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- Александр Дюма
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- Граф Монте-Кристо
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- Стр. 807/1279
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"
Ah
,
indeed
?
"
"
So
Franz
must
wait
.
Why
was
not
M.
de
Saint
--
Meran
also
grandfather
to
Mademoiselle
Danglars
?
"
"
Albert
,
Albert
,
"
said
Madame
de
Morcerf
,
in
a
tone
of
mild
reproof
,
"
what
are
you
saying
?
Ah
,
count
,
he
esteems
you
so
highly
,
tell
him
that
he
has
spoken
amiss
.
"
And
she
took
two
or
three
steps
forward
Monte
Cristo
watched
her
with
an
air
so
thoughtful
,
and
so
full
of
affectionate
admiration
,
that
she
turned
back
and
grasped
his
hand
;
at
the
same
time
she
seized
that
of
her
son
,
and
joined
them
together
.
"
We
are
friends
;
are
we
not
?
"
she
asked
.
"
Oh
,
madame
,
I
do
not
presume
to
call
myself
your
friend
,
but
at
all
times
I
am
your
most
respectful
servant
.
"
The
countess
left
with
an
indescribable
pang
in
her
heart
,
and
before
she
had
taken
ten
steps
the
count
saw
her
raise
her
handkerchief
to
her
eyes
.
"
Do
not
my
mother
and
you
agree
?
"
asked
Albert
,
astonished
.
"
On
the
contrary
,
"
replied
the
count
,
"
did
you
not
hear
her
declare
that
we
were
friends
?
"
They
re-entered
the
drawing-room
,
which
Valentine
and
Madame
de
Villefort
had
just
quitted
.
It
is
perhaps
needless
to
add
that
Morrel
departed
almost
at
the
same
time
.
A
gloomy
scene
had
indeed
just
passed
at
the
house
of
M.
de
Villefort
.
After
the
ladies
had
departed
for
the
ball
,
whither
all
the
entreaties
of
Madame
de
Villefort
had
failed
in
persuading
him
to
accompany
them
,
the
procureur
had
shut
himself
up
in
his
study
,
according
to
his
custom
,
with
a
heap
of
papers
calculated
to
alarm
any
one
else
,
but
which
generally
scarcely
satisfied
his
inordinate
desires
.
But
this
time
the
papers
were
a
mere
matter
of
form
.
Villefort
had
secluded
himself
,
not
to
study
,
but
to
reflect
;
and
with
the
door
locked
and
orders
given
that
he
should
not
be
disturbed
excepting
for
important
business
,
he
sat
down
in
his
arm-chair
and
began
to
ponder
over
the
events
,
the
remembrance
of
which
had
during
the
last
eight
days
filled
his
mind
with
so
many
gloomy
thoughts
and
bitter
recollections
.
Then
,
instead
of
plunging
into
the
mass
of
documents
piled
before
him
,
he
opened
the
drawer
of
his
desk
,
touched
a
spring
,
and
drew
out
a
parcel
of
cherished
memoranda
,
amongst
which
he
had
carefully
arranged
,
in
characters
only
known
to
himself
,
the
names
of
all
those
who
,
either
in
his
political
career
,
in
money
matters
,
at
the
bar
,
or
in
his
mysterious
love
affairs
,
had
become
his
enemies
.
Their
number
was
formidable
,
now
that
he
had
begun
to
fear
,
and
yet
these
names
,
powerful
though
they
were
,
had
often
caused
him
to
smile
with
the
same
kind
of
satisfaction
experienced
by
a
traveller
who
from
the
summit
of
a
mountain
beholds
at
his
feet
the
craggy
eminences
,
the
almost
impassable
paths
,
and
the
fearful
chasms
,
through
which
he
has
so
perilously
climbed
.
When
he
had
run
over
all
these
names
in
his
memory
,
again
read
and
studied
them
,
commenting
meanwhile
upon
his
lists
,
he
shook
his
head
.
"
No
,
"
he
murmured
,
"
none
of
my
enemies
would
have
waited
so
patiently
and
laboriously
for
so
long
a
space
of
time
,
that
they
might
now
come
and
crush
me
with
this
secret
.
Sometimes
,
as
Hamlet
says
--
