midnight
Sylvia laid the paper on the bed and pressed her hands against her head . She was deathly pale , but perfectly composed and quiet , and the expression of her eyes showed that so far from being stunned , she was thinking in quick , capable fashion . `` There is a train from Charing Cross at four o'clock , '' she said presently . `` I should arrive in Paris at midnight , and at Marseilles some time to-morrow . It is three now . My box is more than half packed . I shall have time .