eight o’clock
No , very certainly this man was not a rascal , but a poor , illuded being whose fortune had gone to his head like a wine too heavy for a stomach long accustomed to water . Alone in the midst of Paris , surrounded by enemies and people ready to take advantage of him , Jansoulet made upon him the impression of a man on foot laden with gold passing through some evil-haunted wood , in the dark and unarmed . And he reflected that it would be well for the _ protege _ to watch , without seeming to do so , over the protector , to become the discerning Telemachus of the blind Mentor , to point out to him the quagmires , to defend him against the highwaymen , to aid him , in a word , in his combats amid all that swarm of nocturnal ambuscades which he felt were prowling ferociously around the Nabob and his millions . Every morning of the year , at exactly eight o'clock , a new and almost tenantless house in a remote quarter of Paris , echoed to cries , calls , merry laughter , ringing clear in the desert of the staircase : `` Father , do n't forget my music . '' `` Father , my crochet wool . '' `` Father , bring us some rolls . '' And the voice of the father calling from below : `` Yaia , bring me down my portfolio , please . ''