Denslow was oblivious.
"In fact," continued Dalton, perceiving the electric flash he had excited,
"skepticism is a disease of my intellect. Perhaps the most noticeable and
palpable fact of the moment is the presence and identity of the Duke who
is opposite to me; and yet, doubting as I sometimes do my own existence,
is it not natural, that, philosophically speaking, the presence and
identity of your Highness are at moments a subject of philosophical
doubt?"
"In cases of this kind," replied the Duke, "we rest upon circumstantial
evidence."
So saying, he drew from his finger a ring and handed it to Dalton, who
went to the light and examined it closely, and passed it to me. It was a
minute cameo, no larger than a grain of wheat, in a ring of plain gold; a
rare and beautiful work of microscopic art.
"I seem to remember presenting the Duke of Rosecouleur with a similar
ring, in Italy," said Dalton, resuming his seat; "but the coincidence does
not resolve my philosophic doubt, excited by the affair of the picture. We
all supposed that we saw a portrait of the Hon. Mrs. Denslow in yon
picture; and we seemed to discover, under the management of your valet,
that Denslow's picture, a genuine duplicate of the original by the author,
was a modern copy. Since your Highness quitted the gallery, those
delusions have ceased.
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