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?"

"And to what do I owe that happiness? To the affections which I found
here, ready to sustain me, when deprived of the support of my mother,
who was all my strength, I felt myself (I confess my weakness) almost
incapable of standing up against adversity."

"You, my friend--with so firm and resolute a character in doing
good--you, that I have seen struggle with so much energy and courage, to
secure the triumph of some great and noble idea?"

"Yes; but the farther I advance in my career, the more am I disgusted
with all base and shameful actions, and the less strength I feel to
encounter them--"

"Were it necessary, you would have the courage, my friend."

"My dear Marcel," replied M. Hardy, with mild and restrained emotion,
"I have often said to you: My courage was my mother. You see, my friend,
when I went to her, with my heart torn by some horrible ingratitude,
or disgusted by some base deceit, she, taking my hands between her own
venerable palms, would say to me in her grave and tender voice: 'My dear
child, it is for the ungrateful and dishonest to suffer; let us pity the
wicked, let us forget evil, and only think of good.'--Then, my friend,
this heart, painfully contracted, expanded beneath the sacred influence
of the maternal words, and every day I gathered strength from her, to
recommence on the morrow a cruel struggle with the sad necessities of my
condition. Happily, it has pleased God, that, after losing that beloved
mother, I have been able to bind up my life with affections, deprived
of which, I confess, I should find myself feeble and disarmed for you
cannot tell, Marcel, the support, the strength that I have found in your
friendship."

"Do not speak of me, my dear friend," replied M. de Blessac, dissembling
his embarrassment. "Let us talk of another affection, almost as sweet
and tender as that of a mother."

"I understand you, my good Marcel," replied M. Hardy: "I have concealed
nothing from you since, under such serious circumstances, I had recourse
to the counsels of your friendship. Well! yes; I think that every da