eight o’clock
Unhappily , this scene , this modern drama itself , will be comprehended by only a small number of persons ; and it is a pity to tell the tale to a public which can not enter into its local merit . But who can flatter himself that he will ever be understood ? We all die unknown -- ` tis the saying of women and of authors . At half-past eight o'clock one evening , in the rue Pagevin , in the days when that street had no wall which did not echo some infamous word , and was , in the direction of the rue Soly , the narrowest and most impassable street in Paris -LRB- not excepting the least frequented corner of the most deserted street -RRB- , -- at the beginning of the month of February about thirteen years ago , a young man , by one of those chances which come but once in life , turned the corner of the rue Pagevin to enter the rue des Vieux-Augustins , close to the rue Soly . There , this young man , who lived himself in the rue de Bourbon , saw in a woman near whom he had been unconsciously walking , a vague resemblance to the prettiest woman in Paris ; a chaste and delightful person , with whom he was secretly and passionately in love , -- a love without hope ; she was married . In a moment his heart leaped , an intolerable heat surged from his centre and flowed through all his veins ; his back turned cold , the skin of his head crept . He loved , he was young , he knew Paris ; and his knowledge did not permit him to be ignorant of all there was of possible infamy in an elegant , rich , young , and beautiful woman walking there , alone , with a furtively criminal step .