eight o'clock
M. Jacques Robin quitted his desk in the corner of the office and approached on tip-toe . Henry Denvil had drawn a card , the ace of diamonds , on the back of his daughter 's letter . M. Robin smirked . `` If you are disengaged at eight o'clock , I should like to show you another game , '' he said , in a discreet and respectful tone . `` Yes , '' assented the master , moodily . The November night settled gloomily on Foundryville . Mist swathed the hill-tops and rolled along the slopes , the rain fell monotonously , and the river , invisible in the darkness , mingled its melancholy music with the fitful soughing of the wind .