a quarter to
nine
Put it away and come , just as you are , to Moitriers , up into the balcony . I am going there first to order a wonderful dinner . '' In a quarter of an hour they were sitting behind the wooden balustrade of the balcony at Moitriers -- the only diners on the little landing that overhung the one fashionable restaurant in Metz . It was a quarter to nine ; down below , the room , which was lined with mirrors set in gilt frames , was filled with light ; knives and forks still tapped upon the plates , but the hour being late many diners leant across the strewn tablecloths and talked , or sat a little askew in their chairs and listened . A hum filled the warm air , and what was garish below , here , behind the balustrade , became filtered and strained to delicate streaks and bars of light which crossed and recrossed their cloth , their hands , their faces -- what was noisy below was here no more than a soft insect bustle , a murmurous background to their talk . The door of the balcony opened behind them , and Madame Berthe , the proprietress herself , moved at their side ; her old-fashioned body , shaped like an hour-glass , was clothed in rucked black silk , which flowed over her like a pigment ; flowed from her chin to the floor , upon which it lay stiffly in hills and valleys of braided hem . Her gay gold tooth gleamed , and the gold in her ears wagged , as she fed them gently on omelette , chicken and tinned peas , and a _ soufflé _ ice .