midnight
I took it , and I am not ashamed to say that , for the second time that night , tears came into my eyes . Outside in the street I watched and waited . The night grew sharp , and the darkness grew dense , and the city 's throbbing pulse grew still . I walked up and down the street , and only the watchman 's distant cry and my own quiet foot-fall , broke the midnight silence . The inevitable thought came to me , whether , after all , there be any such thing as chance in the world -- or , whether all is chance . I had paused that afternoon before the grille of an old garden , softly called to stop by the scent of the lilacs -- and because I had ever loved the scent of lilacs a man might die that night . No one came out of the house where Gaston Cheverny battled with death .