midnight
I might go into a detailed history of the Doppelkinns , only it would be absurd and unnecessary , since it would be inappreciable under the name of Doppelkinn , which happens to be , as doubtless you have already surmised , a name of mine own invention . I could likewise tell you how the ancient dukes of Barscheit fought off the insidious flattery of Napoleon , only it is a far interest , and Barscheit is simply a characteristic , not a name . Some day I may again seek a diplomatic mission , and what government would have for its representative a teller of tales out of school ? It was , then , to continue the fortunes and misfortunes of Max Scharfenstein , close to midnight when the cavalcade crossed the old moat-bridge , which had n't moved on its hinges within a hundred years . They were not entering by the formal way , which was a flower-bedded , terraced road . It was the rear entrance . The iron doors swung outward with a plaintive moaning , like that of a man roused out of his sleep , and Max found himself in an ancient guard-room , now used as a kind of secondary stable .