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- Александр Дюма
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- Граф Монте-Кристо
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- Стр. 1270/1279
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"
Count
,
"
said
Morrel
,
in
a
firm
and
at
the
same
time
soft
voice
,
"
listen
to
me
,
as
to
a
man
whose
thoughts
are
raised
to
heaven
,
though
he
remains
on
earth
;
I
come
to
die
in
the
arms
of
a
friend
.
Certainly
,
there
are
people
whom
I
love
.
I
love
my
sister
Julie
--
I
love
her
husband
Emmanuel
;
but
I
require
a
strong
mind
to
smile
on
my
last
moments
.
My
sister
would
be
bathed
in
tears
and
fainting
;
I
could
not
bear
to
see
her
suffer
.
Emmanuel
would
tear
the
weapon
from
my
hand
,
and
alarm
the
house
with
his
cries
.
You
,
count
,
who
are
more
than
mortal
,
will
,
I
am
sure
,
lead
me
to
death
by
a
pleasant
path
,
will
you
not
?
"
"
My
friend
,
"
said
the
count
,
"
I
have
still
one
doubt
--
are
you
weak
enough
to
pride
yourself
upon
your
sufferings
?
"
"
No
,
indeed
--
I
am
calm
,
"
said
Morrel
,
giving
his
hand
to
the
count
;
"
my
pulse
does
not
beat
slower
or
faster
than
usual
.
No
,
I
feel
that
I
have
reached
the
goal
,
and
I
will
go
no
farther
.
You
told
me
to
wait
and
hope
;
do
you
know
what
you
did
,
unfortunate
adviser
?
I
waited
a
month
,
or
rather
I
suffered
for
a
month
!
I
did
hope
(
man
is
a
poor
wretched
creature
)
,
I
did
hope
.
What
I
can
not
tell
--
something
wonderful
,
an
absurdity
,
a
miracle
--
of
what
nature
he
alone
can
tell
who
has
mingled
with
our
reason
that
folly
we
call
hope
.
Yes
,
I
did
wait
--
yes
,
I
did
hope
,
count
,
and
during
this
quarter
of
an
hour
we
have
been
talking
together
,
you
have
unconsciously
wounded
,
tortured
my
heart
,
for
every
word
you
have
uttered
proved
that
there
was
no
hope
for
me
.
Oh
,
count
,
I
shall
sleep
calmly
,
deliciously
in
the
arms
of
death
.
"
Morrel
uttered
these
words
with
an
energy
which
made
the
count
shudder
.
"
My
friend
,
"
continued
Morrel
,
"
you
named
the
fifth
of
October
as
the
end
of
the
period
of
waiting
--
today
is
the
fifth
of
October
,
"
he
took
out
his
watch
,
"
it
is
now
nine
o'clock
--
I
have
yet
three
hours
to
live
.
"
"
Be
it
so
,
"
said
the
count
,
"
come
.
"
Morrel
mechanically
followed
the
count
,
and
they
had
entered
the
grotto
before
he
perceived
it
.
He
felt
a
carpet
under
his
feet
,
a
door
opened
,
perfumes
surrounded
him
,
and
a
brilliant
light
dazzled
his
eyes
.
Morrel
hesitated
to
advance
;
he
dreaded
the
enervating
effect
of
all
that
he
saw
.
Monte
Cristo
drew
him
in
gently
.
"
Why
should
we
not
spend
the
last
three
hours
remaining
to
us
of
life
,
like
those
ancient
Romans
,
who
when
condemned
by
Nero
,
their
emperor
and
heir
,
sat
down
at
a
table
covered
with
flowers
,
and
gently
glided
into
death
,
amid
the
perfume
of
heliotropes
and
roses
?
"
Morrel
smiled
.
"
As
you
please
,
"
he
said
;
"
death
is
always
death
--
that
is
forgetfulness
,
repose
,
exclusion
from
life
,
and
therefore
from
grief
.
"
He
sat
down
,
and
Monte
Cristo
placed
himself
opposite
to
him
.
They
were
in
the
marvellous
dining-room
before
described
,
where
the
statues
had
baskets
on
their
heads
always
filled
with
fruits
and
flowers
.
Morrel
had
looked
carelessly
around
,
and
had
probably
noticed
nothing
.
"
Let
us
talk
like
men
,
"
he
said
,
looking
at
the
count
.
"
Go
on
!
"
"
Count
,
"
said
Morrel
,
"
you
are
the
epitome
of
all
human
knowledge
,
and
you
seem
like
a
being
descended
from
a
wiser
and
more
advanced
world
than
ours
.
"
"
There
is
something
true
in
what
you
say
,
"
said
the
count
,
with
that
smile
which
made
him
so
handsome
;
"
I
have
descended
from
a
planet
called
grief
.
