"What?" The duke looked from the prince to the man who had worn the locket. Certainly there wasn't any sign of likeness. But when he looked at the portrait on the wall and then at Max doubt grew in his eyes. They were somewhat alike. He plucked nervously at his beard.
"Prince," said Max, "before Heaven I believe that I may be … your son!
"My son!"
By this time they were all tremendously excited and agitated and white; all save the princess, who was gazing at Max with sudden gladness in her eyes, while over her cheeks there stole the phantom of a rose. If it were true!
"Let me tell you my story," said Max. (It is not necessary for me to repeat it.)
The prince turned helplessly toward the duke, but the duke was equally dazed.
"But we can't accept just a story as proof," the duke said. "It isn't as if he were one of the people. It wouldn't matter then. But it's a future prince. Let us go slow."
"Yes, let us go slow," repeated the prince, brushing his damp forehead.
"Wait a moment!" said Colonel Arnheim, stepping forward. "Only one thing will prove his identity to me; not all the papers in the world can do it."
"What do you know?" cried the prince, bewildered.