Of what use were youth and riches without a Paris?
Friendship?
Was he not, as Mazarin had pointed out, a fool for his pains?
It was giving away five years of life and love.

A word?
No.

He straightened in the saddle, and the fumes of wine receded from his brain, leaving a temporary clearness.
Yes, he was right, a hundred times right.

Victor would have done the same for him, and he could do no less for Victor.

And there was something fine and lofty in the sacrifice to him who until now had never sacrificed so much as an hour from his worldly pleasures.