Mascarin interrupted his associate.

“Paul is the son of the Duke de Champdoce,” said he decisively.

What was the meaning of this?  Catenac felt that he was being played with, and grew angry.

“As you please; but you will, I presume, permit me to convince myself of the truth of this assertion.”

Then, advancing towards Paul, the lawyer said,—­

“Have the goodness to remove your coat.”

Paul took it off, and threw it upon the back of a chair.

“Now,” added Catenac, “roll up your right shirt sleeve to the shoulder.”

Scarcely had the young man obeyed, and the lawyer cast a rapid glance at the bare flesh, than he turned to his associates and observed,—­

“No, he is not the right man.”

To his extreme surprise, Mascarin and Hortebise burst into a fit of unrestrained laughter.

“No,” pursued the lawyer, “this is not the child who was sent to the Hospital of Vendome, and the Duke will recognize this better than I can.  You laugh, but it is because you do not know all.”

“Enough,” returned Mascarin, and then, turning to the doctor, he remarked, “Tell him, my friends, that we know more than he thinks.”

“And so,” said Hortebise, taking Paul’s hand, “you are certain that this is not the lost child because he has not certain marks about him; but these will be seen upon the day on which Paul is introduced to the Duke, and legibly enough to satisfy the most unbelieving.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let me explain in my own way.  If in early childhood Paul had been scalded on his shoulder by boiling water, he would have a scar whose appearance would denote its origin?”

Catenac nodded, “You are quite accurate,” said he.

“Well, then listen.  Paul is coming home with me.  I shall take him into my consulting-room; he will lie on a couch.  I shall give him chloroform, for I do not wish him to suffer any pain.  Mascarin will help me.  Then I shall apply, on the proper part, a piece of flannel steeped in a certain liquid which is an invention of my own.  I am not a fool, as you may have discovered before this; and in a drawer at home is a piece of flannel cut so as exactly to resemble the irregular outline of a scar of the kind you describe, and a few little bits here and there will do the rest of the work artistically.  When the liquid has effected its work, which will be in ten minutes, I shall remove it, and apply an ointment, another invention of my own, to the wound; then I shall restore Paul to his senses, and go to dinner.”

Mascarin rubbed his hands with delight.

“But you forget that a certain space of time is required to give a scar the appearance of not having been recent,” objected Catenac.

“Let me speak,” broke in the doctor.  “If we only needed time—­six months, say, or a year—­we should postpone our concluding act until then; but I, Hortebise, assure you that in two months, thanks to another discovery of my own—­will show you a scar that will pass muster, not perhaps before a fellow-practitioner, but certainly before the Duke.”