Chapter 6: Burning Love: II
Fernand’s head dropped like a defeated man’s. He let out a sigh that sounded like a groan, then suddenly looked her straight in the face with gritted teeth and flaring nostrils.
"But if he’s dead-"
"If he’s dead, I’ll die too."
"If he’s forgotten you-"
"Mercédès!" called a joyful voice from outside. "Mercédès!"
"Ah!" the young woman exclaimed, blushing with delight and practically bouncing with love. "You see? He hasn’t forgotten me, here he is!" She rushed to the door and threw it open. "Here, Edmond! Here I am!"
Fernand went pale and trembled, shrinking back like someone who’d just seen a snake, and collapsed into a chair. Edmond and Mercédès threw themselves into each other’s arms. The blazing Marseille sun streaming through the open door bathed them in golden light.
At first, they saw nothing around them. Their intense happiness cut them off from the rest of the world, and they could only speak in broken words, the kind that come with joy so extreme it almost looks like grief.
Suddenly Edmond noticed Fernand’s dark, pale, threatening face defined in the shadows. By some instinct he couldn’t explain, the young Catalan’s hand moved to the knife at his belt.
"Oh, sorry," Dantès said, frowning in turn. "I didn’t realize there were three of us here." Turning to Mercédès, he asked, "Who is this guy?"
"Someone who’ll be your best friend, Dantès, because he’s my friend, my cousin, my brother. This is Fernand, after you, Edmond, the person I love most in the world. Don’t you remember him?"
"Yes!" said Dantès. Without letting go of Mercédès’ hand, he extended his other hand to the Catalan in a friendly gesture. But instead of responding to this gesture, Fernand remained silent and trembling. Edmond looked searchingly at the agitated and embarrassed Mercédès, then again at the gloomy and menacing Fernand. That look told him everything, and his anger flared.
"I didn’t know when I came here so eagerly that I’d be meeting an enemy."
"An enemy!" Mercédès cried, glaring at her cousin. "An enemy in my house, you say, Edmond? If I believed that, I’d take your arm and go with you to Marseille, leaving this house never to return."
Fernand’s eyes flashed like lightning.
"And if any misfortune happened to you, dear Edmond," she continued with the same calm that proved to Fernand that she’d read the depths of his dark thoughts, "if misfortune happened to you, I’d climb to the highest point of Cape Morgion and throw myself off."
Fernand went deathly pale.
"But you’re wrong, Edmond," she continued. "You have no enemy here, there’s no one but Fernand, my brother, who’ll shake your hand as a devoted friend."
With these words, the young woman fixed her commanding gaze on the Catalan, who, as if hypnotized, slowly approached Edmond and offered his hand. His hatred, like a powerless but furious wave, broke against Mercédès’ strong influence over him. But as soon as he touched Edmond’s hand, he felt he’d done all he could do and rushed hastily out of the house.
"Oh!" he cried, running frantically and tearing his hair. "Who will free me from this man?! I’m so bloody miserable!"
"Hey, Catalan! Hey, Fernand! Where are you running to?" shouted a voice.
The young man stopped suddenly, looked around, and saw Caderousse sitting at a table with Danglars under a vine-covered arbor.
"Well," said Caderousse, "why don’t you come over? Are you really in such a hurry that you can’t spare time to chat with your friends?"
"Especially when we still have a full bottle in front of us," added Danglars.
Fernand stared at them both with a stunned expression but said nothing.
"He looks like he’s in shock," said Danglars, nudging Caderousse with his knee. "Are we wrong? Has Dantès won despite everything we believed?"
"Well, we should find out," Caderousse replied, turning to the young man. "Come on, Catalan, make up your mind!"
Fernand wiped the sweat streaming from his forehead and slowly entered the arbor. The shade seemed to restore some calm to his mind, and the coolness refreshed his exhausted body.
"Good day," he said. "You called me, didn’t you?" He fell rather than sat down on one of the seats around the table.
"I called you because you were running like a madman, and I was afraid you’d throw yourself into the sea," said Caderousse, laughing. "When a man has friends, they’re not just there to offer him wine, but also to stop him from unnecessarily drowning himself!"
Fernand let out a groan that sounded like a sob and dropped his head into his hands, elbows on the table.
"Well, Fernand," said Caderousse, starting the conversation with the brutal directness of common people whose curiosity destroys all tact, "you look exactly like a guy who just got dumped." He burst into harsh laughter.
"Bullshit!" said Danglars. "A guy like him wasn’t born to be unlucky in love. You’re just messing with him, Caderousse."
"No," he replied, "just listen to him sighing! Come on, Fernand," said Caderousse, "lift your head and answer us. It’s rude not to reply to friends asking about your health."
"My health is fine," said Fernand, clenching his hands without raising his head.
"Ah, you see, Danglars," said Caderousse, winking at his friend, "here’s the situation: Fernand here is a good and brave Catalan, one of the best fishermen in Marseille, and he’s in love with a beautiful girl named Mercédès. But unfortunately, it seems the beautiful girl is in love with the first mate of the Pharaon, and since the Pharaon arrived today, well, you understand!"
"No, I don’t understand," said Danglars.
"Poor Fernand got rejected," continued Caderousse.
"So what?" said Fernand, lifting his head and looking at Caderousse like a man looking for someone to take his anger out on. "Mercédès doesn’t owe anyone anything, does she? Isn’t she free to love whoever she wants?"
"Oh, if you’re taking it that way," said Caderousse, "that’s different. But I thought you were a Catalan, and people told me Catalans don’t let rivals steal their women. I was even told that Fernand, especially, was terrible in his revenge."
Fernand smiled pitifully. "A lover is never terrible," he said.
"Poor guy!" remarked Danglars, pretending to pity the young man from the bottom of his heart. "You see, he didn’t expect Dantès to return so suddenly, he thought he was dead, maybe, or perhaps unfaithful! These things always hit us harder when they come suddenly."
"Ah, hell, under any circumstances," said Caderousse, who was drinking as he spoke and beginning to feel the wine’s effects, "under any circumstances, Fernand isn’t the only one upset by Dantès’ fortunate return, is he, Danglars?"
"No, you’re right, and I’d say it’ll bring him bad luck."
"Never mind," answered Caderousse, pouring wine for Fernand and filling his own glass for the eighth or ninth time, while Danglars had barely sipped his. "Never mind. In the meantime, he’s marrying Mercédès, the lovely Mercédès, at least he’s returning to do that."
Meanwhile, Danglars fixed his piercing gaze on the young man, and Caderousse’s words fell on his heart like molten lead.