five o'clock in the afternoon
There was a little paved courtyard in front , where the rose-bushes grew and clambered up to the windows of the upper story . Behind lay a little country garden , with its box-edged borders , shut in by damp , gloomy-looking walls . The prim , gray-painted street door , with its wicket opening and bell attached , announced quite as plainly as the official scutcheon that `` a notary lives here . '' It was half-past five o'clock in the afternoon , at which hour the old man usually sat digesting his dinner . He had drawn his black leather-covered armchair before the fire , and put on his armor , a painted pasteboard contrivance shaped like a top boot , which protected his stockinged legs from the heat of the fire ; for it was one of the good man 's habits to sit for a while after dinner with his feet on the dogs and to stir up the glowing coals . He always ate too much ; he was fond of good living . Alas !