" And
half an hour later, having demolished all madame had set before him,
besides sharing the excellent chambertin, the Chevalier felt the man
made whole again. The warmth of the wine turned the edge of his
sterner thoughts; and at ten minutes to eight he went forth, a brave
and gallant man, handsome and gaily attired, his eyes glowing with
anticipating love, blissfully unconscious of the extraordinary things
which were to fall to his lot from this night onward.
The distance from the Candlestick was too short for the need of a
horse, so the Chevalier walked, lightly humming an old chanson of the
reign of Louis XIII, among whose royal pastimes was that of shaving his
courtiers:
"_Alas, my poor barber,
What is it makes you sad?"
"It is the grand king Louis,
Thirteenth of that name._"
He swung into the Rue Dauphin and mounted the Pont Neuf, glancing idly
below at the ferrymen whose torches threw on the black bosom of the
Seine long wavering threads of phantom fire. The snow-clouds had
passed over, and the stars were shining; the wind was falling. The
quays were white; the Louvre seemed but a vast pile of ghostly stones.
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