midnight
I asked the priest , without stopping to consider whether I had the right to speak during my vigil . `` It is the carilloneur , '' my fellow watcher said , interrupting his whispered and sibilant devotions , and turning to me , as it seemed , unwillingly . `` Have you not heard it before ? Every evening since the death he has played it at midnight in memory of Alresca . '' Then he resumed his office . The minutes passed , or rather crawled by , and , if anything , my uneasiness increased . I suffered all the anxieties and tremors which those suffer who pass wakeful nights , imagining every conceivable ill , and victimized by the most dreadful forebodings .