eleven o’clock
He perceived things he had never seen before -- the gentle wave of her chestnut hair , the rounded swell of her rosy throat . She had to assume a sterner air and overwhelm him with the splendour of her sovereign power to bring him back to the unfinished sentences of his broken prayer . At last the sight of her golden crown , her golden mantle , all the golden sheen which made of her a mighty princess , reduced him once more to slavish submission , and his prayer again flowed evenly , and his mind became wrapped in worship . In this ecstatic trance , half asleep , half awake , he remained till eleven o'clock , heedless of his aching knees , fancying himself suspended in mid air , rocked to and fro like a child , and yielding to restful slumber , though conscious of some unknown weight that oppressed his heart . Meanwhile the church around him filled with shadows , the lamp grew dim , and the lofty sprays of leafage darkened the tall Virgin 's varnished face . When the clock , about to strike , gave out a rending whine , a shudder passed through Abbe Mouret . He had not hitherto felt the chill of the church upon his shoulders , but now he was shivering from head to foot .