‘I thought it would break your heart,’ said Glastonbury.
‘It is the only happy moment I have known for months,’ said Ferdinand.
‘I was so overwhelmed that I lost my presence of mind,’ said Glastonbury. ‘I really never meant to tell you anything. I do not know how I came into your room.’
‘Dear, dear Glastonbury, I am myself again.’
‘Only think!’ said Glastonbury; ‘I never was so unhappy in my life.’
‘I have endured for the last four hours the tortures of the damned,’ said Ferdinand, ‘to think that she was going to be married, to be married to another; that she was happy, proud, prosperous, totally regardless of me, perhaps utterly forgetful of the past; and that I was dying like a dog in this cursed caravanserai! O Glastonbury! nothing that I have ever endured has been equal to the hell of this day. And now you have come and made me comparatively happy. I shall get up directly.’
Glastonbury looked quite astonished; he could not comprehend how his fatal intelligence could have produced effects so directly contrary from those he had anticipated. However, in answer to Ferdinand’s reiterated enquiries, he contrived to give a detailed account of everything that had occurred, and Ferdinand’s running commentary continued to be one of constant self-congratulation.
‘There is, however, one misfortune,’ said Ferdinand, ‘with which you are unacquainted, my dear friend.’
‘Indeed!’ said Glastonbury, ‘I thought I knew enough.’
‘Alas! she has become a great heiress!’