"I was found with it around my neck."
"Duke, what do you think?" asked the agitated prince.
"What do I think?"
"Yes. This was around my son's neck the day he was lost. If this
should be! . . . If it were possible!"
"What?" The duke looked from the prince to the man who had worn the
locket. Certainly there wasn't any sign of likeness. But when he
looked at the portrait on the wall and then at Max doubt grew in his
eyes. They were somewhat alike. He plucked nervously at his beard.
"Prince," said Max, "before Heaven I believe that I may be . . . your
son!
"My son!"
By this time they were all tremendously excited and agitated and white;
all save the princess, who was gazing at Max with sudden gladness in
her eyes, while over her cheeks there stole the phantom of a rose. If
it were true!
"Let me tell you my story," said Max. (It is not necessary for me to
repeat it.)
The prince turned helplessly toward the duke, but the duke was equally
dazed.
"But we can't accept just a story as proof," the duke said. "It isn't
as if he were one of the people. It wouldn't matter then. But it's a
future prince. Let us go slow."
"Yes, let us go slow," repeated the prince, brushing his damp forehead.
"Wait a moment!" said Colonel Arnheim, stepping forward. "Only one
thing will prove his identity to me; not all the papers in the world
can do it."
"What do you know?" cried the prince, bewildered.
"Something I have not dared tell till this moment,"--miserably.
"Curse it, you are keeping us waiting!" The duke kicked about the
shattered bits of porcelain.
"I used to play with the--the young prince," began Arnheim. "Your
Highness will recollect that I did." Arnheim went over to Max. "Take
off your coat." Max did so, wondering. "Roll up your sleeve." Again
Max obeyed, and his wonder grew. "See!" cried the colonel in a high,
unnatural voice, due to his unusual excitement. "Oh, there can be no
doubt! It is your son!"
The duke and the prince bumped against each other in their mad rush to
inspect Max's arm. Arnheim's finger rested upon the peculiar scar I
have mentioned.
"Lord help us, it's your wine-case brand!" gasped the duke.
"My wine case!" The prince was almost on the verge of tears.
The girl sat perfectly quiet.
"Explain, explain!" said Max.
"Yes, yes! How did this come?--put there?" spluttered the prince.
"Your Highness, we--your son--we were playing in the wine-cellars that
day," stammered the unhappy Arnheim. "I saw . . . the hot iron . . .
I was a boy of no more than five . . . I branded the prince on the
arm. He cried so that I was frightened and ran and hid. When I went
to look for him he was gone. Oh, I know; it is your son."