three o’clock
All through that afternoon , in spite of the constantly recurring downpours , a scraggy girl remained stationed near that breach , wrapped to her eyes in the ragged remnants of an old shawl , doubtless for protection against the cold . She seemed to be waiting for some chance meeting , the advent it might be of some charitably disposed wayfarer . And her impatience was manifest , for while keeping close to the fence like some animal lying in wait , she continually peered through the breach , thrusting out her tapering weasel 's head and watching yonder , in the direction of the Champ de Mars . Hours went by , three o'clock struck , and then such dark clouds rolled over the livid sky , that the girl herself became blurred , obscured , as if she were some mere piece of wreckage cast into the darkness . At times she raised her head and watched the sky darken , with eyes that glittered as if to thank it for throwing so dense a gloom over that deserted corner , that spot so fit for an ambuscade . And just as the rain had once more begun to fall , a lady could be seen approaching , a lady clad in black , quite black , under an open umbrella . While seeking to avoid the puddles in her path , she walked on quickly , like one in a hurry , who goes about her business on foot in order to save herself the expense of a cab .