“No thanks to me,” I said. “Beyond seeing that you didn’t displace the broken pieces of your thigh-bone, what have I done? Nothing. No one knows that better than you do.”

“That’s your modesty — your incurable modesty.”

I shook my head, and went to stand by his couch. I was profoundly aware then, despite all the efforts of my self-conceit to convince myself to the contrary, that I had effected nothing whatever towards his recovery, that it had accomplished itself without external aid. But that did not lessen my intense pleasure in the improvement. By this time I had a most genuine affection for Alresca. The rare qualities of the man — his serenity, his sense of justice, his invariable politeness and consideration, the pureness of his soul —