You bequeathed me your relations, your adventures, your exploits.

When you fought for your country, I was there; when you received a gun-shot-wound near Dubrod, it was into my flesh that the bullet penetrated.

Of what do you complain?
Between friends is not everything in common?
I left my own skin, I entered yours; I was satisfied there, and desired to remain.
To-day I resemble you in everything; I assure you that if we were seen together it would be difficult to tell us apart.

I have assumed your habits, your manners, your language, the poise of your head, your playful melancholy, your pride, your opinions, all, even to the colour of your hair and your handwriting.

Abel Larinski, I have become you: I mistake, I am more Pole, more Larinski, than you were yourself." At this moment Samuel Brohl had a singular expression of countenance; his gaze was fixed.