midnight
Wholly buried in the misery of his own thoughts , with folded arms , drooping head , and fixed , bloodshot eyes , M. d'Harville continued to pace his chamber ; then , stopping opposite his fireplace , in which , spite of the almost unendurable severity of the frost of the past night , the fire had been allowed to expire , he took from the marble mantelpiece the following brief note , which he continued to read over and over with the most eager attention by the wan , pale light of the cold glimmer of an early winter morning : `` To-morrow , at one o'clock , your wife has appointed to meet her favoured lover . Go to the Rue du Temple , No. 17 , and you will obtain every requisite confirmation of this intelligence . `` FROM ONE WHO PITIES YOU . '' Whilst reading these words , perused , with such deep anguish and sickness of heart , so many times through the long midnight hours , the blue , cold lips of M. d'Harville appeared convulsively to spell each syllable of this fatal _ billet _ . At this moment the chamber door opened and a servant entered ; the man who now made his appearance was old , even gray-headed , but the expression of his countenance was frank and honest . The noise of the man entering disturbed not the marquis from his bitter contemplations ; he merely turned his head without altering his position , but still grasped the letter in his clenched hands . `` What do you want ? ''