Граф Монте-Крісто

The Rain of Blood.

           Caderoussestaredathiswifewithmuchastonishment.

           "Thejeweller,meanwhile,washummingasongashestoodwarminghisbackatthefireLaCarcontehadkindledtodrythewetgarmentsofherguest;andthisdone,shenextoccupiedherselfinarranginghissupper,byspreadinganapkinattheendofthetable,andplacingonittheslenderremainsoftheirdinner,towhichsheaddedthreeorfourfresh-laideggs.Caderoussehadoncemorepartedwithhistreasurethebanknoteswerereplacedinthepocket-book,thegoldputbackintothebag,andthewholecarefullylockedinthecupboard.Hethenbeganpacingtheroomwithapensiveandgloomyair,glancingfromtimetotimeatthejeweller,whostoodreekingwiththesteamfromhiswetclothes,andmerelychanginghisplaceonthewarmhearth,toenablethewholeofhisgarmentstobedried.

           "‘There,’saidLaCarconte,assheplacedabottleofwineonthetable,‘supperisreadywheneveryouare.’—‘Andyou?’askedJoannes.—‘Idon’twantanysupper,’saidCaderousse.—‘Wedinedsoverylate,’hastilyinterposedLaCarconte.—‘ThenitseemsIamtoeatalone,’remarkedthejeweller.—‘Oh,weshallhavethepleasureofwaitinguponyou,’answeredLaCarconte,withaneagerattentionshewasnotaccustomedtomanifesteventoguestswhopaidforwhattheytook.

           "FromtimetotimeCaderoussedartedonhiswifekeen,searchingglances,butrapidasthelightningflash.Thestormstillcontinued.

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