Граф Монте-Крісто

Beauchamp.

           "

           "Whatcircumlocution!HowlongyouarebeforeyoutellmewhatImostwishtoknow?"

           "Because,intruth,Albert"—

           "Youhesitate?"

           "YesIfear."

           "Youfeartoacknowledgethatyourcorrespondenthisdeceivedyou?Oh,noself-love,Beauchamp.Acknowledgeit,Beauchamp;yourcouragecannotbedoubted."

           "Notso,"murmuredthejournalist;"onthecontrary"—

           Albertturnedfrightfullypale;heendeavoredtospeak,butthewordsdiedonhislips."Myfriend,"saidBeauchamp,inthemostaffectionatetone,"Ishouldgladlymakeanapology;but,alas,"—

           "Butwhat?"

           "Theparagraphwascorrect,myfriend."

           "What?ThatFrenchofficer"—

           "Yes."

           "Fernand?"

           "Yes."

           "Thetraitorwhosurrenderedthecastleofthemaninwhoseservicehewas"—

           "Pardonme,myfriend,thatmanwasyourfather!"AlbertadvancedfuriouslytowardsBeauchamp,butthelatterrestrainedhimmorebyamildlookthanbyhisextendedhand.

           "Myfriend,"saidhe,"hereisaproofofit."

           Albertopenedthepaper,itwasanattestationoffournotableinhabitantsofYanina,provingthatColonelFernandMondego,intheserviceofAliTepelini,hadsurrenderedthecastlefortwomillioncrowns.Thesignatureswereperfectlylegal.Alberttotteredandfelloverpoweredinachair.

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