the hour of ten
I had seen him in such a dress in our winter campaign in Poland , and it was said that he used it because the hood was such an excellent disguise . He was always fond , whether in the camp or in Paris , of walking round at night , and overhearing the talk in the cabarets or round the fires . His figure , however , and his way of carrying his head and his hands were so well known that he was always recognized , and then the talkers would say whatever they thought would please him best . My first thought was that he would be angry with me for having kept him waiting , but as I approached him , we heard the big church clock of Fontainebleau clang out the hour of ten . It was evident , therefore , that it was he who was too soon , and not I too late . I remembered his order that I should make no remark , so contented myself with halting within four paces of him , clicking my spurs together , grounding my sabre , and saluting . He glanced at me , and then without a word he turned and walked slowly through the forest , I keeping always about the same distance behind him .