eight o'clock in the evening
What a hole ! '' cried Durtal to himself . On certain days , tired of spending his afternoons shut up with his books or of attending service in the cathedral , hearing the canons languidly playing rackets from side to side of the choir with the Psalms , of which they tossed the verses to and fro in a mumbling tone , he would go down after dinner and smoke cigarettes in the little Place . At Chartres , eight o'clock in the evening was as three in the morning in any other town ; every light was out , every house closed . The priesthood , eager for bed , had shut up shop . No prayers to the Virgin , no Benediction , nothing in this cathedral ! At such an hour , kneeling in the dark , you feel as if the Mother were more immediately present , nearer , more intimately your own ; but these moments of confidence , when it is easier to tell Her all your trivial woes , were unknown at Notre Dame .