ified his
desire to be quite alone. In a couple of hours he returned. Two of the
men from Jacopo's boat came on board the yacht to assist in navigating
it, and he gave orders that she should be steered direct to Marseilles.
For his father's death he was in some manner prepared; but he knew not
how to account for the mysterious disappearance of Mercedes.

Without divulging his secret, Dantes could not give sufficiently clear
instructions to an agent. There were, besides, other particulars he
was desirous of ascertaining, and those were of a nature he alone could
investigate in a manner satisfactory to himself. His looking-glass
had assured him, during his stay at Leghorn, that he ran no risk of
recognition; moreover, he had now the means of adopting any disguise
he thought proper. One fine morning, then, his yacht, followed by the
little fishing-boat, boldly entered the port of Marseilles, and anchored
exactly opposite the spot from whence, on the never-to-be-forgotten
night of his departure for the Chateau d'If, he had been put on board
the boat destined to convey him thither. Still Dantes could not view
without a shudder the approach of a gendarme who accompanied the
officers deputed to demand his bill of health ere the yacht was
permitted to hold communication with the shore; but with that perfect
self-possession he had acquired during his acquaintance with Faria,
Dantes coolly presented an English passport he had obtained from
Leghorn, and as this gave him a standing which a French passport would
not have afforded, he was informed that there existed no obstacle to his
immediate debarkation.

The first person to attract the attention of Dantes, as he landed on the
Canebiere, was one of the crew belonging to the Pharaon. Edmond welcomed
the meeting with this fellow--who had been one of his own sailors--as a
sure means of testing the extent of the change which time had worked in
his own appearance. Going straight towards him, he propounded a variety
of questions on different subjects, carefully watching the man's
countenance as he did so; but not a word or look implied that he had the
slightest idea of ever having seen before the person with whom he was
then conversing. Giving the sailor a piece of money in return for his
civility, Dantes proceeded onwards; but ere he had gone many steps he
heard the man loudly calling him to stop. Dantes instantly turned to
meet him. "I beg your pardon, sir," said the honest fellow, i