three o'clock
-- what she was living through . How long she had waited the moment when she _ would _ know ! One day towards the end of May , Morrison had come in for lunch , a delicately chosen , deceptively simple meal for which Yoshida had outdone himself . There had been a savory mixture of sweetbreads and mushrooms in a smooth , rich , creamy sauce ; green peas that had been on the vines at three o'clock that morning , and which still had the aroma of life in their delectable little balls ; sparkling Saumur ; butter with the fragrance of dew and clover in it ; crisp , crusty rolls ; artichokes in oil -- such a meal as no money can buy anywhere but in Paris in the spring , such a simple , simple meal as takes a great deal of money to buy even in Paris . `` It is an art to eat like this , '' said Morrison , more than half seriously , after he had taken the first mouthful of the golden soufflé which ended the meal . `` What a May we have had ! I have been thinking so often of Talleyrand 's saying that no one who had not lived before the French Revolution , under the old régime , could know how sweet life could be ; and I 've been thinking that we may live to say that about the end of this régime .