eleven o’clock
It is a great pity your horses ca n't take one , too ; we might go faster . '' `` Forward , march ! '' cried Pierrotin , amid a mighty cracking of whips , after the travellers were again boxed up . It was now eleven o'clock . The weather , which had been cloudy , cleared ; the breeze swept off the mists , and the blue of the sky appeared in spots ; so that when the coucou trundled along the narrow strip of road from Saint-Denis to Pierrefitte , the sun had fairly drunk up the last floating vapors of the diaphanous veil which swathed the scenery of that famous region . `` Well , now , tell us why you left your friend the pacha , '' said Pere Leger , addressing Georges . `` He was a very singular scamp , '' replied Georges , with an air that hid a multitude of mysteries .