Граф Монте-Крісто

The Breakfast.

           Beauchamp,aneditorofapaper,andtheterroroftheFrenchgovernment,butofwhom,inspiteofhisnationalcelebrity,youperhapshavenotheardinItaly,sincehispaperisprohibitedthere;andM.MaximilianMorrel,captainofSpahis."

           Atthisnamethecount,whohadhithertosalutedeveryonewithcourtesy,butatthesametimewithcoldnessandformality,steppedapaceforward,andaslighttingeofredcoloredhispalecheeks."YouweartheuniformofthenewFrenchconquerors,monsieur,"saidhe;"itisahandsomeuniform."Noonecouldhavesaidwhatcausedthecount’svoicetovibratesodeeply,andwhatmadehiseyeflash,whichwasingeneralsoclear,lustrous,andlimpidwhenhepleased."YouhaveneverseenourAfricans,count?"saidAlbert."Never,"repliedthecount,whowasbythistimeperfectlymasterofhimselfagain.

           "Well,beneaththisuniformbeatsoneofthebravestandnoblestheartsinthewholearmy."

           "Oh,M.deMorcerf,"interruptedMorrel.

           "Letmegoon,captain.Andwehavejustheard,"continuedAlbert,"ofanewdeedofhis,andsoheroicaone,that,althoughIhaveseenhimtodayforthefirsttime,Irequestyoutoallowmetointroducehimasmyfriend."AtthesewordsitwasstillpossibletoobserveinMonteCristotheconcentratedlook,changingcolor,andslighttremblingoftheeyelidthatshowemotion."Ah,youhaveanobleheart,"saidthecount;"somuchthebetter.

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