Граф Монте-Кристо

Haidee.

           Youmayimaginetherewassomethingstartlingandominous,"saidHaidee,shakingherheadandturningpaleatthemereremembranceofthescene,"inthislongfileofslavesandwomenonlyhalf-arousedfromsleep,oratleastsotheyappearedtome,whowasmyselfscarcelyawake.Hereandthereonthewallsofthestaircase,werereflectedgiganticshadows,whichtrembledintheflickeringlightofthepine-torchestilltheyseemedtoreachtothevaultedroofabove.

           "‘Quick!’saidavoiceattheendofthegallery.Thisvoicemadeeveryonebowbeforeit,resemblinginitseffectthewindpassingoverafieldofwheat,byitssuperiorstrengthforcingeveryeartoyieldobeisance.Asforme,itmademetremble.Thisvoicewasthatofmyfather.Hecamelast,clothedinhissplendidrobesandholdinginhishandthecarbinewhichyouremperorpresentedhim.HewasleaningontheshoulderofhisfavoriteSelim,andhedroveusallbeforehim,asashepherdwouldhisstragglingflock.Myfather,"saidHaidee,raisingherhead,"wasthatillustriousmanknowninEuropeunderthenameofAliTepelini,pashaofYanina,andbeforewhomTurkeytrembled.

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Страница 1348 из 1932