eight o’clock
He must tell him a lot of fiddle-faddle . Royalist as he is , though he does n't know why , he ca n't froth up his religion . Poor dear cat ! he creeps to Mass at eight o'clock as slyly as if he were going to a bad house . He fears God for God 's sake ; hell is nothing to him . How could he have a mistress ? He is so tied to my petticoat that he bores me .