The Count of Monte Cristo

Back Forward Menu

knocking off with his cane the long and dying branches of the
rose-trees, which, placed along the avenue, seemed like the spectres of
the brilliant flowers which had bloomed in the past season. More than
once he had reached that part of the garden where the famous boarded
gate stood overlooking the deserted enclosure, always returning by the
same path, to begin his walk again, at the same pace and with the same
gesture, when he accidentally turned his eyes towards the house, whence
he heard the noisy play of his son, who had returned from school to
spend the Sunday and Monday with his mother. While doing so, he observed
M. Noirtier at one of the open windows, where the old man had been
placed that he might enjoy the last rays of the sun which yet yielded
some heat, and was now shining upon the dying flowers and red leaves of
the creeper which twined around the balcony.

The eye of the old man was riveted upon a spot which Villefort could
scarcely distinguish. His glance was so full of hate, of ferocity, and
savage impatience, that Villefort turned out of the path he had been