Граф Монте-Крісто

Andrea Cavalcanti.

           "

           Thecountfromthemomentoffirstenteringthedrawing-room,hadnotoncelostsightoftheexpressionoftheyoungman’scountenance;hehadadmiredtheassuranceofhislookandthefirmnessofhisvoice;butatthesewords,sonaturalinthemselves,"Yourfatherisindeedhere,andisseekingyou,"youngAndreastarted,andexclaimed,"Myfather?Ismyfatherhere?"

           "Mostundoubtedly,"repliedMonteCristo;"yourfather,MajorBartolomeoCavalcanti."Theexpressionofterrorwhich,forthemoment,hadoverspreadthefeaturesoftheyoungman,hadnowdisappeared."Ah,yes,thatisthename,certainly.MajorBartolomeoCavalcanti.Andyoureallymeantosay;monsieur,thatmydearfatherishere?"

           "Yes,sir;andIcanevenaddthatIhaveonlyjustlefthiscompany.Thehistorywhichherelatedtomeofhislostsontouchedmetothequick;indeed,hisgriefs,hopes,andfearsonthatsubjectmightfurnishmaterialforamosttouchingandpatheticpoem.Atlength,heonedayreceivedaletter,statingthattheabductorsofhissonnowofferedtorestorehim,oratleasttogivenoticewherehemightbefound,onconditionofreceivingalargesumofmoney,bywayofransom.Yourfatherdidnothesitateaninstant,andthesumwassenttothefrontierofPiedmont,withapassportsignedforItaly.YouwereinthesouthofFrance,Ithink?"

           "Yes,"repliedAndrea,withanembarrassedair,"IwasinthesouthofFrance.

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