About eight o'clock at night
The night was drawing in rapidly , and Gaston , ever expecting to see some object appear on the horizon , tried to pierce the obscurity with his bloodshot glances ; on he went , as in a dream , thinking he heard the ringing of bells , the roar of cannon , and the roll of drums . His brain was full of mournful strains and inauspicious sounds ; he lived no longer as a man , but his fever kept him up , he flew as it were in the air . On , and still on . About eight o'clock at night he perceived Nantes at length upon the horizon , like a dark mass from out the midst of which some scattered lights were shining starlike in the gloom . He tried to breathe , and thinking his cravat was choking him , he tore it off and threw it on the road . Thus , mounted on his black horse , wrapped in his black cloak , and long ago bareheaded -LRB- his hat had fallen off -RRB- , Gaston was like some fiendish cavalier bound to the witches ' Sabbath . On reaching the gates of Nantes his horse stumbled , but Gaston did not lose his stirrups , pulled him up sharply , and driving the spurs into his sides , he made him recover himself .