“I have no others,” answered the prisoner.

“Then what do you say to this man?” said the judge, opening a door.

An old man issued forth, who fell on the prisoner’s neck, exclaiming, “My nephew!”

Martin trembled in every limb, but only for a moment.  Promptly recovering himself, and gazing calmly at the newcomer, he asked coolly—­

“And who may you be?”

“What!” said the old man, “do you not know me?  Dare you deny me?—­me, your mother’s brother, Carbon Barreau, the old soldier!  Me, who dandled you on my knee in your infancy; me, who taught you later to carry a musket; me, who met you during the war at an inn in Picardy, when you fled secretly.  Since then I have sought you everywhere; I have spoken of you, and described your face and person, until a worthy inhabitant of this country offered to bring me hither, where indeed I did not expect to find my sister’s son imprisoned and fettered as a malefactor.  What is his crime, may it please your honour?”

“You shall hear,” replied the magistrate.  “Then you identify the prisoner as your nephew?  You affirm his name to be—–?”

“Arnauld du Thill, also called ‘Pansette,’ after his father, Jacques Pansa.  His mother was Therese Barreau, my sister, and he was born in the village of Sagias.”

“What have you to say?” demanded the judge, turning to the accused.

“Three things,” replied the latter, unabashed, “this man is either mad, or he has been suborned to tell lies, or he is simply mistaken.”

The old man was struck dumb with astonishment.  But his supposed nephew’s start of terror had not been lost upon the judge, also much impressed by the straightforward frankness of Carbon Barreau.  He caused fresh investigations to be made, and other inhabitants of Sagias were summoned to Rieux, who one and all agreed in identifying the accused as the same Arnauld du Thill who had been born and had grown up under their very eyes.  Several deposed that as he grew up he had taken to evil courses, and become an adept in theft and lying, not fearing even to take the sacred name of God in vain, in order to cover the untruth of his daring assertions.  From such testimony the judge naturally concluded that Arnauld du Thill was quite capable of carrying on, an imposture, and that the impudence which he displayed was natural to his character.  Moreover, he noted that the prisoner, who averred that he was born in Biscay, knew only a few words of the Basque language, and used these quite wrongly.  He heard later another witness who deposed that the original Martin Guerre was a good wrestler and skilled in the art of fence, whereas the prisoner, having wished to try what he could do, showed no skill whatever.  Finally, a shoemaker was interrogated, and his evidence was not the least damning.  Martin Guerre, he declared, required twelve holes to lace his boots, and his surprise had been great when he found those of the prisoner had