“But who sharpened the hatchet?” asked Mrs. Fenwick.
Without divulging his secret, Dantes could not givesufficiently 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 amanner satisfactory to himself. His looking-glass hadassured him, during his stay at Leghorn, that he ran no riskof recognition; moreover, he had now the means of adoptingany disguise he thought proper. One fine morning, then, hisyacht, followed by the little fishing-boat, boldly enteredthe port of Marseilles, and anchored exactly opposite thespot from whence, on the never-to-be-forgotten night of hisdeparture for the Chateau d'If, he had been put on board theboat destined to convey him thither. Still Dantes could notview without a shudder the approach of a gendarme whoaccompanied the officers deputed to demand his bill ofhealth ere the yacht was permitted to hold communicationwith the shore; but with that perfect self-possession he hadacquired during his acquaintance with Faria, Dantes coollypresented an English passport he had obtained from Leghorn,and as this gave him a standing which a French passportwould not have afforded, he was informed that there existedno obstacle to his immediate debarkation.