Граф Монте-Крісто

Madame de Saint–Meran.

           AtsixleaguesfromMarseilles,afterhavingeatensomeofthelozengesheisaccustomedtotake,hefellintosuchadeepsleep,thatitappearedtomeunnatural;stillIhesitatedtowakehim,althoughIfanciedthathisfacewasflushed,andthattheveinsofhistemplesthrobbedmoreviolentlythanusual.However,asitbecamedark,andIcouldnolongersee,Ifellasleep;Iwassoonarousedbyapiercingshriek,asfromapersonsufferinginhisdreams,andhesuddenlythrewhisheadbackviolently.Icalledthevalet,Istoppedthepostilion,IspoketoM.deSaint–Meran,Iappliedmysmelling-salts;butallwasover,andIarrivedatAixbythesideofacorpse."Villefortstoodwithhismouthhalfopen,quitestupefied.

           "Ofcourseyousentforadoctor?"

           "Immediately;but,asIhavetoldyou,itwastoolate."

           "Yes;butthenhecouldtellofwhatcomplaintthepoormarquishaddied."

           "Oh,yes,sir,hetoldme;itappearstohavebeenanapoplecticstroke."

           "Andwhatdidyoudothen?"

           "M.deSaint–Meranhadalwaysexpressedadesire,incasehisdeathhappenedduringhisabsencefromParis,thathisbodymightbebroughttothefamilyvault.Ihadhimputintoaleadencoffin,andIamprecedinghimbyafewdays.

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