On the stage, in Marguerite's prison, Mephistopheles sang, and the
orchestra imitated the gallop of horses. Therese murmured:

"I have a headache. It is too warm here."

Le Menil opened the door.

The clear phrase of Marguerite calling the angels ascended to heaven in
white sparks.

"Darling, I will tell you that poor Marguerite does not wish to be saved
according to the flesh, and for that reason she is saved in spirit and in
truth. I believe one thing, darling, I believe firmly we shall all be
saved. Oh, yes, I believe in the final purification of sinners."

Therese rose, tall and white, with the red flower at her breast. Miss
Bell, immovable, listened to the music. Le Menil, in the anteroom, took
Madame Martin's cloak, and, while he held it unfolded, she traversed the
box, the anteroom, and stopped before the mirror of the half-open door.
He placed on her bare shoulders the cape of red velvet embroidered with
gold and lined with ermine, and said, in a low tone, but distinctly:

"Therese, I love you. Remember what I asked you the day before
yesterday. I shall be every day, at three o'clock, at our home, in the
Rue Spontini."

At this moment, as she made a motion with her head to receive the cloak,
she saw Dechartre with his hand on the knob of the door. He had heard.
He looked at her with all the reproach and suffering that human eyes can