Starlight and evening cold, thin snow crisp on the street-stones; Paris in 1640.Houses etched with snow-white roofs and gables, Novemberwind sharp, howling up the Seine valley; the dark streetsempty, desolate, unkindly. Destiny, leading three men to... Read more

Starlight and evening cold, thin snow crisp on the street-stones; Paris in 1640.Houses etched with snow-white roofs and gables, Novemberwind sharp, howling up the Seine valley; the dark streetsempty, desolate, unkindly. Destiny, leading three men toher crossroads -- three men, noble, prince, commoner.To the bridge of Notre Dame came the first man. He pausedin shelter of the parapet and gazed across at St. Germainin shivering indecision, He failed to see another figurecome hurrying toward the bridge; the other failed to seehim there in shadow. The two men collided sharply.The man in haste snarled an oath of surprise, of fright,of anger. He whipped out a dagger and lunged furiously atthe first man. The two grappled, reeled, slipped in thesnow and came down together. Pierced through the heart byhis own weapon, the assailant lay outsprawled and dead.Beside him two objects were fallen in the snow -- a heavypurse, and a rolled document on thick vellum.The first man knelt, found his assailant dead, picked upthe two objects, and rose. Abruptly, the desolation gavetongue. The bridge held voices, bobbing yellow lanterns,archers of the guet, the night-watch. No passing towardSt. Germain now! Turn back to the Cite -- turn, turnswiftly!Hat pulled low, face muffled, the first man strode awayrapidly and yet aimlessly, as one not knowing whither hewent. Presently he came into a narrow and tortuous street,the Rue de Ia Juiverie. Light glimmered ahead, from thethick-glassed windows of a tavern, whose sign of a pineconeoverhung the street.Trampled snow here, heavily marked from the tavern doorway,sign of company lately departed. Peering in at the window,the first man saw the place all empty, still faintly bluewith tobacco smoke. The door swung to his hand. He crossedto the darkest corner, flung the purse upon the table, andupon the host's appearance ordered supper at once, asumptuous supper. Then he unrolled the vellum document andperused it.Destiny had accomplished its task, had brought the firstman to the place appointed.The second man appeared, meantime, in shadow of the nearbychurch of Ste. Magdaleine. A tall figure, Gascon oaths uponhis lips, guardman's sash beneath his cloak. A companionwas with him. Two figures in the dim snowy street by thechurch enclosure, pausing, conferring together.Mordious! said the second man. Then the spot suitsyou?Agreed, said the other. Luckily, M. de Cyrano, it isyour sword I must face and not your nose -- En garde! exclaimed the second man brusquely. Brr! Toocold for long work -- at the third riposte, I warn you. Thethird riposte; remember -- The rasp of rapiers drawn from scabbard, the salute, thesharp click of crossed blades meeting, the sharper ring ofsteel against hilt. One! said the second man. Hiscompanion cursed him. Two! he said, and then laughed andbore back under a furious attack.Three! His companion coughed and fell, pierced throughthe throat. Less