Seven o'clock
How delightful was the quietude of the little ground-floor overlooking a strip of garden in the Rue Cortot , where good Abbe Rose resided ! Hereabouts there was not even a rumble of wheels , or an echo of the panting breath of Paris , which one heard on the other side of the height of Montmartre . The deep silence and sleepy peacefulness were suggestive of some distant provincial town . Seven o'clock had struck , the dusk had gathered slowly , and Pierre was in the humble dining-room , waiting for the _ femme-de-menage _ to place the soup upon the table . Abbe Rose , anxious at having seen so little of him for a month past , had written , asking him to come to dinner , in order that they might have a quiet chat concerning their affairs . From time to time Pierre still gave his friend money for charitable purposes ; in fact , ever since the days of the asylum in the Rue de Charonne , they had had accounts together , which they periodically liquidated . So that evening after dinner they were to talk of it all , and see if they could not do even more than they had hitherto done .