Граф Монте-Крісто

Madame de Saint–Meran.

           Thewhitehairwasthrownbackfromheryellowforehead,andhereyes,alreadysunkenbythefurrowsofage,nowalmostdisappearedbeneaththeeyelidsswollenwithgrief."Oh,sir,"shesaid;"oh,sir,whatamisfortune!Ishalldieofit;oh,yes,Ishallcertainlydieofit!"

           Andthen,fallinguponthechairnearestthedoor,sheburstintoaparoxysmofsobs.Theservants,standinginthedoorway,notdaringtoapproachnearer,werelookingatNoirtier’soldservant,whohadheardthenoisefromhismaster’sroom,andruntherealso,remainingbehindtheothers.Villefortrose,andrantowardshismother-inlaw,foritwasshe.

           "Why,whatcanhavehappened?"heexclaimed,"whathasthusdisturbedyou?IsM.deSaint–Meranwithyou?"

           "M.deSaint–Meranisdead,"answeredtheoldmarchioness,withoutprefaceandwithoutexpression;sheappearedtobestupefied.Villefortdrewback,andclaspinghishandstogether,exclaimed—"Dead!sosuddenly?"

           "Aweekago,"continuedMadamedeSaint–Meran,"wewentouttogetherinthecarriageafterdinner.M.deSaint–Meranhadbeenunwellforsomedays;still,theideaofseeingourdearValentineagaininspiredhimwithcourage,andnotwithstandinghisillnesshewouldleave.

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Сторінка 1234 з 1932