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- Александр Дюма
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- Граф Монте-Кристо
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- Стр. 834/1279
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"
My
dear
M.
de
Villefort
,
"
replied
the
doctor
,
"
my
first
duty
is
to
humanity
.
I
would
have
saved
Madame
de
Saint
--
Meran
,
if
science
could
have
done
it
;
but
she
is
dead
and
my
duty
regards
the
living
.
Let
us
bury
this
terrible
secret
in
the
deepest
recesses
of
our
hearts
;
I
am
willing
,
if
any
one
should
suspect
this
,
that
my
silence
on
the
subject
should
be
imputed
to
my
ignorance
.
Meanwhile
,
sir
,
watch
always
--
watch
carefully
,
for
perhaps
the
evil
may
not
stop
here
.
And
when
you
have
found
the
culprit
,
if
you
find
him
,
I
will
say
to
you
,
'
You
are
a
magistrate
,
do
as
you
will
!
'
"
"
I
thank
you
,
doctor
,
"
said
Villefort
with
indescribable
joy
;
"
I
never
had
a
better
friend
than
you
.
"
And
,
as
if
he
feared
Doctor
d'Avrigny
would
recall
his
promise
,
he
hurried
him
towards
the
house
.
When
they
were
gone
,
Morrel
ventured
out
from
under
the
trees
,
and
the
moon
shone
upon
his
face
,
which
was
so
pale
it
might
have
been
taken
for
that
of
a
ghost
.
"
I
am
manifestly
protected
in
a
most
wonderful
,
but
most
terrible
manner
,
"
said
he
;
"
but
Valentine
,
poor
girl
,
how
will
she
bear
so
much
sorrow
?
"
As
he
thought
thus
,
he
looked
alternately
at
the
window
with
red
curtains
and
the
three
windows
with
white
curtains
.
The
light
had
almost
disappeared
from
the
former
;
doubtless
Madame
de
Villefort
had
just
put
out
her
lamp
,
and
the
nightlamp
alone
reflected
its
dull
light
on
the
window
.
At
the
extremity
of
the
building
,
on
the
contrary
,
he
saw
one
of
the
three
windows
open
.
A
wax-light
placed
on
the
mantle-piece
threw
some
of
its
pale
rays
without
,
and
a
shadow
was
seen
for
one
moment
on
the
balcony
.
Morrel
shuddered
;
he
thought
he
heard
a
sob
.
It
can
not
be
wondered
at
that
his
mind
,
generally
so
courageous
,
but
now
disturbed
by
the
two
strongest
human
passions
,
love
and
fear
,
was
weakened
even
to
the
indulgence
of
superstitious
thoughts
.
Although
it
was
impossible
that
Valentine
should
see
him
,
hidden
as
he
was
,
he
thought
he
heard
the
shadow
at
the
window
call
him
;
his
disturbed
mind
told
him
so
.
This
double
error
became
an
irresistible
reality
,
and
by
one
of
the
incomprehensible
transports
of
youth
,
he
bounded
from
his
hiding-place
,
and
with
two
strides
,
at
the
risk
of
being
seen
,
at
the
risk
of
alarming
Valentine
,
at
the
risk
of
being
discovered
by
some
exclamation
which
might
escape
the
young
girl
,
he
crossed
the
flower-garden
,
which
by
the
light
of
the
moon
resembled
a
large
white
lake
,
and
having
passed
the
rows
of
orange-trees
which
extended
in
front
of
the
house
,
he
reached
the
step
,
ran
quickly
up
and
pushed
the
door
,
which
opened
without
offering
any
resistance
.
Valentine
had
not
seen
him
.
Her
eyes
,
raised
towards
heaven
,
were
watching
a
silvery
cloud
gliding
over
the
azure
,
its
form
that
of
a
shadow
mounting
towards
heaven
.
Her
poetic
and
excited
mind
pictured
it
as
the
soul
of
her
grandmother
.
Meanwhile
,
Morrel
had
traversed
the
anteroom
and
found
the
staircase
,
which
,
being
carpeted
,
prevented
his
approach
being
heard
,
and
he
had
regained
that
degree
of
confidence
that
the
presence
of
M.
de
Villefort
even
would
not
have
alarmed
him
.
He
was
quite
prepared
for
any
such
encounter
.
He
would
at
once
approach
Valentine
's
father
and
acknowledge
all
,
begging
Villefort
to
pardon
and
sanction
the
love
which
united
two
fond
and
loving
hearts
.
Morrel
was
mad
.
Happily
he
did
not
meet
any
one
.
Now
,
especially
,
did
he
find
the
description
Valentine
had
given
of
the
interior
of
the
house
useful
to
him
;
he
arrived
safely
at
the
top
of
the
staircase
,
and
while
he
was
feeling
his
way
,
a
sob
indicated
the
direction
he
was
to
take
.
He
turned
back
,
a
door
partly
open
enabled
him
to
see
his
road
,
and
to
hear
the
voice
of
one
in
sorrow
.
He
pushed
the
door
open
and
entered
.
At
the
other
end
of
the
room
,
under
a
white
sheet
which
covered
it
,
lay
the
corpse
,
still
more
alarming
to
Morrel
since
the
account
he
had
so
unexpectedly
overheard
.
By
its
side
,
on
her
knees
,
and
with
her
head
buried
in
the
cushion
of
an
easy-chair
,
was
Valentine
,
trembling
and
sobbing
,
her
hands
extended
above
her
head
,
clasped
and
stiff
.
She
had
turned
from
the
window
,
which
remained
open
,
and
was
praying
in
accents
that
would
have
affected
the
most
unfeeling
;
her
words
were
rapid
,
incoherent
,
unintelligible
,
for
the
burning
weight
of
grief
almost
stopped
her
utterance
.
The
moon
shining
through
the
open
blinds
made
the
lamp
appear
to
burn
paler
,
and
cast
a
sepulchral
hue
over
the
whole
scene
.
Morrel
could
not
resist
this
;
he
was
not
exemplary
for
piety
,
he
was
not
easily
impressed
,
but
Valentine
suffering
,
weeping
,
wringing
her
hands
before
him
,
was
more
than
he
could
bear
in
silence
.
He
sighed
,
and
whispered
a
name
,
and
the
head
bathed
in
tears
and
pressed
on
the
velvet
cushion
of
the
chair
--
a
head
like
that
of
a
Magdalen
by
Correggio
--
was
raised
and
turned
towards
him
.
Valentine
perceived
him
without
betraying
the
least
surprise
.
A
heart
overwhelmed
with
one
great
grief
is
insensible
to
minor
emotions
.
Morrel
held
out
his
hand
to
her
.
Valentine
,
as
her
only
apology
for
not
having
met
him
,
pointed
to
the
corpse
under
the
sheet
,
and
began
to
sob
again
.
Neither
dared
for
some
time
to
speak
in
that
room
.
They
hesitated
to
break
the
silence
which
death
seemed
to
impose
;
at
length
Valentine
ventured
.
