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Updated: May 1, 2025
These gentlemen," added he, turning to the two friends, "will, I trust, do me the honor to breakfast with me?" "But, my dear count," said Albert, "we shall abuse your kindness." "Not at all; on the contrary, you will give me great pleasure. You will, one or other of you, perhaps both, return it to me at Paris. M. Bertuccio, lay covers for three." He then took Franz's tablets out of his hand.
I feel an irresistible desire to know." "Yes," answered the captain, "I can tell you. The Count ordered me to make with all possible speed for the Island of Crete." Bertuccio gave a sigh of relief. "I feared we were bound for Italy," he said. "But," he added, after an instant's thought, "why should we go to Rome?
Seven o'clock had just struck, and M. Bertuccio, according to the command which had been given him, had two hours before left for Auteuil, when a cab stopped at the door, and after depositing its occupant at the gate, immediately hurried away, as if ashamed of its employment.
"No, it is unnecessary; Bertuccio will show me a light." And Monte Cristo accompanied these words by the gift of two gold pieces, which produced a torrent of thanks and blessings from the concierge. "Ah, monsieur," said he, after having vainly searched on the mantle-piece and the shelves, "I have not got any candles."
After making the tour of the garden a second time, the count re-entered his carriage, while Bertuccio, who perceived the thoughtful expression of his master's features, took his seat beside the driver without uttering a word. The carriage proceeded rapidly towards Paris.
Bertuccio usually walked behind; Daphne rode on ahead, with the sun burning her cheeks, and the air, fragrant with the odor of late ripening grapes on the upper hillsides, bringing intoxication.
Shame upon you, parricide." This time Benedetto opened his eyes in terror, and in a faint voice murmured: "My mother! Yes, yes. Mercy!" Monte-Cristo rose. His gaze met that of Bertuccio, in which he read a silent question. "Are you still going to be charitable?" asked Bertuccio's eye. "The wretch has murdered the mother who bore him? Does he deserve mercy?"
Any one but a man of exhaustless thirst for knowledge would have had pity on seeing the steward's extraordinary repugnance for the count's projected drive without the walls; but the Count was too curious to let Bertuccio off from this little journey. In twenty minutes they were at Auteuil; the steward's emotion had continued to augment as they entered the village.
Your mother, H. D." Monte-Cristo shuddered. "Hermine Danglars," he muttered to himself. "Poor, poor woman!" Shoving Bertuccio aside, he bent over Benedetto, and said, in a voice which penetrated the deepest depths of the soul: "Benedetto, hear me!" A shiver ran through the wretch, but the dark eyes remained closed. "Benedetto," continued Monte-Cristo, sternly, "you have killed your mother.
Bertuccio alone turned pale whenever Benedetto's name was mentioned in his presence, but there was no reason why any one should notice his doing so. Villefort, being called on to prove the crime, was preparing his brief with the same ardor that he was accustomed to exercise when required to speak in criminal cases.
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