seven o'clock
We made good speed , and soon sighted Venanson , a queer village perched above all vegetation on the spur of a mountain . At a turn of the road we seemed suddenly to quit France , and wheel into Switzerland . The air was Alpine , and the vegetation that of the higher valleys there . It was near seven o'clock when we approached St. Martin Lantosque , a quaint brown village of wood , clustering around a domed church . We soon found the Hôtel des Alpes , which was but a sorry inn of no great cleanliness . The proprietor , a white-faced man , watched us descend without enthusiasm . `` What time did the diligence come in ? ''