Hardin hears the words, as if each stabbed him to the heart.
"Your Honor, we are prepared to show that the last young lady who has taken the stand, is Miss Isabel Valois."
There is consternation in the assembly. Hardin's veins are knotted on his forehead. He stares blankly at the two girls. His eyes turn to Natalie de Santos. She is gazing as if the grave had given up its dead. Her cheeks whiten to ashes. PŠre Fran‡ois, Henry Peyton, and Armand Valois enter and seat themselves quietly by the side of the man who is speaking. What does this all mean? No one knows. The lawyer resumes.
"We will show your Honor, by the evidence of the priest who baptized her, and by the records of the church, that this young lady is the lawful and only child of Maxime Valois and Dolores Peralta. We have abundant proof to explain the seeming paradox. We are in a position to positively identify the young lady, and to dispose of the contest raised here to-day, as to the marriage of the parents of the real heiress."
Philip Hardin has sprung to his lawyers. They are amazed at the lovely apparition of another Isabel Valois. At the bidding of the Court, Louise Moreau's gentle face appears.
"And who is the other young lady, according to your theory?" falters the astounded judge, who cannot on the bench receive the support of his Mephistopheles.
"We will leave that to be proved, your Honor! We will prove OUR client to be Isabel Valois. We will prove the other lady not to be. It remains for the guardian, who produces her, to show who she may be." The lawyer quietly seats himself.
There is a deadlock. There is confusion in court. Side by side are seated two dark-eyed girls, in the flush of a peerless young womanhood. Lovely and yet unlike in facial lines, they are both daughters of the South. Their deep melting eyes are gazing, in timid wonder, at each other. They are strangers.
"What is the name of your witness?" the judge mechanically questions. The lawyer calmly answers, "Fran‡ois Ribaut (known in religion as 'Padre Francisco'), who married the father and mother of this young lady, and also baptized her."
A faint sob from Natalie breaks the silence. Her eyes are filled with sudden tears. She knows the truth at last. The priest has risen. Hardin looks once more upon that pale countenance of the padre which has haunted his dreams so long. "Is it one from the dead?" he murmurs. But, with quick wit, his lawyer demands to place on the witness stand, the lady charged with the nurture of "Isabel Valois." Philip Hardin gazes wolfishly at the royal beauty who is sworn. A breathless silence wraps the room.