Граф Монте-Крісто

The Island of Tiboulen.

           

           Dantesrandowntherocksattheriskofbeinghimselfdashedtopieces;helistened,hegropedabout,butheheardandsawnothingthecrieshadceased,andthetempestcontinuedtorage.Bydegreesthewindabated,vastgraycloudsrolledtowardsthewest,andthebluefirmamentappearedstuddedwithbrightstars.Soonaredstreakbecamevisibleinthehorizon,thewaveswhitened,alightplayedoverthem,andgildedtheirfoamingcrestswithgold.Itwasday.

           Dantesstoodmuteandmotionlessbeforethismajesticspectacle,asifhenowbehelditforthefirsttime;andindeedsincehiscaptivityintheChateaud’Ifhehadforgottenthatsuchsceneswereevertobewitnessed.Heturnedtowardsthefortress,andlookedatbothseaandland.Thegloomybuildingrosefromthebosomoftheoceanwithimposingmajestyandseemedtodominatethescene.Itwasaboutfiveo’clock.Theseacontinuedtogetcalmer.

           "Intwoorthreehours,"thoughtDantes,"theturnkeywillentermychamber,findthebodyofmypoorfriend,recognizeit,seekformeinvain,andgivethealarm.Thenthetunnelwillbediscovered;themenwhocastmeintotheseaandwhomusthaveheardthecryIuttered,willbequestioned.Thenboatsfilledwitharmedsoldierswillpursuethewretchedfugitive.Thecannonwillwarneveryonetorefusesheltertoamanwanderingaboutnakedandfamished.ThepoliceofMarseilleswillbeonthealertbyland,whilstthegovernorpursuesmebysea.Iamcold,Iamhungry.

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Сторінка 308 з 1932