about one o’clock in the morning
PART I. CESAR AT HIS APOGEE During winter nights noise never ceases in the Rue Saint-Honore except for a short interval . Kitchen-gardeners carrying their produce to market continue the stir of carriages returning from theatres and balls . Near the middle of this sustained pause in the grand symphony of Parisian uproar , which occurs about one o'clock in the morning , the wife of Monsieur Cesar Birotteau , a perfumer established near the Place Vendome , was startled from her sleep by a frightful dream . She had seen her double . She had appeared to herself clothed in rags , turning with a shrivelled , withered hand the latch of her own shop-door , seeming to be at the threshold , yet at the same time seated in her armchair behind the counter . She was asking alms of herself , and heard herself speaking from the doorway and also from her seat at the desk .