Граф Монте-Крісто

The Pont du Gard Inn.

           Hisnaturallydarkcomplexionhadassumedastillfurthershadeofbrownfromthehabittheunfortunatemanhadacquiredofstationinghimselffrommorningtilleveatthethresholdofhisdoor,onthelookoutforguestswhoseldomcame,yettherehestood,dayafterday,exposedtothemeridionalraysofaburningsun,withnootherprotectionforhisheadthanaredhandkerchieftwistedaroundit,afterthemanneroftheSpanishmuleteers.Thismanwasouroldacquaintance,GaspardCaderousse.Hiswife,onthecontrary,whosemaidennamehadbeenMadeleineRadelle,waspale,meagre,andsickly-looking.BornintheneighborhoodofArles,shehadsharedinthebeautyforwhichitswomenareproverbial;butthatbeautyhadgraduallywitheredbeneaththedevastatinginfluenceoftheslowfeversoprevalentamongdwellersbythepondsofAiguemortesandthemarshesofCamargue.Sheremainednearlyalwaysinhersecond-floorchamber,shiveringinherchair,orstretchedlanguidandfeebleonherbed,whileherhusbandkepthisdailywatchatthedooradutyheperformedwithsomuchthegreaterwillingness,asitsavedhimthenecessityoflisteningtotheendlessplaintsandmurmursofhishelpmate,whoneversawhimwithoutbreakingoutintobitterinvectivesagainstfate;toallofwhichherhusbandwouldcalmlyreturnanunvaryingreply,inthesephilosophicwords:—

           "Hush,LaCarconte.ItisGod’spleasurethatthingsshouldbeso.

Зміст книги
Налаштування
Фон сторінки
Розмір шрифту
Міжрядковий інтервал
Фразові дієслова
Показати / Приховати меню
Шрифт
Roboto Lora
Уведомления
Сторінка 368 з 1932