seven o'clock
Suspense is a duel carried on in the heart , and we give no quarter to ourselves . I paced up and down the walks . I returned to the house , only to tear out again , like a mad woman . Gaston , who left at seven o'clock , did not return till eleven . Now , as it only takes half an hour to reach Paris through the park of St. Cloud and the Bois de Boulogne , it is plain that he must have spent three hours in town . He came back radiant , with a whip in his hand for me , an india-rubber whip with a gold handle . For a fortnight I had been without a whip , my old one being worn and broken .