The boat continued her voyage. They had passed the Tête de More, were now in front of the light-house, and about to double the battery. This manoeuvre was incomprehensible to Dantès.
"Whither are you taking me?" asked he.
"You will soon know."
"But, still———"
"We are forbidden to give you any explanation." Dantès was half a soldier and knew that nothing would be more absurd than to question subordinates, who were forbidden to reply, and remained silent.
The most vague and wild thoughts passed through his mind. The boat they were in could not make a long voyage; there was no vessel at anchor outside the harbor; he thought perhaps they were going to leave him on some distant point and tell him he was free. He was not bound, nor had they made any attempt to handcuff him; this seemed a good augury. Besides, had not the deputy, who had been so kind to him, told him that, provided he did not pronounce the dreaded name of Noirtier, he had nothing to apprehend? Had not Villefort in his presence destroyed the fatal letter, the only proof against him? He waited silently, striving to pierce through the obscurity of the night with his sailor's eye, accustomed to darkness and distance.
They had left the Ile Ratonneau, where the light-house stood, on the right, and were now opposite the Point des Catalans. His eyesight redoubled its vigor, and it seemed to the prisoner that he could distinguish a female form on the beach, for it was there Mercédès dwelt. How was it that a presentiment did not warn Mercédès her lover was near her?
One light alone was visible; and Dantès recognized it as coming from the chamber of Mercédès. She was the only being awake in the little colony. A loud cry could be heard by her. He did not utter it. A false shame restrained him. What would his guards think if they heard him shout like a madman?
He remained silent, his eyes fixed upon the light; the boat went on, but the prisoner only thought of Mercédès. A rising ground hid the light. Dantès turned and perceived that they had got out to sea. Whilst he had been absorbed in thought, they had hoisted the sail, and the bark was borne onward by the wind.
In spite of his repugnance to address the guards, Dantès turned to the nearest gendarme, and, taking his hand,
"Comrade," said he, "I adjure you, as a Christian and a soldier, to tell me where we are going. I am Captain Dantès, a loyal Frenchman, though accused of I know not what treason; tell me where you are conducting me, and I promise you, on my honor, I will submit to my fate."
