three o'clock
` Perhaps not , ' said Madame de Sagan simply . ` He is , I know , a very charming man in society , but my experience goes to show that every man is a savage -- _ au fond _ . ' Words which embody the opinion of more women than one cares to number . It was three o'clock when an officer of the Guard , leaving the wind-swept darkness of the country behind him , rode through the north gate of Révonde into the vivid black and white perspectives of the city , where close outside the brilliant line of electric lights night herself seemed to stand incarnate , a jealous intensity of blackness . Rallywood had picked up Unziar 's relays of horses at certain points , and on the whole had made good time of the ride . Now he crossed the bridge that lies opposite to the gate of the Palace , and mounted the curving streets towards the Chancellerie . He swung from his horse at the foot of the broad flight of granite steps under its overhanging portico as a carriage dashed up on the other side .