Граф Монте-Кристо

The Abbe’s Chamber.

           

           "There,"saidhe,"thereistheworkcomplete.Iwrotethewordfinisattheendofthesixty-eighthstripaboutaweekago.Ihavetornuptwoofmyshirts,andasmanyhandkerchiefsasIwasmasterof,tocompletethepreciouspages.ShouldIevergetoutofprisonandfindinallItalyaprintercourageousenoughtopublishwhatIhavecomposed,myliteraryreputationisforeversecured."

           "Isee,"answeredDantes."Nowletmebeholdthecuriouspenswithwhichyouhavewrittenyourwork."

           "Look!"saidFaria,showingtotheyoungmanaslenderstickaboutsixincheslong,andmuchresemblingthesizeofthehandleofafinepainting-brush,totheendofwhichwastied,byapieceofthread,oneofthosecartilagesofwhichtheabbehadbeforespokentoDantes;itwaspointed,anddividedattheniblikeanordinarypen.Dantesexamineditwithintenseadmiration,thenlookedaroundtoseetheinstrumentwithwhichithadbeenshapedsocorrectlyintoform.

           "Ah,yes,"saidFaria;"thepenknife.That’smymasterpiece.Imadeit,aswellasthislargerknife,outofanoldironcandlestick."Thepenknifewassharpandkeenasarazor;asfortheotherknife,itwouldserveadoublepurpose,andwithitonecouldcutandthrust.

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