom you are living, who dares to call himself Martin Guerre, is a
cheat, an impostor----"

"How dare you say so?"

"Because I have discovered it. Yes, I had always a vague suspicion, an
uneasy feeling, and in spite of the marvellous resemblance I could never
feel as if he were really my sister's child. The day he raised his hand
to strike me--yes, that day I condemned him utterly.... Chance has
justified me! A wandering Spaniard, an old soldier, who spent a night in
the village here, was also present at the battle of St. Quentin, and saw
Martin Guerre receive a terrible gunshot wound in the leg. After the
battle, being wounded, he betook himself to the neighbouring village, and
distinctly heard a surgeon in the next room say that a wounded man must
have his leg amputated, and would very likely not survive the operation.
The door opened, he saw the sufferer, and knew him for Martin Guerre. So
much the Spaniard told me. Acting on this information, I went on
pretence of business to the village he named, I questioned the
inhabitants, and this is what I learned."