A PROOF?
Monsieur Dalize took his friend Roger by the arm, and they walked
together down one of the solitary pathways of the park. When they were
some distance off from Madame Dalize and the children, Monsieur Dalize
stopped, looked his friend squarely in the eyes, and said, in a
faltering tone,--
"Then you still think it? You have retained that foolish idea? You think
that Paul----?"
"Yes," interrupted Monsieur Roger, in a firm voice, and without
avoiding the eyes of his friend, "I think it, and more than that."
Then, lowering his head, in a softened tone, but without hesitation, he
said, "I think that Paul is my son."
Monsieur Dalize looked at his friend with a feeling of real pity.
"Your son?" he said. "You think that Paul is your son? And on what do
you found this improbable, this impossible belief? Upon a likeness which
your sorrowful spirit persists in tracing. Truly, my dear Roger, you
grieve me. I thought you had a firmer as well as a clearer head. To whom
could you confide such absurd ideas?"
"To you, in the first place, as I have already done," said Monsieur
Roger, gravely. "The resemblance which you doubt, and which, in fact,
seems impossible to prove, is not a resemblance which I see between Paul
and George, but between Paul and her who was his mother; of that I am
sure."
"You are sure?"
"Yes; and in speaking thus I am in possession of all my senses, as you
see. Now, would you like to know what further clue I have? Perhaps I
have one. I will tell it to you."
Here Monsieur Roger interrupted himself.
"No," said he: "you will laugh at me."
"Speak," said Monsieur Dalize. "I am sorry for you, and I shall not
laugh at your delusion. Speak. I will listen."
"Well," said Monsieur Roger, "this very morning, when you left the
room, the noise that you made troubled the sleep of Paul; a dream passed
through his brain, and I followed all its phases. I saw that Paul was
going over the terrible scene of the night before; I knew that by the
terror of his face and by the murmur of his lips. He evidently thought
himself exposed to danger; then it seemed as if he heard something, as
if he knew that help was at hand. He made a movement, as if to extend
his hands, and from his mouth came this word, 'Papa.'"
Monsieur Roger looked at his friend, who remained silent.
"You have not understood?" he said.
Monsieur Dalize shook his head.
"Ah, but I understood," continued Monsieur Roger; "I am certain that I
understood. In his dream Paul--no, no, not Paul, but George, my little
George--had heard himself called as ten years ago he had been called at
the time of the shipwreck, during the fire on shipboard, and he was
answering to that call; and it was to no stranger that he was answering;
it was not to Monsieur Roger; no, it was to his father: it was to me."
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."
"Where can it be?"
"At the Lyceum, in the dockets of the registrar."
"Well, my friend, my dear friend, I must see it. You understand?"
"Yes, I understand. You wish to have under your own eyes the proof of
your mistake. You shall have it. As the guardian of Paul Solange, I will
write the registrar to send me a copy of that birth-register. Are you
satisfied?"
"Yes."
"And now, I ask you to be calm, to keep cool."
"Oh, don't be uneasy about me," answered Monsieur Roger.
Then the two friends rejoined the group which they had left.
Miette rose when she saw Monsieur Roger.
"Ah!" she cried, "Monsieur Roger is going to tell us that."
"That? What?" asked Monsieur Dalize.
"Why, what asphyxia is," answered Miette.
"Ah, my friend," said Monsieur Dalize, turning to Roger, "I will leave
the word to you."
"Very well," answered Monsieur Roger. "Asphyxia is,--it is----"
And as Monsieur Roger was seeking for some easy words in which to
explain himself, Miette cried out, with a laugh,--
"Perhaps you don't know yourself,--you who know everything?"
"Yes, I know it," answered Monsieur Roger, with a smile; "but, in order
to tell you, I must first explain to you what is the formation of the
blood, and tell you something of oxygen and carbonic acid, and----"
"Well, tell us," cried Miette, "if you think it will interest us.--It
will, won't it, Paul?"
Paul bent his head.
Monsieur Roger saw this gesture, and replied,--
"Well, then, I am going to tell you."
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