Граф Монте-Крісто

A Nocturnal Interview.

           

           Thestrangercastonelookaroundher,tobecertainthattheywerequitealone;thenbendingasifshewouldhaveknelt,andjoiningherhands,shesaidwithanaccentofdespair,"Edmond,youwillnotkillmyson?"Thecountretreatedastep,utteredaslightexclamation,andletfallthepistolheheld."Whatnamedidyoupronouncethen,MadamedeMorcerf?"saidhe."Yours!"criedshe,throwingbackherveil"yours,whichIalone,perhaps,havenotforgotten.Edmond,itisnotMadamedeMorcerfwhoiscometoyou,itisMercedes."

           "Mercedesisdead,madame,"saidMonteCristo;"Iknownoonenowofthatname."

           "Mercedeslives,sir,andsheremembers,forshealonerecognizedyouwhenshesawyou,andevenbeforeshesawyou,byyourvoice,Edmondbythesimplesoundofyourvoice;andfromthatmomentshehasfollowedyoursteps,watchedyou,fearedyou,andsheneedsnottoinquirewhathandhasdealttheblowwhichnowstrikesM.deMorcerf."

           "Fernand,doyoumean?"repliedMonteCristo,withbitterirony;"sincewearerecallingnames,letusrememberthemall."MonteCristohadpronouncedthenameofFernandwithsuchanexpressionofhatredthatMercedesfeltathrillofhorrorrunthrougheveryvein."Yousee,Edmond,Iamnotmistaken,andhavecausetosay,‘Sparemyson!’"

           "Andwhotoldyou,madame,thatIhaveanyhostileintentionsagainstyourson?"

           "Noone,intruth;butamotherhastwofoldsight.

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Сторінка 1539 з 1932