Граф Монте-Крісто

The House at Auteuil.

           IconfessIamnotverydesirousofavisitfromthecommissaryofpolice,for,inItaly,justiceisonlypaidwhensilentinFrancesheispaidonlywhenshespeaks.Peste,IthoughtyousomewhatCorsican,agreatdealsmuggler,andanexcellentsteward;butIseeyouhaveotherstringstoyourbow.Youarenolongerinmyservice,MonsieurBertuccio."

           "Oh,yourexcellency,yourexcellency!"criedthesteward,struckwithterroratthisthreat,"ifthatistheonlyreasonIcannotremaininyourservice,Iwilltellall,forifIquityou,itwillonlybetogotothescaffold."

           "Thatisdifferent,"repliedMonteCristo;"butifyouintendtotellanuntruth,reflectitwerebetternottospeakatall."

           "No,monsieur,Isweartoyou,bymyhopesofsalvation,Iwilltellyouall,fortheAbbeBusonihimselfonlyknewapartofmysecret;but,Iprayyou,goawayfromthatplane-tree.Themoonisjustburstingthroughtheclouds,andthere,standingwhereyoudo,andwrappedinthatcloakthatconcealsyourfigure,youremindmeofM.deVillefort."

           "What!"criedMonteCristo,"itwasM.deVillefort?"

           "Yourexcellencyknowshim?"

           "TheformerroyalattorneyatNimes?"

           "Yes."

           "WhomarriedtheMarquisofSaint–Meran’sdaughter?"

           "Yes

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