“At what time?”

“Six o’clock.”

“Where?”

“At Saint Mande.”

“Who told you?”

“The Count de Rochefort.”

Some one drew near.

“And then philosophic ideas are wholly wanting in Voiture’s works, but I am of the same opinion as the coadjutor — he is a poet, a true poet.” Aramis spoke so as to be heard by everybody.

“And I, too,” murmured the young lady with the velvet eyes. “I have the misfortune also to admire his poetry exceedingly.”