Catenac might be a coward, he might also be a traitor but he was a clever and clear-sighted man too. Consequently Hortebise shivered as he heard these words, but Mascarin smiled disdainfully, basking in his dream of success. “Go on then,” said he. “Well, then, let me tell you that you will not overreach and deceive the Duke.” “And why not, pray?” asked Mascarin. “But are you sure that I wish to deceive him? You have not been open with me, why should I be frank with you? Am I in the habit of confiding in those who do not repose confidence in me? Does Perpignan for a moment suspect the part that he is to play? Why may I not have judged it best to keep from you the fact that Paul is really the child you are seeking?” Mascarin spoke so confidently that Catenac gazed upon him, hardly knowing to what conclusion to come, for his conscience was by no means clear. His intellect quickly dived into the depths of all probabilities, and yet he could not see in all these combinations any possible peril to himself. “I only hope,” said he, “that Paul is all that you represent him to be; but why all these precautions? Only, mark my words, the Duke has an infallible way of detecting, or rather of preventing, any attempt at imposition. It is ever thus, the most trivial circumstance will overset the best laid plans, and the inevitable destroy the combinations of the most astute intellect.” Mascarin interrupted his associate. “Paul is the son of the Duke de Champdoce,” said he decisively. What was the meaning of this? Catenac felt that he was being played with, and grew angry. “As you please; but you will, I presume, permit me to convince myself of the truth of this assertion.” Then, advancing towards Paul, the lawyer said,-- “Have the goodness to remove your coat.” Paul took it off, and threw it upon the back of a chair. “Now,” added Catenac, “roll up your right shirt sleeve to the shoulder.” Scarcely had the young man obeyed, and the lawyer cast a rapid glance at the bare flesh, than he turned to his associates and observed,-- “No, he is not the right man.” To his extreme surprise, Mascarin and Hortebise burst into a fit of unrestrained laughter. “No,” pursued the lawyer, “this is not the child who was sent to the Hospital of Vendome, and the Duke will recognize this better than I can. You laugh, but it is because you do not know all.” “Enough,” returned Mascarin, and then, turning to the doctor, he remarked, “Tell him, my friends, that we know more than he thinks.” “And so,” said Hortebise, taking Paul’s hand, “you are certain that this is not the lost child because he has not certain marks about him; but these will be seen upon the day on which Paul is introduced to the Duke, and legibly enough to satisfy the most unbelieving.” “What do you mean?” “Let me explain in my own way. If in early childhood Paul had been scalded on his shoulder by boiling water, he would have a scar whose appearance would denote its origin?”