e, and honored father," he coolly answered, "that
Balthazar hath right cleverly related a tale that hath been ingeniously
devised. That I am Bartolo, I repeat to thee, can be proved by a hundred
living tongues in Italy.--Thou best knowest who Bartolo Contini is, Doge
of Genoa.'

"He speaks the truth," returned the prince, dropping his head in
disappointment. "Oh! Melchior, I have had but too sure proofs of what he
intimates! I have long been certain that this wretched Bartolo is my son,
though never before have I been cursed with his presence. Bad as I was
taught to think him, my worst fears had not painted him as I now find the
truth would warrant."

"Has there not been some fraud--art thou not the dupe of some conspiracy
of which money has been the object?"

The Doge shook his head, in a way to prove that he could not possibly
flatter himself with such a hope.

"Never: my offers of money have always been rejected."

"Why should I take the gold of my father?" added Il Maledetto; "my own
skill and courage more than suffice for my wants."

The nature of the answer, and the composed demeanor of Maso, produced an
embarrassing pause.

"Let the two stand forth and be confronted," said the puzzled clavier at
length; "nature often reveals the truth when the uttermost powers of man
are at fault--if either is the true child of the prince, we should find
some resemblance to the father to support his claim."

The test, though of doubtful virtue, was eagerly adopted, for the truth
had now become so involved, as to excite a keen interest in all present.
The desire to explain the mystery was general, and the slightest means of
attaining such an end became of a value proportionate to the difficulty
of effecting the object. Sigismund and Maso were placed beneath the lamp,
where its light was strongest, and every eye turned eagerly to their
countenances, in order to discover, or to fancy it discovered, some of
those secret signs by which the mysterious affinities of nature are to be
traced. A more puzzling examination could not well have been essayed.
There was proof to give the victory to each of the pretenders, if such a
term may be used with propriety as it concerns the passive Sigismund, and
much to defeat the claims of the latter. In the olive-colored tint, the
dark, rich, rolling eye, and in stature, the advantage was altogether with
Maso, whose outline of countenance and penetrating expression had also a
resemblance to t