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- Александр Дюма
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- Стр. 671/849
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"
Eh
,
how
can
I
tell
?
My
God
!
I
know
that
I
suffer
,
that
's
all
.
Give
me
anything
you
like
,
it
is
of
little
consequence
.
"
"
Go
and
fetch
Lord
de
Winter
,
"
said
Felton
,
tired
of
these
eternal
complaints
.
"
Oh
,
no
,
no
!
"
cried
Milady
;
"
no
,
sir
,
do
not
call
him
,
I
conjure
you
.
I
am
well
,
I
want
nothing
;
do
not
call
him
.
"
She
gave
so
much
vehemence
,
such
magnetic
eloquence
to
this
exclamation
,
that
Felton
in
spite
of
himself
advanced
some
steps
into
the
room
.
"
He
has
come
!
"
thought
Milady
.
"
Meanwhile
,
madame
,
if
you
really
suffer
,
"
said
Felton
,
"
a
physician
shall
be
sent
for
;
and
if
you
deceive
us
--
well
,
it
will
be
the
worse
for
you
.
But
at
least
we
shall
not
have
to
reproach
ourselves
with
anything
.
"
Milady
made
no
reply
,
but
turning
her
beautiful
head
round
upon
her
pillow
,
she
burst
into
tears
,
and
uttered
heartbreaking
sobs
.
Felton
surveyed
her
for
an
instant
with
his
usual
impassiveness
;
then
,
seeing
that
the
crisis
threatened
to
be
prolonged
,
he
went
out
.
The
woman
followed
him
,
and
Lord
de
Winter
did
not
appear
.
"
I
fancy
I
begin
to
see
my
way
,
"
murmured
Milady
,
with
a
savage
joy
,
burying
herself
under
the
clothes
to
conceal
from
anybody
who
might
be
watching
her
this
burst
of
inward
satisfaction
.
Two
hours
passed
away
.
