"I believe, to compose a ballade in its honour."
Saint-Dantin flung up his hands.
"May the devil fly away with Philippe and his verse! I dare swear it's that that keeps him now."
Paul de Vangrisse turned his head.
"Do you speak of Philippe? I thought I heard his name?"
"But yes! Henri declares he is possessed of an inspiration for a ballade to Julie de Marcherand's pearl."
De Vangrisse came towards them, stiff silks rustling.
"Alas, it is too true. I visited him this morning and found him en déshabillé, clasping his brow. He seized on me and demanded a rhyme to some word which I have forgot. So I left him."
"Can no one convince Philippe that he is not a poet?" asked De Bergeret plaintively.
De Vangrisse shook his head.