Граф Монте-Кристо

The Island of Tiboulen.

           Asailorwasrubbinghislimbswithawoollencloth;another,whomherecognizedastheonewhohadcriedout"Courage!"heldagourdfullofrumtohismouth;whilethethird,anoldsailer,atoncethepilotandcaptain,lookedonwiththategotisticalpitymenfeelforamisfortunethattheyhaveescapedyesterday,andwhichmayovertakethemtomorrow.

           Afewdropsoftherumrestoredsuspendedanimation,whilethefrictionofhislimbsrestoredtheirelasticity.

           "Whoareyou?"saidthepilotinbadFrench.

           "Iam,"repliedDantes,inbadItalian,"aMaltesesailor.WewerecomingfromSyracuseladenwithgrain.ThestormoflastnightovertookusatCapeMorgion,andwewerewreckedontheserocks."

           "Wheredoyoucomefrom?"

           "FromtheserocksthatIhadthegoodlucktoclingtowhileourcaptainandtherestofthecrewwerealllost.Isawyourvessel,andfearfulofbeinglefttoperishonthedesolateisland,Iswamoffonapieceofwreckagetotryandinterceptyourcourse.Youhavesavedmylife,andIthankyou,"continuedDantes."Iwaslostwhenoneofyoursailorscaughtholdofmyhair."

           "ItwasI,"saidasailorofafrankandmanlyappearance;"anditwastime,foryouweresinking."

           "Yes,"returnedDantes,holdingouthishand,"Ithankyouagain."

           "Ialmosthesitated,though,"repliedthesailor;"youlookedmorelikeabrigandthananhonestman,withyourbeardsixinches,andyourhairafootlong.

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