five o'clock
I went to bed and dreamed of Catherine , the Jacobin , and of the procession we were going to see . Next morning the bells began to ring as soon as it was light . I rose and opened my shutters and saw the red sun rising from behind the Magazine , and over the forest of Bonne-Fontaine . It might have been five o'clock , and you could feel beforehand how hot it was going to be , and the air was laden with the odor of the oak and beech and holly leaves which were strewn in the streets . The peasants began to arrive in companies , talking in the still morning . You could recognize the villagers from Wechem , from Metting , from the Graufthal and Dasenheim , by their three-cornered hats turned down in front and their square coats , and the women with their long black dresses and big bonnets quilted like a mattress hanging on their necks ; and those from Dagsberg , Hildehouse , Harberg , and Houpe with their large round felt hats , and the women without bonnets and with short skirts , small , brown , dry , and quick as powder , with the children behind with their shoes in their hands , but when they reached Luterspech they sat down in a row and put them on to be ready for the procession . Some priests from the different villages , also came by twos and threes , laughing and talking among themselves in the best of humor .