nine o'clock
The guards and the cuadrilleros spoke low ; the alférez paced the room , looking angrily at the door from time to time . In a corner yawned Doña Consolacion , her steely eyes riveted on the door leading into the prison . The arm-chair under the picture of His Majesty was empty . It was almost nine o'clock when the curate arrived . `` Well , '' said the alférez , `` you have n't kept us waiting ! '' `` I did not wish to be here , '' said the curate , ignoring the tone of the alférez . `` I am very nervous . ''