four in the morning
He knew exactly what course he was going to follow . He had disembarked at ten o'clock the night before , and as it was not yet twenty-four hours since he had touched land , his mentality was still that of a man who comes from afar , across oceanic immensities , from boundless horizons , and is surprised at finding himself in touch with the preoccupations which govern human communities . After disembarking he had spent two hours in a cafe in Boulogne , listlessly watching the middle-class families who passed their time in the monotonous placidity of a life without dangers . Then the special train for the passengers from South America had brought him to Paris , leaving him at four in the morning on a platform of the Gare du Nord in the embrace of Pepe Argensola , the young Spaniard whom he sometimes called `` my secretary '' or `` my valet '' because it was difficult to define exactly the relationship between them . In reality , he was a mixture of friend and parasite , the poor comrade , complacent and capable in his companionship with a rich youth on bad terms with his family , sharing with him the ups and downs of fortune , picking up the crumbs of prosperous days , or inventing expedients to keep up appearances in the hours of poverty . `` What about the war ? '' Argensola had asked him before inquiring about the result of his trip .