midnight
Mrs. Pontellier was by that time thoroughly awake . She began to cry a little , and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her peignoir . Blowing out the candle , which her husband had left burning , she slipped her bare feet into a pair of satin mules at the foot of the bed and went out on the porch , where she sat down in the wicker chair and began to rock gently to and fro . It was then past midnight . The cottages were all dark . A single faint light gleamed out from the hallway of the house . There was no sound abroad except the hooting of an old owl in the top of a water-oak , and the everlasting voice of the sea , that was not uplifted at that soft hour .