the hour of ten
He talked to her -- always in that mysterious , muffled voice , with the quaint rolling of the r 's and the foreign intonation of the vowels -- he talked to her of King Louis and his tyranny over the people of France : of his own political aims to which he had already sacrificed fortune , position , home . Of his own brilliant past at the most luxurious court the world had ever known . He fired her enthusiasm , delighted her imagination , enchained her soul to his : she was literally swept off the prosy face of this earth and whirled into a realm of romance , enchanting , intoxicating , mystic -- almost divine . She forgot fleeting time , and did not even hear the church bell over at Acol village striking the hour of ten . He had to bring her back to earth , and to guide her reluctant footsteps again towards the house . But she was too happy to part from him so easily . She forced him to escort her over the little bridge , under the pretense of terror at the lateness of the hour .