a quarter
past nine
Of course I was n't afraid , and she knew it . It was nothing to me anyway , and I could always plead that I was her servant and an Englishman , and did n't care a damn for this particular Emperor or any other . None the less , if she had n't smiled upon me as she did at that particular moment -- smiled like a daffy-down-dilly in April , and squeezed my hand as soft as June roses , which the same appeared to be done by accident , I might have left it alone , after all . As it was , I had set off at seven o'clock on the following evening , and at a quarter past nine I was asking at the Hermitage for Count Joseph , just as full of the story I had to tell as a history-book of kings . A black and white _ maître d'hôtel _ , picked out with gold , replied to this , and after talking to half a dozen waiters and sending for another chap with a shirt-front like a Mercedes bonnet , they directed me to a little hotel down by Monaco ; and there the head waiter received me quite affably , and said , `` Certainly , the gentleman was at home . '' When I had given my name , but not my business , I was ushered up , perhaps after an interval of ten minutes , to a sitting-room on the first floor , and there I found myself face to face with a fat , red-faced man in evening dress ; and if ever there was a martinet down Montey way , this fine gentleman was that same . He was fat , I say , and forty -- but to write that he was fair would be impossible , for he had n't more than about half a dozen hairs on his head , and those had drifted down his neck to get out of the wind .