He had again come closer and had forced her into the chair; then he took away her muff and began to unbutton her coat. She submitted to this with a sad smile, like one who yields against her will. This smile was the death agony of the Madonna, the last act in the comedy of the Ideal performed by Suzanne. He also took off her bonnet, a _toque_ that matched her coat. He was now kneeling before her and gazing at her with that look of idolatry a woman is sure to provoke in her lover if she but give him one of those proofs of affection that flatter a man's vanity and love--the lower passions and the higher passions of the heart. The poet said to, himself: 'How she must love me to have come here, she whom I know to be so pure, so pious, and so devoted to her duty!' All the lies she had so carefully told him came back to his mind like further proofs of her sincerity as he said: 'How delighted I am to have you here, and just now, too! Don't be afraid--we are quite alone. My sister has gone out for the whole afternoon, and the slave'--this was the name he gave Françoise, in order to amuse Suzanne--'the slave is busy in the kitchen. And I have you here! You see, this is my own little kingdom, this room--the place in which I have endured so much! There is not one of these corners, not one of these objects that could not tell you what I have suffered these past few days. My poor books'--and he pointed to his low bookcase--'were left unopened. These dear old engravings I scarcely looked at. The pen with which I had written to you I never touched. I sat just where you are sitting now counting the hours as they passed. God! what a week I have spent! But what does it all matter now that you are here and I can gaze at you? It is happiness to me to tell you even my troubles!' She listened with half-closed eyes, giving herself up to the music of his words, and following out her plan in spite of the passions that welled up within her. Does the knowledge of danger as he faces his adversary drive from the mind of a skilful swordsman the lessons he learnt in the school? René's assurance that they were alone in the house had sent a thrill of joy through Suzanne, and the glance she had thrown round the little room, so neatly and carefully kept, had proved, to her delight and satisfaction, that she had not been mistaken concerning her lover's past. Everything here spoke of a studious and secluded life, the pure and noble life of an artist who surrounds himself with an atmosphere of beautiful dreams. Above all, the poet himself pleased her, with his love-lit eyes and the playful way in which he treated her, and she began to see that this exchange of confidences respecting their mutual sufferings would lead her to her goal without the least risk of diminishing her prestige in his eyes.