Граф Монте-Кристо

The Island of Tiboulen.

           Ihavelosteventheknifethatsavedme.OmyGod,Ihavesufferedenoughsurely!Havepityonme,anddoformewhatIamunabletodoformyself."

           AsDantes(hiseyesturnedinthedirectionoftheChateaud’If)utteredthisprayer,hesawoffthefartherpointoftheIslandofPomegueasmallvesselwithlateensailskimmingthesealikeagullinsearchofprey;andwithhissailor’seyeheknewittobeaGenoesetartan.ShewascomingoutofMarseillesharbor,andwasstandingouttosearapidly,hersharpprowcleavingthroughthewaves."Oh,"criedEdmond,"tothinkthatinhalfanhourIcouldjoinher,didInotfearbeingquestioned,detected,andconveyedbacktoMarseilles!WhatcanIdo?WhatstorycanIinvent?underpretextoftradingalongthecoast,thesemen,whoareinrealitysmugglers,willprefersellingmetodoingagoodaction.Imustwait.ButIcannotIamstarving.Inafewhoursmystrengthwillbeutterlyexhausted;besides,perhapsIhavenotbeenmissedatthefortress.Icanpassasoneofthesailorswreckedlastnight.Mystorywillbeaccepted,forthereisnoonelefttocontradictme."

           Ashespoke,Danteslookedtowardthespotwherethefishing-vesselhadbeenwrecked,andstarted.Theredcapofoneofthesailorshungtoapointoftherockandsometimbersthathadformedpartofthevessel’skeel,floatedatthefootofthecrag.InaninstantDantes’planwasformed.

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