nine o’clock
Up every day at five o'clock , he traverses like a bird the space which separates his dwelling from the Rue Montmartre . Let it blow or thunder , rain or snow , he is at the _ Constitutionnel _ , and waits there for the load of newspapers which he has undertaken to distribute . He receives this political bread with eagerness , takes it , bears it away . At nine o'clock he is in the bosom of his family , flings a jest to his wife , snatches a loud kiss from her , gulps down a cup of coffee , or scolds his children . At a quarter to ten he puts in an appearance at the _ Mairie _ . There , stuck upon a stool , like a parrot on its perch , warmed by Paris town , he registers until four o'clock , with never a tear or a smile , the deaths and births of an entire district . The sorrow , the happiness , of the parish flow beneath his pen -- as the essence of the _ Constitutionnel _ traveled before upon his shoulders .