"
"I have to reply, Signore, 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.
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