Граф Монте-Крісто

The Vendetta.

           Therelisten!’Andatthismomenttherewasatremendouspealofthunder,whilethelividlightningilluminedtheroom,andthethunder,rollingawayinthedistance,seemedtowithdrawunwillinglyfromthecursedabode.‘Mercy!’saidCaderousse,crossinghimself.

           "Atthesamemoment,andinthemidstoftheterrifyingsilencewhichusuallyfollowsaclapofthunder,theyheardaknockingatthedoor.Caderousseandhiswifestartedandlookedaghastateachother.‘Who’sthere?’criedCaderousse,rising,anddrawingupinaheapthegoldandnotesscatteredoverthetable,andwhichhecoveredwithhistwohands.—‘ItisI,’shoutedavoice.—‘Andwhoareyou?’—‘Eh,pardieu,Joannes,thejeweller.’—‘Well,andyousaidIoffendedthegoodGod,’saidLaCarcontewithahorridsmile.‘Why,thegoodGodsendshimbackagain.’Caderoussesankpaleandbreathlessintohischair.LaCarconte,onthecontrary,rose,andgoingwithafirmsteptowardsthedoor,openedit,saying,asshedidso—‘Comein,dearM.Joannes.’—‘Mafoi,’saidthejeweller,drenchedwithrain,‘IamnotdestinedtoreturntoBeaucaireto-night.Theshortestfolliesarebest,mydearCaderousse.Youofferedmehospitality,andIacceptit,andhavereturnedtosleepbeneathyourfriendlyroof.’Caderoussestammeredoutsomething,whilehewipedawaythesweatthatstartedtohisbrow.LaCarcontedouble-lockedthedoorbehindthejeweller."

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