eleven o'clock
JOSEFINA SLEEPS 276 THE GRANDEE It was ten o'clock at night , an hour when the number of those who frequented the streets of the noble city of Lancia was always of the scantiest , but in the depth of winter , when our story opens , with a bitter north-east wind and drenching rain , one would find it difficult to stumble upon a living soul . Not that all had surrendered themselves into the arms of Morpheus , for Lancia as capital of a province , albeit not one of the most important , had learnt to sit up late . But the people used to resort at an early hour to parties , whence they only sallied forth to supper and to bed at eleven o'clock . At that hour many noisy groups could be seen passing along under the shelter of umbrellas , the ladies enveloped in warm woollen cloaks , holding up their petticoats , and the gentlemen all wrapped in their cloaks , or _ montecristos _ , with their trousers well turned up , breaking the silence of the night by the loud clack of their wooden shoes . For at the time of which we speak there were few that despised this comfortable shoe of the country , unless it were some new-fledged medical student from Valladolid , who considered himself above such old-fashioned things , or some fanciful young lady , who pretended that she could not walk in them . But these were the exceptions .