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- Александр Дюма
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- Граф Монте-Кристо
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- Стр. 1234/1279
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"
On
the
contrary
,
we
shall
meet
again
,
"
said
Mercedes
,
pointing
to
heaven
with
solemnity
.
"
I
tell
you
so
to
prove
to
you
that
I
still
hope
.
"
And
after
pressing
her
own
trembling
hand
upon
that
of
the
count
,
Mercedes
rushed
up
the
stairs
and
disappeared
.
Monte
Cristo
slowly
left
the
house
and
turned
towards
the
quay
.
But
Mercedes
did
not
witness
his
departure
,
although
she
was
seated
at
the
little
window
of
the
room
which
had
been
occupied
by
old
Dantes
.
Her
eyes
were
straining
to
see
the
ship
which
was
carrying
her
son
over
the
vast
sea
;
but
still
her
voice
involuntarily
murmured
softly
,
"
Edmond
,
Edmond
,
Edmond
!
"
The
count
departed
with
a
sad
heart
from
the
house
in
which
he
had
left
Mercedes
,
probably
never
to
behold
her
again
.
Since
the
death
of
little
Edward
a
great
change
had
taken
place
in
Monte
Cristo
.
Having
reached
the
summit
of
his
vengeance
by
a
long
and
tortuous
path
,
he
saw
an
abyss
of
doubt
yawning
before
him
.
More
than
this
,
the
conversation
which
had
just
taken
place
between
Mercedes
and
himself
had
awakened
so
many
recollections
in
his
heart
that
he
felt
it
necessary
to
combat
with
them
.
A
man
of
the
count
's
temperament
could
not
long
indulge
in
that
melancholy
which
can
exist
in
common
minds
,
but
which
destroys
superior
ones
.
He
thought
he
must
have
made
an
error
in
his
calculations
if
he
now
found
cause
to
blame
himself
.
"
I
can
not
have
deceived
myself
,
"
he
said
;
"
I
must
look
upon
the
past
in
a
false
light
.
What
!
"
he
continued
,
"
can
I
have
been
following
a
false
path
?
--
can
the
end
which
I
proposed
be
a
mistaken
end
?
--
can
one
hour
have
sufficed
to
prove
to
an
architect
that
the
work
upon
which
he
founded
all
his
hopes
was
an
impossible
,
if
not
a
sacrilegious
,
undertaking
?
I
can
not
reconcile
myself
to
this
idea
--
it
would
madden
me
.
The
reason
why
I
am
now
dissatisfied
is
that
I
have
not
a
clear
appreciation
of
the
past
.
The
past
,
like
the
country
through
which
we
walk
,
becomes
indistinct
as
we
advance
.
My
position
is
like
that
of
a
person
wounded
in
a
dream
;
he
feels
the
wound
,
though
he
can
not
recollect
when
he
received
it
.
Come
,
then
,
thou
regenerate
man
,
thou
extravagant
prodigal
,
thou
awakened
sleeper
,
thou
all-powerful
visionary
,
thou
invincible
millionaire
--
once
again
review
thy
past
life
of
starvation
and
wretchedness
,
revisit
the
scenes
where
fate
and
misfortune
conducted
,
and
where
despair
received
thee
.
Too
many
diamonds
,
too
much
gold
and
splendor
,
are
now
reflected
by
the
mirror
in
which
Monte
Cristo
seeks
to
behold
Dantes
.
Hide
thy
diamonds
,
bury
thy
gold
,
shroud
thy
splendor
,
exchange
riches
for
poverty
,
liberty
for
a
prison
,
a
living
body
for
a
corpse
!
"
As
he
thus
reasoned
,
Monte
Cristo
walked
down
the
Rue
de
la
Caisserie
.
It
was
the
same
through
which
,
twenty-four
years
ago
,
he
had
been
conducted
by
a
silent
and
nocturnal
guard
;
the
houses
,
today
so
smiling
and
animated
,
were
on
that
night
dark
,
mute
,
and
closed
.
"
And
yet
they
were
the
same
,
"
murmured
Monte
Cristo
,
"
only
now
it
is
broad
daylight
instead
of
night
;
it
is
the
sun
which
brightens
the
place
,
and
makes
it
appear
so
cheerful
.
"
He
proceeded
towards
the
quay
by
the
Rue
Saint
--
Laurent
,
and
advanced
to
the
Consigne
;
it
was
the
point
where
he
had
embarked
.
A
pleasure-boat
with
striped
awning
was
going
by
.
Monte
Cristo
called
the
owner
,
who
immediately
rowed
up
to
him
with
the
eagerness
of
a
boatman
hoping
for
a
good
fare
.
The
weather
was
magnificent
,
and
the
excursion
a
treat
.
The
sun
,
red
and
flaming
,
was
sinking
into
the
embrace
of
the
welcoming
ocean
.
The
sea
,
smooth
as
crystal
,
was
now
and
then
disturbed
by
the
leaping
of
fish
,
which
were
pursued
by
some
unseen
enemy
and
sought
for
safety
in
another
element
;
while
on
the
extreme
verge
of
the
horizon
might
be
seen
the
fishermen
's
boats
,
white
and
graceful
as
the
sea-gull
,
or
the
merchant
vessels
bound
for
Corsica
or
Spain
.
But
notwithstanding
the
serene
sky
,
the
gracefully
formed
boats
,
and
the
golden
light
in
which
the
whole
scene
was
bathed
,
the
Count
of
Monte
Cristo
,
wrapped
in
his
cloak
,
could
think
only
of
this
terrible
voyage
,
the
details
of
which
were
one
by
one
recalled
to
his
memory
.
The
solitary
light
burning
at
the
Catalans
;
that
first
sight
of
the
Chateau
d'If
,
which
told
him
whither
they
were
leading
him
;
the
struggle
with
the
gendarmes
when
he
wished
to
throw
himself
overboard
;
his
despair
when
he
found
himself
vanquished
,
and
the
sensation
when
the
muzzle
of
the
carbine
touched
his
forehead
--
all
these
were
brought
before
him
in
vivid
and
frightful
reality
.
Like
the
streams
which
the
heat
of
the
summer
has
dried
up
,
and
which
after
the
autumnal
storms
gradually
begin
oozing
drop
by
drop
,
so
did
the
count
feel
his
heart
gradually
fill
with
the
bitterness
which
formerly
nearly
overwhelmed
Edmond
Dantes
.
Clear
sky
,
swift-flitting
boats
,
and
brilliant
sunshine
disappeared
;
the
heavens
were
hung
with
black
,
and
the
gigantic
structure
of
the
Chateau
d'If
seemed
like
the
phantom
of
a
mortal
enemy
.
As
they
reached
the
shore
,
the
count
instinctively
shrunk
to
the
extreme
end
of
the
boat
,
and
the
owner
was
obliged
to
call
out
,
in
his
sweetest
tone
of
voice
,
"
Sir
,
we
are
at
the
landing
.
"
Monte
Cristo
remembered
that
on
that
very
spot
,
on
the
same
rock
,
he
had
been
violently
dragged
by
the
guards
,
who
forced
him
to
ascend
the
slope
at
the
points
of
their
bayonets
.
The
journey
had
seemed
very
long
to
Dantes
,
but
Monte
Cristo
found
it
equally
short
.
Each
stroke
of
the
oar
seemed
to
awaken
a
new
throng
of
ideas
,
which
sprang
up
with
the
flying
spray
of
the
sea
.
