Граф Монте-Кристо

The Island of Monte Cristo.

           

           Edmondgazedveryearnestlyatthemassofrockswhichgaveoutallthevarietyoftwilightcolors,fromthebrightestpinktothedeepestblue;andfromtimetotimehischeeksflushed,hisbrowdarkened,andamistpassedoverhiseyes.Neverdidagamester,whosewholefortuneisstakedononecastofthedie,experiencetheanguishwhichEdmondfeltinhisparoxysmsofhope.Nightcame,andatteno’clocktheyanchored.TheYoungAmeliawasfirstattherendezvous.Inspiteofhisusualcommandoverhimself,Dantescouldnotrestrainhisimpetuosity.Hewasthefirsttojumponshore;andhadhedared,hewould,likeLuciusBrutus,have"kissedhismotherearth."Itwasdark,butateleveno’clockthemoonroseinthemidstoftheocean,whoseeverywaveshesilvered,andthen,"ascendinghigh,"playedinfloodsofpalelightontherockyhillsofthissecondPelion.

           TheislandwasfamiliartothecrewofTheYoungAmeliaitwasoneofherregularhaunts.AstoDantes,hehadpasseditonhisvoyagetoandfromtheLevant,butnevertouchedatit.HequestionedJacopo."Whereshallwepassthenight?"heinquired.

           "Why,onboardthetartan,"repliedthesailor.

           "Shouldwenotdobetterinthegrottos?"

           "Whatgrottos?"

           "Why,thegrottoscavesoftheisland."

           "Idonotknowofanygrottos,"repliedJacopo.ThecoldsweatsprangforthonDantes’brow.

           "What,aretherenogrottosatMonteCristo?"heasked.

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