"Well, for my part, I assert that you're making a mistake. I'm not at all of your opinion, mademoiselle."
Maître Delarue was one of those people who cling the more firmly to an opinion the longer they have been adopting it. The resurrection of the Marquis suddenly appeared to him a dogma he was bound to defend.
He repeated:
"Not at all of your opinion! You are piling up unfounded hypotheses. No: this man is not an impostor. There is evidence in his favor which you do not take into account."
"What evidence?" she asked.
"Well, his portrait! His indisputable resemblance to the portrait of the Marquis de Beaugreval, executed by Largillière!"
"Who tells you that this is the portrait of the Marquis, and not the portrait of the man himself? It's a very easy way of resembling any one."
"But this old frame? This canvas which dates from earlier days?"
"Let us admit that the frame remained. Let us admit that the old canvas, instead of having been changed, has simply been painted over in such a way as to represent the false Marquis here present."
"And the cut-off finger?" exclaimed Maître Delarue triumphantly.