about nine in
the evening
But we dine at eight , Captain Joyce . We live plainly here , but I think I can do you a little better than you did me at Kurkur . '' There are many folk who knew Alphonse Lacour in his old age . From about the time of the Revolution of '48 until he died in the second year of the Crimean War he was always to be found in the same corner of the Cafe de Provence , at the end of the Rue St. Honore , coming down about nine in the evening , and going when he could find no one to talk with . It took some self-restraint to listen to the old diplomatist , for his stories were beyond all belief , and yet he was quick at detecting the shadow of a smile or the slightest little raising of the eyebrows . Then his huge , rounded back would straighten itself , his bull-dog chin would project , and his r 's would burr like a kettledrum . When he got as far as , `` Ah , monsieur r-r-r-rit ! ''