a quarter to six
Few things could have surprised him more , and , to tell the truth , few things could have troubled him less . `` It is better to starve in Paris than grow fat in Holland , '' he observed . He jingled his capital in his trouser-pocket , in fancy savoured his dinner cooking at the Café du Bel Avenir , and sped from the piano shop as if it had been on fire . The clock pointed to a quarter to six as Nicolas Pitou , composer , emerged from the gare du Nord , and lightly swinging the valise that contained his wardrobe , proceeded to the rue des Trois Frères . Never had it looked dirtier , or sweeter . He threw himself on Tricotrin 's neck ; embraced the concierge -- which took her breath away , since she was ill-favoured and most disagreeable ; fared sumptuously for one franc fifty at the Café du Bel Avenir -- where he narrated adventures abroad that surpassed de Rougemont 's ; and went to La Coupole . And there , jostled by the crowd , the poor fellow looked across the theatre at the triumphant woman he had invented -- and fell in love with her .