Nine o'clock
Max stood watching it , obsessed by a strange sensation . This morning he had been utterly alone ; this morning the fair , cold face of Paris had been immobile and speculative . Now a miracle had come to pass ; the coldness had been swept aside and the beauty , the warm , palpitating humanity had shone into his eyes , dazzling him -- fascinating him . Nine o'clock found Max waiting in the rue de Dunkerque . Paris , consummate actress that she is , was already arraying herself for the nightly appeal to her audience of pleasure-seekers . Like a dancer in her dressing-room , she but awaited the signal to step forth into the glamour of the footlights ; the rouge was on her lips , the stars shone in her hair , the jewelled slippers caressed her light feet . Even here , in the colorless region of the Gare du Nord , the perfumed breath of the courtesan city crept like the fumes of wine ; the insidious sense of nocturnal energy swept the brain , as the traffic jingled by and the crowds upon the footpaths thronged into the _ cafés _ and overflowed into the roadway .