instant to behold Dantès eager for vengeance. He therefore informed M. Morrel of his wish to quit the sea, and obtained a recommendation from him to a Spanish merchant, into whose service he entered at the end of March, — that is, ten or twelve days after Napoleon's return to the Tuileries. He then left for Madrid, and was no more heard of.
Fernand understood nothing except that Dantès was absent. What had become of him he cared not to inquire. Only, during the respite the absence of his rival afforded him, he reflected, partly on the means of deceiving Mercédès as to the cause of his absence, partly on plans of emigration and abduction, as from time to time he sat sad and motionless on the summit of Cape Pharo, at the spot from whence Marseilles and the village of the Catalans are visible, watching for the apparition of a young and handsome man, who was for him also the messenger of vengeance. Fernand's mind was made up: he would shoot Dantès, and then kill himself. But Fernand was mistaken; a man of his disposition never kills himself, for he constantly hopes.
During this time the Empire made a last appeal, and every man in France capable of bearing arms rushed to obey the summons of his Emperor. Fernand departed with the rest, bearing with him the terrible thought that perhaps his rival was behind him, and would marry Mercédès. Had Fernand really meant to kill himself, he would have done so when he parted from Mercédès. His devotion, his constant attentions, and the compassion he showed for her misfortunes, produced the effect they always produce on noble minds — Mercédès had always had a sincere regard for Fernand, and this was now strengthened by gratitude. "My brother," said she, as she placed his knapsack on his shoulders, "be careful of yourself, for if you are killed I shall be alone in the world."
These words infused a ray of hope into Fernand's heart. Should Dantès not return, Mercédès might one day be his. Mercédès was left alone to gaze on this bare earth that had never seemed so barren, and the sea that had never seemed so vast. Sometimes, bathed in tears, she wandered, without ceasing, around the little village of the Catalans, sometimes she stood mute and motionless as a statue beneath the burning sun of the South, gazing toward Marseilles; at other times gazing on the sea, and debating as to whether it were not better to cast herself into the abyss of the ocean, and thus end her woes. It was not want of courage that prevented her putting this resolution into execution; but her religious feelings came to her aid and saved her.
Caderousse was, like Fernand, enrolled in the army, but, being married and eight years older, he was merely sent to the coast fortresses. Old Dantès, who was only sustained by hope, lost all hope at Napoleon's
