one in the morning
A criminal marching to execution could not suffer as Albert suffered as he went home from the hall where his fate was at stake . The despairing lover could endure no companionship . He walked through the streets alone , between eleven o'clock and midnight . At one in the morning , Albert , to whom sleep had been unknown for the past three days , was sitting in his library in a deep armchair , his face as pale as if he were dying , his hands hanging limp , in a forlorn attitude worthy of the Magdalen . Tears hung on his long lashes , tears that dim the eyes , but do not fall ; fierce thought drinks them up , the fire of the soul consumes them . Alone , he might weep . And then , under the kiosk , he saw a white figure , which reminded him of Francesca .