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- Александр Дюма
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- Граф Монте-Кристо
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- Стр. 937/1279
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"
"
I
entreat
you
,
doctor
!
"
"
All
the
horrors
that
disturb
my
thoughts
make
your
house
odious
and
fatal
.
Adieu
,
sir
.
"
"
One
word
--
one
single
word
more
,
doctor
!
You
go
,
leaving
me
in
all
the
horror
of
my
situation
,
after
increasing
it
by
what
you
have
revealed
to
me
.
But
what
will
be
reported
of
the
sudden
death
of
the
poor
old
servant
?
"
"
True
,
"
said
M.
d'Avrigny
;
"
we
will
return
.
"
The
doctor
went
out
first
,
followed
by
M.
de
Villefort
.
The
terrified
servants
were
on
the
stairs
and
in
the
passage
where
the
doctor
would
pass
.
"
Sir
,
"
said
d'Avrigny
to
Villefort
,
so
loud
that
all
might
hear
,
"
poor
Barrois
has
led
too
sedentary
a
life
of
late
;
accustomed
formerly
to
ride
on
horseback
,
or
in
the
carriage
,
to
the
four
corners
of
Europe
,
the
monotonous
walk
around
that
arm-chair
has
killed
him
--
his
blood
has
thickened
.
He
was
stout
,
had
a
short
,
thick
neck
;
he
was
attacked
with
apoplexy
,
and
I
was
called
in
too
late
.
By
the
way
,
"
added
he
in
a
low
tone
,
"
take
care
to
throw
away
that
cup
of
syrup
of
violets
in
the
ashes
.
"
The
doctor
,
without
shaking
hands
with
Villefort
,
without
adding
a
word
to
what
he
had
said
,
went
out
,
amid
the
tears
and
lamentations
of
the
whole
household
.
The
same
evening
all
Villefort
's
servants
,
who
had
assembled
in
the
kitchen
,
and
had
a
long
consultation
,
came
to
tell
Madame
de
Villefort
that
they
wished
to
leave
No
entreaty
,
no
proposition
of
increased
wages
,
could
induce
them
to
remain
;
to
every
argument
they
replied
,
"
We
must
go
,
for
death
is
in
this
house
.
"
They
all
left
,
in
spite
of
prayers
and
entreaties
,
testifying
their
regret
at
leaving
so
good
a
master
and
mistress
,
and
especially
Mademoiselle
Valentine
,
so
good
,
so
kind
,
and
so
gentle
.
Villefort
looked
at
Valentine
as
they
said
this
.
She
was
in
tears
,
and
,
strange
as
it
was
,
in
spite
of
the
emotions
he
felt
at
the
sight
of
these
tears
,
he
looked
also
at
Madame
de
Villefort
,
and
it
appeared
to
him
as
if
a
slight
gloomy
smile
had
passed
over
her
thin
lips
,
like
a
meteor
seen
passing
inauspiciously
between
two
clouds
in
a
stormy
sky
.
The
evening
of
the
day
on
which
the
Count
of
Morcerf
had
left
Danglars
'
house
with
feelings
of
shame
and
anger
at
the
rejection
of
the
projected
alliance
,
M.
Andrea
Cavalcanti
,
with
curled
hair
,
mustaches
in
perfect
order
,
and
white
gloves
which
fitted
admirably
,
had
entered
the
courtyard
of
the
banker
's
house
in
La
Chaussee
d'Antin
.
He
had
not
been
more
than
ten
minutes
in
the
drawing-room
before
he
drew
Danglars
aside
into
the
recess
of
a
bow-window
,
and
,
after
an
ingenious
preamble
,
related
to
him
all
his
anxieties
and
cares
since
his
noble
father
's
departure
.
He
acknowledged
the
extreme
kindness
which
had
been
shown
him
by
the
banker
's
family
,
in
which
he
had
been
received
as
a
son
,
and
where
,
besides
,
his
warmest
affections
had
found
an
object
on
which
to
centre
in
Mademoiselle
Danglars
.
Danglars
listened
with
the
most
profound
attention
;
he
had
expected
this
declaration
for
the
last
two
or
three
days
,
and
when
at
last
it
came
his
eyes
glistened
as
much
as
they
had
lowered
on
listening
to
Morcerf
.
He
would
not
,
however
,
yield
immediately
to
the
young
man
's
request
,
but
made
a
few
conscientious
objections
.
"
Are
you
not
rather
young
,
M.
Andrea
,
to
think
of
marrying
?
"
"
I
think
not
,
sir
,
"
replied
M.
Cavalcanti
;
"
in
Italy
the
nobility
generally
marry
young
.
Life
is
so
uncertain
,
that
we
ought
to
secure
happiness
while
it
is
within
our
reach
.
"
