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Updated: June 18, 2025
And, thinking of Yvonne, he passed into the shadows which the pines cast upon the Schicksalfels. Seventeen Paris lay sparkling under a cold, clear sky. The brilliant streets lay coiled along the Seine and stretched glittering from bank to bank, from boulevard to boulevard; cafes, brasseries, concert halls and theaters in the yellow blaze of gas and the white and violet of electricity.
High over the pines hung a cliff, blackening the water all around with fathomless shadow. A waiter came lounging by, his hands tucked beneath his coattails. "What point is that? The one which overhangs the pines there?" asked Rex. "Gracious sir!" said the waiter, "that is the Schicksalfels." "Why `Schicksal-fels'?" "Has the gracious gentleman never heard the legend of the `Rock of Fate'?"
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