five o'clock
It was chaste and passionate abandon , the innocence of chance slumber placing them in one another 's arms , with warm , close lips so that their breath mingled , like the breath of two babes lying in the same cradle . And such was their bridal night , the consummation of the spiritual marriage in which they were to live , a delicious annihilation born of extreme fatigue , with scarcely a fleeting dream of mystical possession , amidst that carriage of wretchedness and suffering , which still and ever rolled along through the dense night . Hours and hours slipped by , the wheels growled , the bags and baskets swung from the brass hooks , whilst from the piled-up , crushed bodies there only arose a sense of terrible fatigue , the great physical exhaustion brought back from the land of miracles when the overworked souls returned home . At last , at five o'clock , whilst the sun was rising , there was a sudden awakening , a resounding entry into a large station , with porters calling , doors opening , and people scrambling together . They were at Poitiers , and at once the whole carriage was on foot , amidst a chorus of laughter and exclamations . Little Sophie Couteau alighted here , and was bidding everybody farewell . She embraced all the ladies , even passing over the partition to take leave of Sister Claire des Anges , whom nobody had seen since the previous evening , for , silent and slight of build , with eyes full of mystery , she had vanished into her corner .