Граф Монте-Кристо

The Pont du Gard Inn.

           Hisnaturallydarkcomplexionhadassumedastillfurthershadeofbrownfromthehabittheunfortunatemanhadacquiredofstationinghimselffrommorningtilleveatthethresholdofhisdoor,onthelookoutforguestswhoseldomcame,yettherehestood,dayafterday,exposedtothemeridionalraysofaburningsun,withnootherprotectionforhisheadthanaredhandkerchieftwistedaroundit,afterthemanneroftheSpanishmuleteers.Thismanwasouroldacquaintance,GaspardCaderousse.Hiswife,onthecontrary,whosemaidennamehadbeenMadeleineRadelle,waspale,meagre,andsickly-looking.BornintheneighborhoodofArles,shehadsharedinthebeautyforwhichitswomenareproverbial;butthatbeautyhadgraduallywitheredbeneaththedevastatinginfluenceoftheslowfeversoprevalentamongdwellersbythepondsofAiguemortesandthemarshesofCamargue.Sheremainednearlyalwaysinhersecond-floorchamber,shiveringinherchair,orstretchedlanguidandfeebleonherbed,whileherhusbandkepthisdailywatchatthedooradutyheperformedwithsomuchthegreaterwillingness,asitsavedhimthenecessityoflisteningtotheendlessplaintsandmurmursofhishelpmate,whoneversawhimwithoutbreakingoutintobitterinvectivesagainstfate;toallofwhichherhusbandwouldcalmlyreturnanunvaryingreply,inthesephilosophicwords:—

           "Hush,LaCarconte.ItisGod’spleasurethatthingsshouldbeso.

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Страница 368 из 1932