“Stop! stop!” interposed one of the old officers, coming forward. “Give him time. This may be a case of strange accidental resemblance, which would be enough, under the circumstances, to discompose any man. You will excuse me, citizen,” he continued, turning to Trudaine; “but you are a stranger. You have given us no proof of your identity.” “There is the proof,” said Trudaine, pointing to Danville’s face. “Yes, yes,” pursued the other; “he looks pale and startled enough, certainly. But I say again, let us not be too hasty; there are strange cases on record of accidental resemblances, and this may be one of them!” As he repeated those words, Danville looked at him with a faint, cringing gratitude, stealing slowly over the blank terror of his face. He bowed his head, murmured something, and gesticulated confusedly with the hand that he was free to use. “Look!” cried the old officer; “look, Berthelin; he denies the man’s identity.” “Do you hear that?” said the general, appealing to Trudaine. “Have you proofs to confute him? If you have, produce them instantly.” Before the answer could be given the door leading into the drawing-room from the staircase was violently flung open, and Madame Danville--her hair in disorder, her face in its colorless terror looking like the very counterpart of her son’s--appeared on the threshold, with the old man Dubois and a group of amazed and startled servants behind her. “For God’s sake, don’t sign! for God’s sake, come away!” she cried. “I have seen your wife--in the spirit, or in the flesh, I know not which--but I have seen her. Charles! Charles! as true as Heaven is above us, I have seen your wife!” “You have seen her in the flesh, living and breathing as you see her brother yonder,” said a firm, quiet voice, from among the servants on the landing outside. “Let that man enter, whoever he is!” cried the general. Lomaque passed Madame Danville on the threshold. She trembled as he brushed by her; then, supporting herself by the wall, followed him a few paces into the room. She looked first at her son--after that, at Trudaine--after that back again at her son. Something in her presence silenced every one. There fell a sudden stillness over all the assembly--a stillness so deep that the eager, frightened whispering, and sharp rustling of dresses among the women in the library, became audible from the other side of the closed door.