four o’clock
Then , too , what universal and indefatigable supervision ! Through the mists of early morning the farm-servants heard her rough and husky voice : `` Olivier , Peyrol , Audibert . Come on ! It is four o'clock . '' Then she would hasten to the immense kitchen , where the maids , heavy with sleep , were heating the porridge over the crackling , new-lit fire . They gave her a little dish of red Marseilles-ware full of boiled chestnuts -- frugal breakfast of bygone times , which nothing would have induced her to change . At once she was off , hurrying with great strides , her large silver keyring at her belt , whence jingled all her keys , her plate in her hand , balanced by the distaff which she held , in working order , under her arm , for she spun all day long , and did not stop even to eat her chestnuts .