Monsieur Roger stopped, seeking some other proof which he might furnish to Monsieur Dalize.
The latter was plunged in thought; his friend's faith commenced to shake his doubt. He certainly did not share Roger's idea, but he was saying to himself that perhaps this idea was not so impossible as it would seem at first sight.
Roger continued, hesitating from the moment he had to pronounce the name of Paul Solange:
"You remember exactly the story that Paul told. Were you not struck with it? Did not Paul acknowledge that in his torpor, in his semi-asphyxia, he had called for help, called to his assistance some unknown force which would shake and awake his dazed and half-paralyzed will? And did not this help come, this sudden force, when he felt himself called? Now, how many times I had cried out 'Paul' without waking the child! Paul was not his name; he did not hear it. I had to shout to him, making use of his own name, his real name. I cried out, 'George!' and George heard and understood me. George was saved."
Monsieur Dalize listened attentively: he was following up a train of reasoning. At the end of some moments he answered Monsieur Roger, who was awaiting with impatience the result of his thoughts.
"Alas, my poor friend! in spite of all my reason tells me, I should like to leave to you your hope, but it is impossible. I have seen Paul's father; I know him; I have spoken to him, I have touched him; that father is not a shadow,—he exists in flesh and blood. You have heard Paul himself speak of him. In a few months he will come to Paris; you will see him; and then you will be convinced."
"But have you seen the birth-register of Paul Solange?" asked Monsieur Roger.
"Have I seen it? I may have done so, but I don't remember just now."
"But that register must have been made; it must be in France, in the hands of some one."
"Certainly."