two in the morning
howled the wicked boy . `` No one had told her ! '' And in the train which carried her towards the dead of night the taunt and the violets accompanied her . At half-past two in the morning she reached the station of Bar-le-Duc . The rain rattled down through the broken roof as she crossed the lines of the platform on the further side , where , vaguely expecting to be met she questioned civilians and military police . But the pall of death that hung over Bar stretched even to the station , where nobody knew anything , expected anything , cared anything , except to hurry out and away into the rain . She , too , followed at last , leaving her bag and box in the corner of a deserted office , and crossing the station yard tramped out in the thick mud on to a bridge .