The two o'clock sun
The voices rose amidst a last burst of fervour . All those glowing souls returned thanks to God for the beautiful journey , the marvellous favours that He had already bestowed on them , and would bestow on them yet again . At last came the fortifications . The two o'clock sun was slowly descending the vast , pure heavens , so serenely warm . Distant smoke , a ruddy smoke , was rising in light clouds above the immensity of Paris like the scattered , flying breath of that toiling colossus . It was Paris in her forge , Paris with her passions , her battles , her ever-growling thunder , her ardent life ever engendering the life of to-morrow . And the white train , the woeful train of every misery and every dolour , was returning into it all at full speed , sounding in higher and higher strains the piercing flourishes of its whistle-calls .