Eight o'clock
PIERRE walked along thirsting for fresh air , his head so heavy that he took off his hat to relieve his burning brow . Despite all the fatigue of that terrible night of vigil , he did not think of sleeping . He was kept erect by that rebellion of his whole being which he could not quiet . Eight o'clock was striking , and he walked at random under the glorious morning sun , now shining forth in a spotless sky , which the storm seemed to have cleansed of all the Sunday dust . All at once , however , he raised his head , anxious to know where he was ; and he was quite astonished , for he found that he had already covered a deal of ground , and was now below the station , near the municipal hospital . He was hesitating at a point where the road forked , not knowing which direction to take , when a friendly hand was laid on his shoulder , and a voice inquired : `` Where are you going at this early hour ? '' It was Doctor Chassaigne who addressed him , drawing up his lofty figure , clad in black from head to foot .