four o’clock in the
afternoon
A harlot 's daughter you are , my dear ; you must be a harlot too if you want to become anything at all . The day wore on . The crowd , more active now that there were empty spaces here and there , commenced to stream towards the door of exit after great eddyings round the successes of the year , satisfied , rather tired , but excited still by that air charged with the electricity of art . A great flood of sunlight , such as sometimes occurs at four o'clock in the afternoon , fell on the stained-glass rose-window , threw on the sand tracks of rainbow-coloured lights , softly bathing the bronze or the marble of the statues , imparting an iridescent hue to the nudity of a beautiful figure , giving to the vast museum something of the luminous life of a garden . Felicia , absorbed in her deep and sad reverie , did not notice the man who advanced towards her , superb , elegant , fascinating , through the respectfully opened ranks of the public , while the name of `` Mora '' was everywhere whispered . `` Well , mademoiselle , you have made a splendid success . I only regret one thing about it , and that is the cruel symbol which you have hidden in your masterpiece . ''