“I know I have,” she said, as though speaking to herself. “Life means more now. Somehow my childhood seems to have returned, with all its hope of the world and all its confidence in the world, and its certainty that all will be right. Years have fallen from my shoulders like a released burden that was crushing me to my knees. I have awakened from a dream 263 that was not life at all,... a dream in which I, alone, staggered through darkness, bearing the world on my shoulders—the world doubly weighted with the sorrows of mankind,... a dream that lasted years, but...you awoke me.”
She leaned forward and lifted the rose, touching her face with it.
“It was so simple, after all—this secret of the world’s malady. You read it for me. I know now what is written on the eternal tablets—to live one’s own life as it is given, in honor, charity, without malice; to seek happiness where it is offered; to share it when possible; to uplift. But, most of all, to be happy and accept happiness as a heavenly gift that is to be shared with as many as possible. And this I have learned since ... I knew you.”
The light in the room had grown dimmer; I leaned forward to see her face.
“Am I not right?” she asked.
“I think so.... I am learning from you.”
“But you taught this creed to me!” she cried.
“No, you are teaching it to me. And the first lesson was a gift,... your friendship.”
“Freely given, gladly given,” she said, quickly. “And yours I have in return,... and will keep always—always—”
She crushed the rose against her mouth, looking at me with inscrutable gray eyes, as I had seen her look at me once at La Trappe, once in Morsbronn.