"Gentlemen," he said, "my wife is a jealous woman! Ten years ago, when I
left her, she had formed these suspicions; they were the cause of my
voluntary exile. To-day she again accuses me of, guilty relations with
the same person; I neither deny nor acknowledge them, but I affirm that
it is the blind passion of jealousy which, aided by my uncle's
suggestions, guided my wife's hand when she signed this denunciation."

Bertrande remained silent.

"Do you dare," he continued, turning towards her,--"do you dare to swear
before God that jealousy did not inspire you with the wish to ruin me?"

"And you," she replied, "dare you swear that I was deceived in my
suspicions?"

"You see, gentlemen," exclaimed the prisoner triumphantly, "her jealousy
breaks forth before your eyes. Whether I am, or am not, guilty of the
sin she attributes to me, is not the question for you to decide. Can you
conscientiously admit the testimony of a woman who, after publicly
acknowledging me, after receiving me in her house, after living two years
in perfect amity with me, has, in a fit of angry vengeance, thought she
could give the lie to all her wards and actions? Ah! Bertrande," he
continued, "if it only concerned my life I think I could forgive a
madness of which your love is both the cause and the excuse, but you are
a mother, think of that! My punishment will recoil on the head of my
daughter, who is unhappy enough to have been born since our reunion, and
also on our unborn child, which you condemn beforehand to curse the union
which gave it being. Think of this, Bertrande, you will have to answer
before God for what you are now doing!"