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- Александр Дюма
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- Граф Монте-Кристо
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- Стр. 1081/1279
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"
I
love
most
fondly
--
I
love
madly
--
I
love
as
a
man
who
would
give
his
life-blood
to
spare
her
a
tear
--
I
love
Valentine
de
Villefort
,
who
is
being
murdered
at
this
moment
!
Do
you
understand
me
?
I
love
her
;
and
I
ask
God
and
you
how
I
can
save
her
?
"
Monte
Cristo
uttered
a
cry
which
those
only
can
conceive
who
have
heard
the
roar
of
a
wounded
lion
.
"
Unhappy
man
,
"
cried
he
,
wringing
his
hands
in
his
turn
;
"
you
love
Valentine
--
that
daughter
of
an
accursed
race
!
"
Never
had
Morrel
witnessed
such
an
expression
--
never
had
so
terrible
an
eye
flashed
before
his
face
--
never
had
the
genius
of
terror
he
had
so
often
seen
,
either
on
the
battle-field
or
in
the
murderous
nights
of
Algeria
,
shaken
around
him
more
dreadful
fire
.
He
drew
back
terrified
.
As
for
Monte
Cristo
,
after
this
ebullition
he
closed
his
eyes
as
if
dazzled
by
internal
light
.
In
a
moment
he
restrained
himself
so
powerfully
that
the
tempestuous
heaving
of
his
breast
subsided
,
as
turbulent
and
foaming
waves
yield
to
the
sun
's
genial
influence
when
the
cloud
has
passed
.
This
silence
,
self-control
,
and
struggle
lasted
about
twenty
seconds
,
then
the
count
raised
his
pallid
face
.
"
See
,
"
said
he
,
"
my
dear
friend
,
how
God
punishes
the
most
thoughtless
and
unfeeling
men
for
their
indifference
,
by
presenting
dreadful
scenes
to
their
view
.
I
,
who
was
looking
on
,
an
eager
and
curious
spectator
--
I
,
who
was
watching
the
working
of
this
mournful
tragedy
--
I
,
who
like
a
wicked
angel
was
laughing
at
the
evil
men
committed
protected
by
secrecy
(
a
secret
is
easily
kept
by
the
rich
and
powerful
)
,
I
am
in
my
turn
bitten
by
the
serpent
whose
tortuous
course
I
was
watching
,
and
bitten
to
the
heart
!
"
Morrel
groaned
.
"
Come
,
come
,
"
continued
the
count
,
"
complaints
are
unavailing
,
be
a
man
,
be
strong
,
be
full
of
hope
,
for
I
am
here
and
will
watch
over
you
.
"
Morrel
shook
his
head
sorrowfully
.
"
I
tell
you
to
hope
.
Do
you
understand
me
?
"
cried
Monte
Cristo
.
"
Remember
that
I
never
uttered
a
falsehood
and
am
never
deceived
.
It
is
twelve
o'clock
,
Maximilian
;
thank
heaven
that
you
came
at
noon
rather
than
in
the
evening
,
or
tomorrow
morning
.
Listen
,
Morrel
--
it
is
noon
;
if
Valentine
is
not
now
dead
,
she
will
not
die
.
"
"
How
so
?
"
cried
Morrel
,
"
when
I
left
her
dying
?
"
Monte
Cristo
pressed
his
hands
to
his
forehead
.
What
was
passing
in
that
brain
,
so
loaded
with
dreadful
secrets
?
What
does
the
angel
of
light
or
the
angel
of
darkness
say
to
that
mind
,
at
once
implacable
and
generous
?
God
only
knows
.
Monte
Cristo
raised
his
head
once
more
,
and
this
time
he
was
calm
as
a
child
awaking
from
its
sleep
.
"
Maximilian
,
"
said
he
,
"
return
home
.
I
command
you
not
to
stir
--
attempt
nothing
,
not
to
let
your
countenance
betray
a
thought
,
and
I
will
send
you
tidings
.
Go
.
"
"
Oh
,
count
,
you
overwhelm
me
with
that
coolness
.
Have
you
,
then
,
power
against
death
?
Are
you
superhuman
?
Are
you
an
angel
?
"
And
the
young
man
,
who
had
never
shrunk
from
danger
,
shrank
before
Monte
Cristo
with
indescribable
terror
.
But
Monte
Cristo
looked
at
him
with
so
melancholy
and
sweet
a
smile
,
that
Maximilian
felt
the
tears
filling
his
eyes
.
"
I
can
do
much
for
you
,
my
friend
,
"
replied
the
count
.
"
Go
;
I
must
be
alone
.
"
Morrel
,
subdued
by
the
extraordinary
ascendancy
Monte
Cristo
exercised
over
everything
around
him
,
did
not
endeavor
to
resist
it
.
He
pressed
the
count
's
hand
and
left
.
He
stopped
one
moment
at
the
door
for
Baptistin
,
whom
he
saw
in
the
Rue
Matignon
,
and
who
was
running
.
Meanwhile
,
Villefort
and
d'Avrigny
had
made
all
possible
haste
,
Valentine
had
not
revived
from
her
fainting
fit
on
their
arrival
,
and
the
doctor
examined
the
invalid
with
all
the
care
the
circumstances
demanded
,
and
with
an
interest
which
the
knowledge
of
the
secret
intensified
twofold
.
Villefort
,
closely
watching
his
countenance
and
his
lips
,
awaited
the
result
of
the
examination
.
Noirtier
,
paler
than
even
the
young
girl
,
more
eager
than
Villefort
for
the
decision
,
was
watching
also
intently
and
affectionately
.
At
last
d'Avrigny
slowly
uttered
these
words
:
--
"
she
is
still
alive
!
"
"
Still
?
"
cried
Villefort
;
"
oh
,
doctor
,
what
a
dreadful
word
is
that
.
"
