four o'clock in the morning
I opened my eyes and feebly waved my left hand . Then a voice came , clear and fresh : `` Jean , is it you ? Well , is the duke at the house ? '' I must be dreaming ; that was my immediate conviction , for the voice that I heard was a voice I knew well , but one not likely to be heard here , in Jean 's cottage , at four o'clock in the morning . Decidedly I was dreaming , and as in order to dream a man must be asleep , I was pleased at the idea and nodded happily , smiling and blinking in self-congratulation . But that pleasant minute of illusion was my last ; for the voice cried in tones too full of animation , too void of dreamy vagueness , too real and actual to let me longer set them down as made of my own brain : `` Heaven ! Why , it 's Mr. Aycon !