eight o’clock
And so in those who live by feeling , rather than by self-interest , the doers rather than the reasoners , the sanguine rather than the lymphatic temperaments , love works a complete revolution . In a flash , with one single reflection , Armand de Montriveau wiped out his whole past life . A score of times he asked himself , like a boy , `` Shall I go , or shall I not ? '' and then at last he dressed , came to the Hotel de Langeais towards eight o'clock that evening , and was admitted . He was to see the woman -- ah ! not the woman -- the idol that he had seen yesterday , among lights , a fresh innocent girl in gauze and silken lace and veiling . He burst in upon her to declare his love , as if it were a question of firing the first shot on a field of battle .