death, and Martin Guerre bestowed the most tender care upon her. She was
greatly moved thereby, having one of those impressionable minds which
recognise kindness fully as much as injury. When she was a little
recovered and her mental power began to return, she had only a vague
recollection of what had occurred, and thought she had had a frightful
dream. She asked if Pierre Guerre had been to see her, and found he had
not been near the house. This could only be explained by the scene which
had taken place, and she then recollected all the accusation Pierre had
made, her own observations which had confirmed it, all her grief and
trouble. She inquired about the village news. Pierre, evidently, had
kept silence why? Had he seen that his suspicions were unjust, or was he
only seeking further evidence? She sank back into her cruel uncertainty,
and resolved to watch Martin closely, before deciding as to his guilt or
innocence.

How was she to suppose that God had created two faces so exactly alike,
two beings precisely similar, and then sent them together into the world,
and on the same track, merely to compass the ruin of an unhappy woman! A
terrible idea took possession of her mind, an idea not uncommon in an age
of superstition, namely, that the Enemy himself could assume human form,
and could borrow the semblance of a dead man in order to capture another
soul for his infernal kingdom. Acting on this idea, she hastened to the
church, paid for masses to be said, and prayed fervently. She expected
every day to see the demon forsake the body he had animated, but her
vows, offerings, and prayers had no result. But Heaven sent her an idea
which she wondered had not occurred to her sooner. "If the Tempter,"
she said to herself, "has taken the form of my beloved husband, his power
being supreme for evil, the resemblance would be exact, and no
difference, however slight, would exist. If, however, it is only another
man who resembles him, God must have made them with some slight