nearly three o’clock
She held out her quivering hands which the wind was lashing . But Claude remained there , struggling against the sweetness of death ; indeed he did not move for another hour , he lingered there unconscious of the lapse of time , with his eyes still turned in the direction of the Cite , as if by a miracle of power they were about to create light , and conjure up the island so that he might behold it . When Claude at last left the bridge , with stumbling steps , Christine had to pass in front and run in order to be home in the Rue Tourlaque before him . IT was nearly three o'clock when they went to bed that night , with the bitter cold November wind blowing through their little room and the big studio . Christine , breathless from her run , had quickly slipped between the sheets so that he might not know that she had followed him ; and Claude , quite overcome , had taken his clothes off , one garment after another , without saying a word . For long months they had been as strangers ; until then , however , she had never felt such a barrier between them , such tomb-like coldness . She struggled for nearly a quarter of an hour against the sleepiness coming over her .