one
o'clock in the morning
We searched in the closet for dresses , cloaks , and artificial flowers ; Brigitte , as usual , was patient and cheerful . We both arranged a sort of travesty ; she wished to dress my hair herself ; we painted and powdered ourselves freely ; all that we lacked was found in an old chest that had belonged , I believe , to the aunt . In an hour we could not recognize each other . The evening passed in singing , in a thousand follies ; toward one o'clock in the morning it was time for supper . We had ransacked all the closets ; there was one near me that remained open . While sitting down at the table , I perceived on a shelf the book of which I have already spoken , the one in which Brigitte was accustomed to write . `` Is it not a collection of your thoughts ? ''