Граф Монте-Кристо

The Cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise.

           Ifanyonehadsaidtoyourfather,atthemomentheraisedthepistoltohishead—ifanyonehadtoldme,wheninmyprisonIpushedbackthefoodIhadnottastedforthreedays—ifanyonehadsaidtoeitherofusthen,‘Live—thedaywillcomewhenyouwillbehappy,andwillblesslife!’—nomatterwhosevoicehadspoken,weshouldhaveheardhimwiththesmileofdoubt,ortheanguishofincredulity—andyethowmanytimeshasyourfatherblessedlifewhileembracingyou—howoftenhaveImyself"—

           "Ah,"exclaimedMorrel,interruptingthecount,"youhadonlylostyourliberty,myfatherhadonlylosthisfortune,butIhavelostValentine."

           "Lookatme,"saidMonteCristo,withthatexpressionwhichsometimesmadehimsoeloquentandpersuasive—"lookatme.Therearenotearsinmyeyes,noristherefeverinmyveins,yetIseeyousuffer—you,Maximilian,whomIloveasmyownson.Well,doesnotthistellyouthatingrief,asinlife,thereisalwayssomethingtolookforwardtobeyond?Now,ifIentreat,ifIorderyoutolive,Morrel,itisintheconvictionthatonedayyouwillthankmeforhavingpreservedyourlife."

           "Oh,heavens,"saidtheyoungman,"oh,heavens—whatareyousaying,count?Takecare.Butperhapsyouhaveneverloved!"

           "Child!"repliedthecount.

           "Imean,asIlove.Yousee,IhavebeenasoldiereversinceIattainedmanhood.

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Страница 1759 из 1932