the hour of eleven
This latter feeling soon dominated all others . The delicious light , the sensuous atmosphere , the white turrets and towers of the city , shining on the horizon like some mystical , heavenly city in dreams -- the murmur of its far-off life , more audible to the spiritual than the natural ears -- the dark figures of the camp servants , lying in groups or quietly shuffling their cards , were all elements conducive to a grave yet happy seriousness . No one intended to sleep . They were to rest in the moonlight until the hour of eleven , and then make their last stage . This night they instinctively kept close together . The Senora had mentally reached that point where it was not unpleasant to talk over troubles , and to amplify especially her own share of them . `` But , Holy Maria ! ''