seven o'clock
As from a great door opening into the country , there came from the end of the street and from the sky beyond , a breath of boundless space and liberty . At the Château-Rouge they found the first tree , the first foliage . Then , at Rue du Château , the horizon opened before them in dazzling beauty . The fields stretched away in the distance , glistening vaguely in the powdery , golden haze of seven o'clock . All nature trembled in the daylight dust that the day leaves in its wake , upon the verdure it blots from sight and the houses it suffuses with pink . Frequently they descended the footpath covered with the figures of the game of hop-scotch marked out in charcoal , by long walls with an occasional overhanging branch , by lines of detached houses with gardens between . At their left rose tree-tops filled with light , clustering foliage pierced by the beams of the setting sun , which cast lines of fire across the bars of the iron gateways .