midnight
I need scarcely add that , before that fact became known to all -- for such things do not become certainties in a minute -- his Eminence had been happy enough to find the true Flore and restore it to her Majesty 's arms . On a certain wet night , in the spring of the year 1587 , the rain was doing its utmost to sweeten the streets of old Paris : the kennels were aflood with it , and the March wind , which caused the crowded sign-boards to creak and groan on their bearings , and ever and anon closed a shutter with the sound of a pistol-shot , blew the downpour in sheets into exposed doorways , and drenched to the skin the few wayfarers who were abroad . Here and there a stray dog , bent over a bone , slunk away at the approach of a roisterer 's footstep ; more rarely a passenger , whose sober or stealthy gait whispered of business rather than pleasure , moved cowering from street to street , under such shelter as came in his way . About two hours before midnight , a man issued somewhat suddenly from the darkness about the head of the Pont du Change and turned the corner into the Rue de St. Jacques la Boucherie , a street which ran parallel with the Quays , about half a mile east of the Louvre . His heavy cloak concealed his figure , but he made his way in the teeth of the wind with the spring and vigour of youth ; and arriving presently at a doorway , which had the air of retiring modestly under a couple of steep dark gables , and yet was rendered conspicuous by the light which shone through the unglazed grating above it , he knocked sharply on the oak . After a short delay the door slid open of itself and the man entered . He showed none of a stranger 's surprise at the invisibility of the porter , but after staying to shut the door , he advanced along a short passage , which was only partially closed at the further end by a high wooden screen .