Граф Монте-Кристо

The Breakfast.

           Hehadnotheardacarriagestopinthestreet,orstepsintheante-chamber;thedoorhaditselfopenednoiselessly.Thecountappeared,dressedwiththegreatestsimplicity,butthemostfastidiousdandycouldhavefoundnothingtocavilatinhistoilet.Everyarticleofdresshat,coat,gloves,andbootswasfromthefirstmakers.Heseemedscarcelyfiveandthirty.ButwhatstruckeverybodywashisextremeresemblancetotheportraitDebrayhaddrawn.Thecountadvanced,smiling,intothecentreoftheroom,andapproachedAlbert,whohastenedtowardshimholdingouthishandinaceremonialmanner."Punctuality,"saidMonteCristo,"isthepolitenessofkings,accordingtooneofyoursovereigns,Ithink;butitisnotthesamewithtravellers.However,IhopeyouwillexcusethetwoorthreesecondsIambehindhand;fivehundredleaguesarenottobeaccomplishedwithoutsometrouble,andespeciallyinFrance,where,itseems,itisforbiddentobeatthepostilions."

           "Mydearcount,"repliedAlbert,"Iwasannouncingyourvisittosomeofmyfriends,whomIhadinvitedinconsequenceofthepromiseyoudidmethehonortomake,andwhomInowpresenttoyou.TheyaretheCountofChateau–Renaud,whosenobilitygoesbacktothetwelvepeers,andwhoseancestorshadaplaceattheRoundTable;M.LucienDebray,privatesecretarytotheministeroftheinterior;M.

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