Maso
alone was unmoved; for while the aged father betrayed the keenness of his
anguish, the son discovered none of that sympathy of which even a life
like his might be supposed to have left some remains in the heart of a
child. He was cold, collected, observant, and master of his smallest
action.
"I will not believe this," exclaimed the Doge, whose very soul revolted at
this unfeeling apathy, even more than at the disgrace of being the father
of such a child; "thou art not he thou pretendest to be; this foul lie is
uttered that my natural feelings may interpose between thee and the block!
Prove thy truth, or I abandon thee to thy fate."
"Signore, I would have saved this unhappy exhibition, but you would not.
That I am Bartolo this signet, your own gift sent to be my protection in a
strait like this, will show. It is, moreover, easy for me to prove what I
say, by a hundred witnesses who are living in Genoa."
The Signor Grimaldi stretched forth a hand that trembled like an aspen to
receive the ring, a jewel of little price, but a signet that he had, in
truth, sent to be an instrument of recognition between him and his child,
in the event of any sudden calamity befalling the latter.
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