nine o'clock
In this wise , from morning till evening on fine days of festivity , the chimes winged their flight above the house-roofs of Lourdes . And nothing could have been gayer than that sonorous melody resounding in the broad blue heavens above the gluttonous town , which had at last lunched , and was now comfortably digesting as it strolled about in the sunlight . AS soon as night had fallen Marie , still lying on her bed at the Hospital of Our Lady of Dolours , became extremely impatient , for she had learnt from Madame de Jonquiere that Baron Suire had obtained from Father Fourcade the necessary permission for her to spend the night in front of the Grotto . Thus she kept on questioning Sister Hyacinthe , asking her : `` Pray , Sister , is it not yet nine o'clock ? '' `` No , my child , it is scarcely half-past eight , '' was the reply . `` Here is a nice woollen shawl for you to wrap round you at daybreak , for the Gave is close by , and the mornings are very fresh , you know , in these mountainous parts . '' `` Oh !