one in the morning
For a time his pencil travelled rapidly over the paper , but soon the lines became less level , the words more blurred , and finally the pencil tinkled down upon the floor , and the head of the student dropped heavily forward upon his chest . Tired out by his journey , he slept so soundly in his lonely post behind the door that neither the clanking civil guard , nor the footsteps of sightseers , nor even the loud hoarse bell which gives the signal for closing , were sufficient to arouse him . Twilight deepened into darkness , the bustle from the Rue de Rivoli waxed and then waned , distant Notre Dame clanged out the hour of midnight , and still the dark and lonely figure sat silently in the shadow . It was not until close upon one in the morning that , with a sudden gasp and an intaking of the breath , Vansittart Smith returned to consciousness . For a moment it flashed upon him that he had dropped asleep in his study-chair at home . The moon was shining fitfully through the unshuttered window , however , and , as his eye ran along the lines of mummies and the endless array of polished cases , he remembered clearly where he was and how he came there . The student was not a nervous man .