Suzanne was fanning herself whilst he flung these terrible phrases at her. The emotions they aroused did not prevent her from perceiving that this scene with her enraged lover, who was evidently beside himself, must be cut short at any price. Bending forward, she called her husband from the box. 'Paul,' she said, 'have the carriage called. I don't know whether it's the heat in the house, but I feel quite faint. You will excuse me, Monsieur Vincy?' 'It's strange,' said Moraines to the poet, who was obliged to leave the box with the husband, 'she had been so bright all the evening. But these theatres are very badly ventilated. I am sure she is sorry at being unable to talk to you, for she is such an admirer of your talent. Come and see us soon--good-bye!' And with his usual energy he again shook hands with René, who saw him disappear towards that part of the vestibule where the footmen stand in waiting. The orchestra was just attacking the first bars of the fifth act of 'Faust.' A fresh fit of rage seized the poet, and found vent in the words which he almost shouted in the now deserted corridor: 'I will be revenged!' CHAPTER XVIII THE HAPPIEST OF THE FOUR Suzanne knew the Baron's eagle eye too well to imagine that the scene in the box had entirely escaped him. How much had he seen? What did he think? These two questions were of capital importance to her. It was impossible to formulate any reply to them during the few minutes occupied--she leaning on his arm and he supporting her as though he really believed her to be ill--in passing from the box to the entrance reserved for carriages. The Baron's face remained impenetrable and she herself felt unable to exercise her usual faculties of observation. René's sudden onslaught had inspired her with such terror and pain that her indisposition had been a sham only to a certain extent. She had been afraid that the poet, evidently beside himself, might create a scene and ruin her for ever. At the same time her sincere and deep-rooted passion had received a severe blow in this terrible insult and still more terrible discovery. As she lifted up the train of her dress and descended the steps in her blue satin shoes she shuddered as we sometimes do when we escape from a danger which we have had the courage to brave. A faint smile hovered upon her quivering lips, but her face was ashy pale, and it was a real relief to her when she sat down in the corner of her carriage with her husband by her side. Before him, at least, there was no necessity to control herself. As the horses started she bent forward to bow her adieux. A gas-lamp shed its light full upon the Baron's face, which now betrayed his real thoughts. Suzanne read them in a second. 'He knows all,' she thought. 'What is to be done?'