“‘I accept them,’ replied Yago, quickly. ‘I take them—they belong to me—do not forget it.’”
At this stage of his recital the unknown paused once more on seeing the alarm and incredulity that were depicted on my features.
“You remember, I warned you, young man,” said he, “that you could not believe my story. It must seem to you a dream, a chimera—to me also;—nevertheless the promotions, the honors that I soon obtained, were no illusions. Those brave soldiers that I led into the thickest of the fight! Those brilliant charges! Those captured flags! Those victories which all France heard of; all that was my work—all that glory belonged to me!”
While he marched up and down the room with great strides, and spoke thus with warmth and with enthusiasm, astonishment and fear had almost paralyzed my senses. “Who then is this person?” thought I. “Is it Coligny? is it Richelieu? is it the Maréchal de Saxe?”
From his state of exaltation my unknown had fallen again into deepest dejection, and, approaching me, said with a sombre air: “Yago kept his promise; and when, later on, disgusted with the vain smoke of military glory, I aspired to that which is only real and positive in this world—when at the price of five or six years of existence I desired great riches, he gladly gave them to me. Yes, young man, I have possessed vast wealth, far beyond my wildest dreams—estates, forests, and châteaux. To-day, still, all this is mine, and in my power; if you doubt me—if you doubt the existence of Yago—wait here, he is coming, and you can see for yourself that which would confound your reason and mine were it not unfortunately too real.”
The unknown approached the fireplace, looked at the timepiece, made a gesture of alarm, and said to me in a deep voice:
“This morning at daybreak I felt myself so weak and so feeble that I could scarcely rise. I rang for my valet-de-chambre; it was Yago who appeared. ‘What is this strange feeling?’ asked I.
“‘Master, nothing but what is perfectly natural. The hour approaches, the moment arrives.’
“‘And what is it?’ cried I.
“‘Can you not divine it? Heaven has destined you sixty years to live; you were thirty when I began to obey you.’