Nearly four years had passed away; at the end of the second he had ceased to mark the lapse of time.
Dantes said, "I wish to die," and had chosen the manner of his death, and fearful of changing his mind, he had taken an oath to die.

"When my morning and evening meals are brought," thought he, "I will cast them out of the window, and they will think that I have eaten them." He kept his word; twice a day he cast out, through the barred aperture, the provisions his jailer brought him--at first gayly, then with deliberation, and at last with regret.

Nothing but the recollection of his oath gave him strength to proceed.

Hunger made viands once repugnant, now acceptable; he held the plate in his hand for an hour at a time, and gazed thoughtfully at the morsel of bad meat, of tainted fish, of black and mouldy bread.

It was the last yearning for life contending with the resolution of despair; then his dungeon seemed less sombre, his prospects less desperate.