But now it is different; I have lost all that bound me to life, death smiles and invites me to repose; I die after my own manner, I die exhausted and broken-spirited, as I fall asleep when I have paced three thousand times round my cell." No sooner had this idea taken possession of him than he became more composed, arranged his couch to the best of his power, ate little and slept less, and found existence almost supportable, because he felt that he could throw it off at pleasure, like a worn-out garment.

Two methods of self-destruction were at his disposal.

He could hang himself with his handkerchief to the window bars, or refuse food and die of starvation.
But the first was repugnant to him.

Dantes had always entertained the greatest horror of pirates, who are hung up to the yard-arm; he would not die by what seemed an infamous death.

He resolved to adopt the second, and began that day to carry out his resolve.