"So much happier!" she answered, and she put a roll of notes into his
hand.
"Then I will take it," he replied, with a manner not too serious, and he
looked at the notes carefully; "but only what I actually spent, remember;
what I told you when you wrote me at Hector's death; not this ample
interest. You forget, Miss Caron, that your brother was my friend."
"No I cannot forget that. It lives with me," she rejoined softly. But she
took back the surplus notes. "And I have my gratitude left still," she
added, smiling.
"Believe me, there is no occasion for gratitude. Why, what less could one
do?"
"One could pass by on the other side."
"He was not fallen among thieves," was his reply; "he was among
Englishmen, the old allies of the French."
"But the Priests and the Levites, people of his own
country--Frenchmen--passed him by. They were infamous in falsehood, cruel
to him and to me.--You are an Englishman; you have heart and kindness."
He hesitated, then he gravely said: "Do not trust Englishmen more than
you trust your own countrymen. We are selfish even in our friendships
often.
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