"It seems very probable, does it not--does it not?" said the ex-comedian
eagerly.

"It seems to me," replied the ex-lawyer, "very probable that a witness,
entering into court with the confession of one villanous falsehood, would
have little scruple to tell another. But I proceed. This rich and
liberal artiste dies; the nurse's conscience then suddenly awakens--she
sees Mr. Hammond--she informs him of the fraud she has practised. A lady
of rank, who had known Matilda, and had seen both the infants when both
were living under the nurse's charge, and observed them more attentively
than your son had done--corroborates the woman's story, stating that the
artiste's child had dark eyes instead of blue; that the artiste herself
was never deceived--but, having taken a great fancy to the spurious
infant, was willing to receive and cherish it as her own; and that she
knows several persons who will depose that they heard the artiste say
that the child was not her own. On this evidence your son takes to
himself this child--and this child is your Sophy--and you wish me to
acknowledge her as my daughter's offspring. Do not look me so earnestly
in the face, my dear and respected guest. It was when you read in my
face what my lips shrank from uttering that your emotions overcame your
strength, and your very mind deserted you. Now, be firmer. Your Sophy
has no need of me--she is under your charge, and your name is cleared.
She has found a friend--a protectress--in her own sex. Lady Montfort's
rank gives to her a position in the world as high as I could offer; and
as to mere pecuniary provision for her, make your mind easy--it shall be
secured. But bear with me when I add, resolutely and calmly, that this
nurse's attestation is to me a grosser and poorer attempt at imposture
than I had anticipated; and I am amazed that a man of your abilities
should have been contented to accept it."