four o'clock
In one of his salons the Nabob kept a commode , an ugly little piece of furniture representing the savings of some concierge ; it was the first article Jansoulet bought when he was in a position to renounce furnished apartments , and he had kept it ever since like a gambler 's fetish ; its three drawers always contained two hundred thousand francs in current funds . He resorted to that never-failing supply on the days of his great audiences , ostentatiously plunging his hands in the gold and silver , stuffing it into his pockets to produce it later with the gesture of a cattle-dealer , a certain vulgar way of raising the skirts of his coat and sending his hand `` down to the bottom of the pile . '' A tremendous inroad must have been made upon the little drawers to-day . * * * After so many whispered conferences , requests more or less clearly stated , anxious entrances and triumphant exits , the last client dismissed , the commode drawers locked , the apartment on Place Vendôme was left in solitude in the fading light of four o'clock , the close of the November days which are prolonged so far beyond that hour by the aid of artificial light . The servants removed the coffee cups , the _ raki _ and the open , half-emptied boxes of cigars . The Nabob , thinking that he was alone , drew a long breath of relief : `` Ouf ! that 's all over . ''