“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.