four o'clock
`` I know . You 're very , very good . '' * * * * * Hour after hour Delafield sat motionless in his room , till `` high in the Valais depths profound '' he `` saw the morning break . '' There was a little balcony at his command , and as he noiselessly stepped out upon it , between three and four o'clock , he felt himself the solitary comrade of the mist-veiled lake , of those high , rosy mountains on the eastern verge , the first throne and harbor of the light -- of the lower forest-covered hills that `` took the morning , '' one by one , in a glorious and golden succession . All was fresh , austere , and vast -- the spaces of the lake , the distant hollows of high glaciers filled with purple shadow , the precipices of the Rochers de Naye , where the new snow was sparkling in the sun , the cool wind that blew towards him from the gates of Italy , down the winding recesses of that superb valley which has been a thoroughfare of nations from the beginning of time . Not a boat on the wide reaches of the lake ; not a voice or other sound of human toil , either from the vineyards below or the meadows above . Meanwhile some instinct , perhaps also some faint movements in her room , told him that Julie was no less wakeful than himself .