“Monsieur le capitaine, I have been weighing the pros and cons in my mind carefully and thoroughly. But now my decision has been made. From it all our further deliberations must proceed. You, of course, can have no rational objection to it, since you could devise no means for solving the problem before us when your turn came. You will be so kind, accordingly, as to consider the present recourse settled beyond appeal.”
He raised his right hand as though about to take an oath:
“Monsieur le capitaine, up to this day, you have been Monsieur André Narcy, captain of cavalry, staff officer at the fortress of Toulon. You are no longer such: Monsieur André Narcy, captain of cavalry, staff officer of the said fortress, is hereby suppressed, and nothing can save him, since his life has become a mortal menace to the Ever-living Man. You, Monsieur—henceforth I cannot call you Monsieur le capitaine—will continue to live under such name as shall be pleasing to you; but you shall continue to live here, a prisoner in this house—at least for a certain length of time; for it is by no means a life-long captivity that we are obliged to impose upon you. Our sojourn in this place may be shortened. Out of consideration for you, we will undertake to limit your restraint to a maximum of three years, dating from today. We will change our residence as soon as we may safely do so, without arousing unduly hazardous suspicions. We will take you with us. Then, on any spot on earth which you may designate—we require only that it be distant—we will set you at liberty, gladly, and without demanding any pledge of silence whatsoever from you. Why such a pledge, indeed? Your story, should you tell one, would be that of an unknown adventurer—or that of an imposter, should you have the extravagant audacity to attempt a resuscitation of Captain André Narcy. Thirty or forty months before this time on this 22nd of December, 1908, Captain André Narcy was found dead; and, unquestionably identified, was buried with military honors. Such a story, I repeat, and as you know well, would send you to an asylum for a much longer time than the three or four years we ask of you. No, you will be silent without a pledge and silently begin life over again—a new life, which, I trust, will be happy, prosperous, and free from accidents, even from accidents less tragic than the one which has brought your present life to an end this very hour!”
I had listened, with a deathly chill in my heart. The marquis leaned forward toward me.
“Do you accept this recourse—of your own free will?” he asked.
I threw my shoulders back and mustered the little strength that still remained in me. With head high I answered:
“I am in your power. There is nothing for me to accept or to refuse. I have no choice in the matter.”
To my surprise, my answer, easy as it must have been to foresee, strangely disconcerted my prosecutor. I saw him bite his lips, and look hesitatingly first to his right and then to his left. After a time, he resumed, abruptly, and with a curious plaint in his voice:
“Monsieur, I am disappointed in you, and I confess to you quite frankly that this resignation you are affecting does not serve my purposes at all. Remember, if you will be so kind, exactly who we are. In my view, you and I do not stand toward each other in the position respectively of victim and executioner. And you have an absolutely free choice in agreeing or in refusing to submit to what we ask of you.”
I was quite unable to fathom the meaning of this man who was addressing me in this incomprehensible language. I made no answer.