“I can not describe to you my great surprise on hearing him speak thus. I believed that his mind had become enfeebled by the weight of years. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled, and took no further notice of him. Some days afterward I left home for Paris. There I found myself launched into the society of men of letters; their example encouraged and stimulated me, and I soon published several works that were very successful, which I will not now describe. All Paris rushed to see me, the journals were filled with my praises. The new name I had taken became celebrated, and even recently, young man, you have admired my works.” Here another gesture of surprise on my part interrupted this recital. “Then you are not the Duc de C----?” cried I. “No,” replied he, coldly. And I asked myself: “A celebrated man of letters! Is this Marmontel? is it D’Alembert? is it Voltaire?” The unknown sighed, a smile of regret and contempt spread over his lips, and he continued his recital. “This literary reputation, which had seemed to me so desirable, soon failed to satisfy a soul so ardent as mine. I aspired to still higher successes, and I said to Yago (who had followed me to Paris and who kept close watch over me): ‘This is not real glory, there is no veritable renown but that which one acquires in the career of arms. What is an author, a poet? Nothing! Give me a great general, or a captain in the army! Behold the destiny that I desire, and for a great military reputation I would willingly give ten more years of my life.’ “‘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?”