Three o'clock
she said , and with a child 's supreme sweetness , she lifted her face for his kiss . The hour was sped , the day past ; night , with its dark wings , covered the eastern sky and , one by one , the stars came forth -- stars that gleamed like new silver in the light sharpness of the September air . Having closed eyes to the world at the Pré Catelan , Maxine and Blake had lengthened the coil of their dream as the day waxed . Three o'clock had seen them driving into the heart of the Bois , and late afternoon had found them wandering under the formal , interlaced trees in the gardens of the Petit Trianon . At Versailles they dined , falling a little silent over their meal , for neither could longer hold at bay the sense that events impended -- that all paths , however devious , however touched by the enchanter 's wand , lead back by an unalterable law to the world of realities . With an unspoken anxiety they clung to the last moment of their meal ; and when coffee had been partaken of , Maxine demanded yet another cup and , resting her elbows on the table , took her face between her hands . `` Ned !