In the blue chamber she threw off her mantle and appeared in her white gown à l'antique, which displayed all the warm fulness of her shape.
"You are cold, perhaps," she said, "I will light the fire; it is already laid."
She struck the flint and put a lighted match to the fire.
Philippe took her in his arms with the gentleness that bespeaks strength, and she felt a strange, delicious thrill. She was already yielding beneath his kisses when she snatched herself from his arms, crying:
"Let me be."
Slowly she uncoiled her hair before the chimney-glass; then she looked mournfully at the ring she wore on the ring-finger of her left hand, a little silver ring on which the face of Marat, all worn and battered, could no longer be made out. She looked at it till the tears confused her sight, took it off softly and tossed it into the flames.
Then, her face shining with tears and smiles, transfigured with tenderness and passion, she threw herself into Philippe's arms.
The night was far advanced when the citoyenne Blaise opened the outer door of the flat for her lover and whispered to him in the darkness:
"Good-bye, sweetheart! It is the hour my father will be coming home. If you hear a noise on the stairs, go up quick to the higher floor and don't come down till all danger is over of your being seen. To have the street-door opened, give three raps on the concierge's window. Good-bye, my life, good-bye, my soul!"
The last dying embers were glowing on the hearth when Élodie, tired and happy, dropped her head on the pillow.