M.de Blessac, his bosom friend, had long been worthy of his touching and fraternal affection; but we have seen by what diabolical means Father d'Aigrigny and Rodin had succeeded in making M.de Blessac, until then upright and sincere, the instrument of their machinations.The two friends, who had felt on their journey a little of the sharp influence of the north wind, were warming themselves at a good fire lighted in M.
Hardy's parlor.
"Oh! my dear Marcel, I begin really to get old," said M.Hardy, with a smile, addressing M.de Blessac; "I feel more and more the want of being at home.To depart from my usual habits has become painful to me, and I execrate whatever obliges me to leave this happy little spot of ground."
"And when I think," answered M.de Blessac, unable to forbear blushing, "when I think, my friend, that you undertook this long journey only for my sake!--"
"Well, my dear Marcel! have you not just accompanied me in your turn, in an excursion which, without you, would have been as tiresome as it has been charming?"
"What a difference, my friend! I have contracted towards you a debt that I can never repay."
"Nonsense, my dear Marcel! Between us, there are no distinctions of meum and tuum.Besides, in matters of friendship, it is as sweet to give as to receive."
"Noble heart! noble heart!"
"Say, happy heart!--most happy, in the last affections for which it beats."
"And who, gracious heaven! could deserve happiness on earth, if it be not you, my friend?"