“And that is saying a good deal, my dear friend,” said the countess. “Devotion is like a flash of lightning. Men devote themselves in battle, but they no longer have the heart for it in Paris.”
“Well,” replied Adam, “I am always ready, as in battle, to devote myself to Paz. Our two characters have kept their natural asperities and defects, but the mutual comprehension of our souls has tightened the bond already close between us. It is quite possible to save a man’s life and kill him afterwards if we find him a bad fellow; but Paz and I know THAT of each other which makes our friendship indissoluble. There’s a constant exchange of happy thoughts and impressions between us; and really, perhaps, such a friendship as ours is richer than love.”
A pretty hand closed the count’s mouth so promptly that the action was somewhat like a blow.
“Yes,” he said, “friendship, my dear angel, knows nothing of bankrupt sentiments and collapsed joys. Love, after giving more than it has, ends by giving less than it receives.”
“One side as well as the other,” remarked Clementine laughing.
“Yes,” continued Adam, “whereas friendship only increases. You need not pucker up your lips at that, for we are, you and I, as much friends as lovers; we have, at least I hope so, combined the two sentiments in our happy marriage.”
“I’ll explain to you what it is that has made you and Thaddeus such good friends,” said Clementine. “The difference in the lives you lead comes from your tastes and from necessity; from your likings, not your positions. As far as one can judge from merely seeing a man once, and also from what you tell me, there are times when the subaltern might become the superior.”
“Oh, Paz is truly my superior,” said Adam, naively; “I have no advantage over him except mere luck.”
His wife kissed him for the generosity of those words.
“The extreme care with which he hides the grandeur of his feelings is one form of his superiority,” continued the count. “I said to him once: ‘You are a sly one; you have in your heart a vast domain within which you live and think.’ He has a right to the title of count; but in Paris he won’t be called anything but captain.”