Twenty-five minutes past three
A uniform suddenly appeared in one of the paths : it was a sergeant belonging to the commissariat department , who was passing rapidly , bent on business . Directly the fair young man saw him he left his place by the palisade and hid himself behind a tree , muttering : `` Decidedly one has to be constantly on the defensive ! '' He unbuttoned his coat and looked at his watch . `` Twenty-five minutes past three ! He will not be long now ! '' * * * * * Two hundred yards from this spot , before the chief entrance to the Gardens , a crowd had gathered ; inveterate idlers jostling one another in the circle they had formed round a sordid individual , a miserable old man with a long white beard , who was drawing discordant sounds from an old accordion . Some kindly housewives , some shock-headed errand-boys , were exercising their lungs to the utmost , trying to help the musician to play according to time and tune .