six o'clock
Monte Carlo and the Rock of Monaco rose out of the steel-bright sea like one immense jewel-box , or a huge purple velvet pincushion , stuck full of diamond and topaz headed pins , with here and there a ruby or an emerald . These lights , reflected in the water , trailed down into mysterious depths , like illuminated roots of magic flowers ; and the bright shimmer spreading out over the moving ripples lay on the surface like glittering chain-armour . Although they had the blaze of these amazing jewels always before their eyes , somehow in talking Mary and Vanno contrived to lose the way , descending to the high road nearer Cap Martin than Monte Carlo . It was six o'clock , and a long tramp home along the level , in the dust thrown up by motors and the trotting hoofs of horses , but in the distance a tram car coming from Mentone sent out a shower of electric sparks , like fireflies crushed to death between iron wheels and iron track . As the car advanced , Vanno stepped out into the road and hailed it . No _ arrêt _ was near , but the driver stopped , with an obliging , French-Italian smile , and the two young people almost hurled themselves into empty seats at the first-class end of the tram . Faces which had been inclined to frown at the illegal delay , even of six seconds , smoothed into good nature at sight of the handsome couple .