nine
o'clock
But as the shades of evening gather in , the lane is usually deserted , shunned by the neighbouring peasantry on account of its eerie loneliness , so different to the former bustle which used to reign around the park gates when M. le Marquis and his family were still in residence . Nor does the lane lead anywhere , for it is a mere loop which gives on the main road at either end . Henri de Montorgueil chose a peculiarly dark night in mid-September for one of his periodical visits to the hollow-tree . It was close on nine o'clock when he passed stealthily down the lane , keeping close to the park wall . A soft rain was falling , the first since the prolonged drought , and though it made the road heavy and slippery in places , it helped to deaden the sound of the young man 's furtive footsteps . The air , except for the patter of the rain , was absolutely still . Henri de Montorgueil paused from time to time , with neck craned forward , every sense on the alert , listening , like any poor , hunted beast , for the slightest sound which might betray the approach of danger .