noon
Beneath these words , written in blood long since browned with age , could still be seen the impress of a hand that had been red too , as if the unfortunate writer had supported himself thus whilst tracing his miserable words . The steps leading to the gallery beyond the archway were known as `` The Little Steps of Mercy , '' and to get at the entrance door of the house itself , which was in part built over the passage , it was necessary to go along the gallery , in the side of which it was placed , in an almost invisible gloom , that added not a little to the mystery surrounding the place . Another curious thing about this little by-street was that every house , and there were not many , appeared deserted . Hardly a soul ever passed by day along its dim length , which was always in shadow , except at high noon , when the sunlight forced its way in a line of white light along the forbidding passage . By night no one was ever seen , and , indeed , there were few who would have ventured along the Passage of Pity when the sun went down . Here , then , I stood at the appointed time , staring at the surly row of houses on either side of me and at the dead wall in my face . Twice I paced up and down the length of the street ; but there was no sign of La Marmotte .