Граф Монте-Кристо

Beauchamp.

           

           "Well,"saidBeauchamp,"whatstilloppressesyou,myfriend?"

           "Iambroken-hearted,"saidAlbert."Listen,Beauchamp!Icannotthus,inamomentrelinquishtherespect,theconfidence,andpridewithwhichafather’suntarnishednameinspiresason.Oh,Beauchamp,Beauchamp,howshallInowapproachmine?ShallIdrawbackmyforeheadfromhisembrace,orwithholdmyhandfromhis?Iamthemostwretchedofmen.Ah,mymother,mypoormother!"saidAlbert,gazingthroughhistearsathismother’sportrait;"ifyouknowthis,howmuchmustyousuffer!"

           "Come,"saidBeauchamp,takingbothhishands,"takecourage,myfriend."

           "Buthowcamethatfirstnotetobeinsertedinyourjournal?Someunknownenemyaninvisiblefoehasdonethis."

           "Themoremustyoufortifyyourself,Albert.Letnotraceofemotionbevisibleonyourcountenance,bearyourgriefasthecloudbearswithinitruinanddeathafatalsecret,knownonlywhenthestormbursts.Go,myfriend,reserveyourstrengthforthemomentwhenthecrashshallcome."

           "Youthink,then,allisnotoveryet?"saidAlbert,horror-stricken.

           "Ithinknothing,myfriend;butallthingsarepossible.Bytheway"—

           "What?"saidAlbert,seeingthatBeauchamphesitated

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