Граф Монте-Кристо

The Breakfast.

           "

           "Woulditbeanindiscretiontoasktoseethosepreciouspills?"continuedBeauchamp,hopingtotakehimatadisadvantage.

           "No,monsieur,"returnedthecount;andhedrewfromhispocketamarvellouscasket,formedoutofasingleemeraldandclosedbyagoldenlidwhichunscrewedandgavepassagetoasmallgreenishcoloredpelletaboutthesizeofapea.Thisballhadanacridandpenetratingodor.Therewerefourorfivemoreintheemerald,whichwouldcontainaboutadozen.Thecasketpassedaroundthetable,butitwasmoretoexaminetheadmirableemeraldthantoseethepillsthatitpassedfromhandtohand."Andisityourcookwhopreparesthesepills?"askedBeauchamp.

           "Oh,no,monsieur,"repliedMonteCristo;"Idonotthusbetraymyenjoymentstothevulgar.Iamatolerablechemist,andpreparemypillsmyself."

           "Thisisamagnificentemerald,andthelargestIhaveeverseen,"saidChateau–Renaud,"althoughmymotherhassomeremarkablefamilyjewels."

           "Ihadthreesimilarones,"returnedMonteCristo."IgaveonetotheSultan,whomounteditinhissabre;anothertoourholyfatherthePope,whohaditsetinhistiara,oppositetoonenearlyaslarge,thoughnotsofine,givenbytheEmperorNapoleontohispredecessor,PiusVII.Ikeptthethirdformyself,andIhadithollowedout,whichreduceditsvalue,butrendereditmorecommodiousforthepurposeIintended.

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