Terrified almost out of her mind, Rose allowed him to lead her away.

Bertrande had just finished her evening prayer, and was preparing for
bed, when she was startled by several knocks at her door. Thinking that
perhaps some neighbour was in need of help, she opened it immediately,
and to her astonishment beheld a dishevelled woman whom Pierre grasped by
the arm. He exclaimed vehemently--

"Here is thy judge! Now, confess all to Bertrande!"

Bertrande did not at once recognise the woman, who fell at her feet,
overcome by Pierre's threats.

"Tell the truth here," he continued, "or I go and tell it to your
husband, at your own home!"--"Ah! madame, kill me," said the unhappy
creature, hiding her face; "let me rather die by your hand than his!"

Bertrande, bewildered, did not understand the position in the least, but
she recognised Rose--

"But what is the matter, madame? Why are you here at this hour, pale and
weeping? Why has my uncle dragged you hither? I am to judge you, does
he say? Of what crime are you guilty?"

"Martin might answer that, if he were here," remarked Pierre.

A lightning flash of jealousy shot through Bertrande's soul at these
words, all her former suspicions revived.