How I blessed the fortunate chance that permitted me to prove to Falmouth that my friendship was warm and true.
Until then, though I was entirely absorbed in my affection for him, I felt that there was wanting some great sacrifice, which would be a solemn consecration of my devotedness.
If my act had any value in my own eyes, it was because I should stand higher in his. It showed me that I was capable of a generous resolution, and reassured me on the firmness of my attachment to Falmouth.
Now, with a nature like mine, to believe in myself was to believe in him; to think of myself as a true, warm, and devoted friend, was to believe myself capable of inspiring true, ardent, and devoted friendship.
I felt that intrepid confidence of the soldier who, being perfectly sure of his conduct under fire, waits impatiently and securely for another occasion to show his courage. The reaction of this self-reliance was so great that it influenced even my former sentiments.
Proud of my conduct towards Falmouth, I understood that Hélène and Marguerite had loved me for qualities they saw in me, and which I had never discovered until now. For the first time I knew real happiness. I at last was able to understand all the devotion these two noble beings had bestowed on me.
An hour after the doctor left me, the door of my chamber opened, and I saw Falmouth, who was carried in by two of his servants.
His armchair was scarcely at my bedside, before Henry threw himself in my arms.
In this mute embrace, his head was leaning on my shoulder, and I could feel his tears and his trembling hands; he was only able to say these words: "Arthur,—Arthur,—my friend, my friend!"
Although this was so long ago, and black care has dimmed the radiance of that happy day, nothing has ever wiped out the remembrance of it, which is still vivid enough to quicken my heart's pulses and thrill me with delight.