midnight
while now and again the passage of a great noble with his suite called forth a fresh outburst of enthusiasm . Nothing seemed more certain , more inevitable , more clearly predestinated than that twenty-four hours must see the fall of Paris . Yet Paris did not fall . When M. d'Agen returned a little before midnight , he found me still sitting in the dark looking from the window . I heard him call roughly for lights , and apprised by the sound of his voice that something was wrong , I rose to meet him . He stood silent awhile , twirling his small moustaches , and then broke into a passionate tirade , from which I was not slow to gather that M. de Rambouillet declined to serve me . ` Well , ' I said , feeling for the young man 's distress and embarrassment , ` perhaps he is right . '