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 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 its last conscription, and every man in France capable of bearing arms rushed to obey the summons of the emperor. Fernand departed with the rest, bearing with him the terrible thought that while he was away, his rival would perhaps return and marry Mercédès. Had Fernand really meant to kill himself, he would have done so when he parted from Mercédès. His devotion, 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 carried a ray of hope into Fernand’s heart. Should Dantès not return, Mercédès might one day be his.
Mercédès was left alone face to face with the vast plain that had never seemed so barren, and the sea that had never seemed so vast.