Граф Монте-Кристо

Valentine.

           

           "Howareyou,sir?"askedMorrel,withasicknessofheart.

           "Well,"answeredtheoldman,byclosinghiseyes;buthisappearancemanifestedincreasinguneasiness.

           "Youarethoughtful,sir,"continuedMorrel;"youwantsomething;shallIcalloneoftheservants?"

           "Yes,"repliedNoirtier.

           Morrelpulledthebell,butthoughhenearlybrokethecordnooneanswered.HeturnedtowardsNoirtier;thepallorandanguishexpressedonhiscountenancemomentarilyincreased.

           "Oh,"exclaimedMorrel,"whydotheynotcome?Isanyoneillinthehouse?"TheeyesofNoirtierseemedasthoughtheywouldstartfromtheirsockets."Whatisthematter?Youalarmme.Valentine?Valentine?"

           "Yes,yes,"signedNoirtier.Maximiliantriedtospeak,buthecouldarticulatenothing;hestaggered,andsupportedhimselfagainstthewainscot.Thenhepointedtothedoor.

           "Yes,yes,yes!"continuedtheoldman.Maximilianrushedupthelittlestaircase,whileNoirtier’seyesseemedtosay"Quicker,quicker!"

           Inaminutetheyoungmandartedthroughseveralrooms,tillatlengthhereachedValentine’s.Therewasnooccasiontopushthedoor,itwaswideopen.Asobwastheonlysoundheheard.Hesawasthoughinamist,ablackfigurekneelingandburiedinaconfusedmassofwhitedrapery.Aterriblefeartransfixedhim

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