-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Александр Дюма
-
- Три мушкетера
-
- Стр. 331/849
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
And
yet
,
as
he
journeyed
along
,
a
profound
sadness
weighed
upon
his
heart
.
He
thought
of
that
young
and
pretty
Mme.
Bonacieux
who
was
to
have
paid
him
the
price
of
his
devotedness
;
but
let
us
hasten
to
say
that
this
sadness
possessed
the
young
man
less
from
the
regret
of
the
happiness
he
had
missed
,
than
from
the
fear
he
entertained
that
some
serious
misfortune
had
befallen
the
poor
woman
.
For
himself
,
he
had
no
doubt
she
was
a
victim
of
the
cardinal
's
vengeance
;
and
,
and
as
was
well
known
,
the
vengeance
of
his
Eminence
was
terrible
.
How
he
had
found
grace
in
the
eyes
of
the
minister
,
he
did
not
know
;
but
without
doubt
M.
de
Cavois
would
have
revealed
this
to
him
if
the
captain
of
the
Guards
had
found
him
at
home
.
Nothing
makes
time
pass
more
quickly
or
more
shortens
a
journey
than
a
thought
which
absorbs
in
itself
all
the
faculties
of
the
organization
of
him
who
thinks
.
External
existence
then
resembles
a
sleep
of
which
this
thought
is
the
dream
.
By
its
influence
,
time
has
no
longer
measure
,
space
has
no
longer
distance
.
We
depart
from
one
place
,
and
arrive
at
another
,
that
is
all
.
Of
the
interval
passed
,
nothing
remains
in
the
memory
but
a
vague
mist
in
which
a
thousand
confused
images
of
trees
,
mountains
,
and
landscapes
are
lost
.
It
was
as
a
prey
to
this
hallucination
that
d'Artagnan
traveled
,
at
whatever
pace
his
horse
pleased
,
the
six
or
eight
leagues
that
separated
Chantilly
from
Crevecoeur
,
without
his
being
able
to
remember
on
his
arrival
in
the
village
any
of
the
things
he
had
passed
or
met
with
on
the
road
.
There
only
his
memory
returned
to
him
.
He
shook
his
head
,
perceived
the
cabaret
at
which
he
had
left
Aramis
,
and
putting
his
horse
to
the
trot
,
he
shortly
pulled
up
at
the
door
.
This
time
it
was
not
a
host
but
a
hostess
who
received
him
.
d'Artagnan
was
a
physiognomist
.
His
eye
took
in
at
a
glance
the
plump
,
cheerful
countenance
of
the
mistress
of
the
place
,
and
he
at
once
perceived
there
was
no
occasion
for
dissembling
with
her
,
or
of
fearing
anything
from
one
blessed
with
such
a
joyous
physiognomy
.
"
My
good
dame
,
"
asked
d'Artagnan
,
"
can
you
tell
me
what
has
become
of
one
of
my
friends
,
whom
we
were
obliged
to
leave
here
about
a
dozen
days
ago
?
"
"
A
handsome
young
man
,
three
-
or
four-and-twenty
years
old
,
mild
,
amiable
,
and
well
made
?
"
"
That
is
he
--
wounded
in
the
shoulder
.
"
"
Just
so
.
Well
,
monsieur
,
he
is
still
here
.
"
"
Ah
,
PARDIEU
!
My
dear
dame
,
"
said
d'Artagnan
,
springing
from
his
horse
,
and
throwing
the
bridle
to
Planchet
,
"
you
restore
me
to
life
;
where
is
this
dear
Aramis
?
Let
me
embrace
him
,
I
am
in
a
hurry
to
see
him
again
.
"
