Граф Монте-Кристо

The Fifth of October.

           "NowIunderstand,"hesaid,"whyyouhadmebroughtheretothisdesolatespot,inthemidstoftheocean,tothissubterraneanpalace;itwasbecauseyoulovedme,wasitnot,count?Itwasbecauseyoulovedmewellenoughtogivemeoneofthosesweetmeansofdeathofwhichwewerespeaking;adeathwithoutagony,adeathwhichallowsmetofadeawaywhilepronouncingValentine’snameandpressingyourhand."

           "Yes,youhaveguessedrightly,Morrel,"saidthecount,"thatiswhatIintended."

           "Thanks;theideathattomorrowIshallnolongersuffer,issweettomyheart."

           "Doyouthenregretnothing?"

           "No,"repliedMorrel.

           "Notevenme?"askedthecountwithdeepemotion.Morrel’scleareyewasforthemomentclouded,thenitshonewithunusuallustre,andalargetearrolleddownhischeek.

           "What,"saidthecount,"doyoustillregretanythingintheworld,andyetdie?"

           "Oh,Ientreatyou,"exclaimedMorrelinalowvoice,"donotspeakanotherword,count;donotprolongmypunishment."Thecountfanciedthathewasyielding,andthisbeliefrevivedthehorribledoubtthathadoverwhelmedhimattheChateaud’If."Iamendeavoring,"hethought,"tomakethismanhappy;IlookuponthisrestitutionasaweightthrownintothescaletobalancetheevilIhavewrought.Now,supposingIamdeceived,supposingthismanhasnotbeenunhappyenoughtomerithappiness.

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Страница 1921 из 1932