“I could scarcely speak; my eyes were set in my head, and the chill of death congealed the blood in my veins. ‘Very well!’ said I with an effort, ‘take back your gifts, for that which I have sacrificed all. Four hours more and I renounce my gold, my wealth—all this opulence that I have so much desired.’
“‘Be it so; you have been a good master, and I am willing to do something for you. I consent.’
“I felt my strength come back, and I cried: ‘Four hours—that is very little! Yago! Yago! Four hours more and I renounce all my literary fame, all my works that have placed me so high in the world’s esteem.’
“‘Four hours for that!’ cried the negro with disdain; ‘it is too much. No matter. I can not refuse your last request.’
“‘Not the last!’ cried I, clasping my hands before him. ‘Yago! Yago! I supplicate you, give me until this evening. The twelve hours, the entire day, and all my exploits, my victories, all my military renown may all be effaced from the memory of men. This day, Yago, dear Yago; this whole day, and I will be content!’
“‘You abuse my kindness,’ said he; ‘no matter, I will give you until sunset; after that you must not ask me. This evening, then, I will come for you’—and he is gone,” continued the unknown, in despairing accents “and this day, in which I see you for the first time, is my last on earth.” Then going to the glass door, which was open, and which led to the park, he cried: “Alas! I will no longer behold the beautiful sky, these green lawns, the sparkling fountains! I will never again breathe the balmy air of springtime. Fool that I have been! These gifts that God has given to all of us; these blessings, to which I was insensible, and of which I can only now, when it is too late, appreciate and comprehend the sweetness—and I might have enjoyed them for twenty-five years more!—and I have used up my life! I have sacrificed it for what? For a vain and sterile glory, which has not made me happy, and which dies with me! Look!” said he to me, pointing to some peasants who traversed the park, singing on their way to work. “What would I not give now to share their labors and their poverty! But I have no longer anything to give, or to hope for here below, not even misfortune!”
Just then a ray of sunlight (the sun of the month of May) shone through the casement and lit up his pale and distracted features. He seized my arm in a sort of delirium, and said to me: “See! see there! is it not beautiful? the sun!—and I must leave all this! Ah! at least I am still alive! I will have this whole day—so pure, so bright, so radiant—this day which for me has no morrow!” he then ran down the steps of the open door, and bounded like a deer across the park, and at a detour of the path he disappeared in the shrubbery, before I hardly realized that he was gone, or could detain him. To tell the truth, I would not have had the strength. I lay back on the couch, stunned, dazed, and weak with the shock of all I had heard. I arose and walked up and down the room, to assure myself that I was awake, that I had not been under the influence of a dream. Just then the door of the boudoir opened and a servant announced: “Here is my master, the Duc de C——.”
A man of sixty years and of distinguished presence advanced toward me, and, giving me his hand, apologized for having made me wait so long.
“I was not in the château. I had gone to seek my younger brother, the Comte de C——, who is ill.”
“And is he in danger?” interrupted I.