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- Александр Дюма
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- Стр. 747/849
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"
And
you
would
be
quite
wrong
,
my
dear
de
Winter
,
"
said
Buckingham
,
holding
out
his
hand
to
him
.
"
I
do
not
know
the
man
who
deserves
being
regretted
during
the
whole
life
of
another
man
;
but
leave
us
,
I
pray
you
.
"
The
baron
went
out
sobbing
.
There
only
remained
in
the
closet
of
the
wounded
duke
Laporte
and
Patrick
.
A
physician
was
sought
for
,
but
none
was
yet
found
.
"
You
will
live
,
my
Lord
,
you
will
live
!
"
repeated
the
faithful
servant
of
Anne
of
Austria
,
on
his
knees
before
the
duke
's
sofa
.
"
What
has
she
written
to
me
?
"
said
Buckingham
,
feebly
,
streaming
with
blood
,
and
suppressing
his
agony
to
speak
of
her
he
loved
,
"
what
has
she
written
to
me
?
Read
me
her
letter
.
"
"
Oh
,
my
Lord
!
"
said
Laporte
.
"
Obey
,
Laporte
,
do
you
not
see
I
have
no
time
to
lose
?
"
Laporte
broke
the
seal
,
and
placed
the
paper
before
the
eyes
of
the
duke
;
but
Buckingham
in
vain
tried
to
make
out
the
writing
.
"
Read
!
"
said
he
,
"
read
!
I
can
not
see
.
Read
,
then
!
For
soon
,
perhaps
,
I
shall
not
hear
,
and
I
shall
die
without
knowing
what
she
has
written
to
me
.
"
Laporte
made
no
further
objection
,
and
read
:
