five o’clock
Go , go ; I am very pleased when you work . ' Anxiety seemed to seize hold of Claude , when the autumn of the second year tinged the leaves yellow , and ushered in the cold weather . The season happened to be abominable ; a fortnight of pouring rain kept him idle at home ; and then fog came at every moment , hindering his work . He sat in front of the fire , out of sorts ; he never spoke of Paris , but the city rose up over yonder , on the horizon , the winter city , with its gaslamps flaring already at five o'clock , its gatherings of friends , spurring each other on to emulation , and its life of ardent production , which even the frosts of December could not slacken . He went there thrice in one month , on the pretext of seeing Malgras , to whom he had , again , sold a few small pictures . He no longer avoided passing in front of Faucheur 's inn ; he even allowed himself to be waylaid at times by old Porrette , and to accept a glass of white wine at the inn , and his glance scoured the room as if , despite the season , he had been looking for some comrades of yore , who had arrived there , perchance , that morning . He lingered as if awaiting them ; then , in despair at his solitude , he returned home , stifling with all that was fermenting within him , ill at having nobody to whom he might shout the thoughts which made his brain almost burst .