In Search Of A Son Part 22

Paul Solange did not answer. This question had suddenly set him to thinking. No, he had not heard himself called thus. But how had he been called?

Seeing that Paul was silent, Albert answered his little sister's question:

"Certainly," said he, "he called Paul by his name."

Then he interrupted himself, and, remembering all of a sudden:

"No," cried he; "Monsieur Roger called out another name."

"What other name?" asked Monsieur Dalize, much surprised.

"He cried out, 'George! George!'"

Monsieur Dalize turned his head towards Roger and saw the eyes of his friend fixed upon his own. He understood at once. Poor Roger was still a slave to the same thought, the same illusion.

Madame Dalize and Miette, who were acquainted with the sorrows of Monsieur Roger, imagined that in this moment of trouble he had in spite of himself called up the image of his child. Paul, very gravely, was dreamily saying to himself that the name of George was the name which he had heard, and that it was to the sound of this name that he had answered, and he was asking himself the mysterious reason for such a fact.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XXIII.

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 pa.s.sed 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 s.h.i.+pwreck, during the fire on s.h.i.+pboard, 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 p.r.o.nounce 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 a.s.sistance 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.