Граф Монте-Кристо

The Journey.

           Albertwaspunctual.Thejourneysoonbecameinterestingfromitsrapidity,ofwhichMorcerfhadformednopreviousidea."Truly,"saidMonteCristo,"withyourposthorsesgoingattherateoftwoleaguesanhour,andthatabsurdlawthatonetravellershallnotpassanotherwithoutpermission,sothataninvalidorill-temperedtravellermaydetainthosewhoarewellandactive,itisimpossibletomove;Iescapethisannoyancebytravellingwithmyownpostilionandhorses;doInot,Ali?"

           Thecountputhisheadoutofthewindowandwhistled,andthehorsesappearedtofly.Thecarriagerolledwithathunderingnoiseoverthepavement,andeveryoneturnedtonoticethedazzlingmeteor.Ali,smiling,repeatedthesound,graspedthereinswithafirmhand,andspurredhishorses,whosebeautifulmanesfloatedinthebreeze.Thischildofthedesertwasinhiselement,andwithhisblackfaceandsparklingeyesappeared,inthecloudofdustheraised,likethegeniusofthesimoomandthegodofthehurricane."Ineverknewtillnowthedelightofspeed,"saidMorcerf,andthelastclouddisappearedfromhisbrow;"butwherethedevildoyougetsuchhorses?Aretheymadetoorder?"

           "Precisely,"saidthecount;"sixyearssinceIboughtahorseinHungaryremarkableforitsswiftness.Thethirty-twothatweshalluseto-nightareitsprogeny;theyareallentirelyblack,withtheexceptionofastarupontheforehead.

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