Граф Монте-Кристо

The Fifth of September.

           Heheardthedoorofthestaircasecreakonitshingestheclockgaveitswarningtostrikeeleventhedoorofhisstudyopened;MorreldidnotturnroundheexpectedthesewordsofCocles,"TheagentofThomson&French."

           Heplacedthemuzzleofthepistolbetweenhisteeth.Suddenlyheheardacryitwashisdaughter’svoice.HeturnedandsawJulie.Thepistolfellfromhishands."Myfather!"criedtheyounggirl,outofbreath,andhalfdeadwithjoy—"saved,youaresaved!"Andshethrewherselfintohisarms,holdinginherextendedhandared,nettedsilkpurse.

           "Saved,mychild!"saidMorrel;"whatdoyoumean?"

           "Yes,savedsaved!See,see!"saidtheyounggirl.

           Morreltookthepurse,andstartedashedidso,foravagueremembranceremindedhimthatitoncebelongedtohimself.Atoneendwasthereceiptedbillforthe287,000francs,andattheotherwasadiamondaslargeasahazel-nut,withthesewordsonasmallslipofparchment:—Julie’sDowry.

           Morrelpassedhishandoverhisbrow;itseemedtohimadream.Atthismomenttheclockstruckeleven.Hefeltasifeachstrokeofthehammerfelluponhisheart."Explain,mychild,"hesaid,"Explain,mychild,"hesaid,"explainwheredidyoufindthispurse?"

           "InahouseintheAlleesdeMeillan,No.15,onthecornerofamantelpieceinasmallroomonthefifthfloor.

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