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Updated: May 24, 2025
His expression was almost fierce as he spoke his next words. "And you will love him yes, you will love him." "No," she answered, with bitter pain. "I am not worthy." It was a year or more before the Villeforts were seen in Paris again, and Jenny enjoyed her wanderings with them wondrously. In fact, she was the leading member of the party.
But he could not quite break away. Sometimes for a week the Villeforts missed him, and then again they saw him every day. He spent his mornings with them, joined them in their drives, at their opera-box, or at the entertainments of their friends. He also fell into his old place in the Trent household, and listened with a vague effort at interest to Mrs.
"And in what light did you view the occurrence?" inquired Monte Cristo. "As a punishment for the crime I had committed," answered Bertuccio. "Oh, those Villeforts are an accursed race!" "Truly they are," murmured the count in a lugubrious tone.
"Stay," said Monte Cristo, as though he had not observed her confusion, "I have heard of a lucky hit that was made yesterday on the Neapolitan bonds." "I have none nor have I ever possessed any; but really we have talked long enough of money, count, we are like two stockbrokers; have you heard how fate is persecuting the poor Villeforts?"
"She is too young for such airs! as if she were Madame l'Impératrice herself! Take me to my carriage. I am tired also." Crossing the pavement with M. Renard, they passed the carriage of the Villeforts. Before its open door stood M. Villefort and Edmondstone, and the younger man, with bared head, bent forward speaking to his cousin.
Even now he remembered certain fine, sensitive expressions of hers which had thrilled him beyond measure. "How could she marry such a fellow as that how could she?" he groaned. "What does it mean? It must mean something." He was pale and heavy-eyed when he wandered round to the Villeforts' the following morning. M. Villefort was sitting with Bertha and reading aloud.
But M. Villefort was always there, gravely carrying the shawls, picking up handkerchiefs, and making himself useful. "Imbécile!" muttered M. Renard under cover of his smile and his mustache, as he stood near his venerable patroness the first time she met the Villeforts. "Blockhead!" stealthily ejaculated that amiable aristocrat.
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