only stated, but proved, my pretty youth," replied M.
Verduret. "You don't suppose I am a man to trust to verbal testimony; do
you?"

He drew from his pocket several officially stamped documents, with red
seals attached, and laid them on the table.

"These are declarations of the nurse, her husband, and four witnesses.
Here is an extract from the register of births; this is a certificate
of registry of his death; and all these are authenticated at the French
Embassy. Now are you satisfied, young man?"

"What next?" inquired M. Fauvel.

"The next step was this," replied M. Verduret. "Clameran, finding
that the child was dead, supposed that he could, in spite of this
disappointment, obtain money from Mme. Fauvel; he was mistaken. His
first attempt failed. Having an inventive turn of mind, he determined
that the child should come to life. Among his large circle of rascally
acquaintances, he selected a young fellow to impersonate Raoul-Valentin
Wilson; and the chosen one stands before you."

Mme. Fauvel was in a pitiable state. And yet she began to feel a ray of
hope; her acute anxiety had so long tortured her, that the truth was a
relief; she would thank Heaven if this wicked man was proved to be no
son of hers.

"Can this be possible?" she murmured, "can it be?"

"Impossible!" cried the banker: "an infamous plot like this could not be
executed in our midst!"

"All this is false!" said Raoul boldly. "It is a lie!"

M. Verduret turned to Raoul, and, bowing with ironical respect, said:

"Monsieur desires proofs, does he? Monsieur shall certainly have
convincing ones. I have just left a friend of mine, M. Palot, who
brought me valuable information from London. Now, my young gentleman,
I will tell you the little story he told me, and then you can give your
opinion of it.

"In 1847 Lord Murray, a wealthy and generous nobleman, had a jockey
named Spencer, of whom he was very fond. At the Epsom races, this jockey
was thrown from his horse, and killed. Lord Murray grieved over the
loss of his favorite, and, having no children of his own, declared his
intention of adopting Spencer's son, who was then but four years old.

"Thus James Spencer was brought up in affluence, as heir to the immense
wealth of the noble lord. He was a handsome, intelligent boy, and gave
satisfaction to his protector until he was sixteen years of age; when he
became intimate with a worthless set of people, and turned out badly.

"Lord Murray,