Граф Монте-Крісто

The Hand of God.

           Aftergivingmetheplanofthishouse,doubtlesshopingIshouldkillthecountandhethusbecomehisheir,orthatthecountwouldkillmeandIshouldbeoutofhisway,hewaylaidme,andhasmurderedme."

           "Ihavealsosentfortheprocureur."

           "Hewillnotcomeintime;Ifeelmylifefastebbing."

           "Waitamoment,"saidMonteCristo.Helefttheroom,andreturnedinfiveminuteswithaphial.Thedyingman’seyeswereallthetimerivetedonthedoor,throughwhichhehopedsuccorwouldarrive."Hasten,reverendsir,hasten!Ishallfaintagain!"MonteCristoapproached,anddroppedonhispurplelipsthreeorfourdropsofthecontentsofthephial.Caderoussedrewadeepbreath."Oh,"saidhe,"thatislifetome;more,more!"

           "Twodropsmorewouldkillyou,"repliedtheabbe.

           "Oh,sendforsomeonetowhomIcandenouncethewretch!"

           "ShallIwriteyourdeposition?Youcansignit."

           "Yes,yes,"saidCaderousse;andhiseyesglistenedatthethoughtofthisposthumousrevenge.MonteCristowrote:

           "Idie,murderedbytheCorsicanBenedetto,mycomradeinthegalleysatToulouse,No.59."

           "Quick,quick!"saidCaderousse,"orIshallbeunabletosignit."

           MonteCristogavethepentoCaderousse,whocollectedallhisstrength,signedit,andfellbackonhisbed,saying:"Youwillrelatealltherest,reverendsir;youwillsayhecallshimselfAndreaCavalcanti.

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