eight o’clock
Only one woman had tears in her eyes , foreseeing , perhaps , the sufferings that awaited them . The stones of the Viorne , the little sharp paving stones , wounded their feet . And they had at last to return to La Souleiade , without having succeeded in obtaining anything , the old mendicant king and his submissive subject ; Abishag , in the flower of her youth , leading back David , old and despoiled of his wealth , and weary from having walked the streets in vain . It was eight o'clock , and Martine , who was waiting for them , comprehended that she would have no cooking to do this evening . She pretended that she had dined , and as she looked ill Pascal sent her at once to bed . `` We do not need you , '' said Clotilde . `` As the potatoes are on the fire we can take them up very well ourselves . ''