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The French Resistance, unhappy with the turn of events, cannot prove Margeaux' involvement in the arrest of two of their most loyal members. And because Helmut von Warner has not been seen since the night of the arrests, it cannot be proven that there had been a romantic relationship between them at all. It has been determined that there is not enough evidence to merit bringing charges against her, and finally, they decide to leave her alone.
La Femme Jolie reopens to a packed crowd. New routines have been built into the show to fill the hole left by Mathieu. Michelle still complains daily about her stage time, just as she always has, and Margeaux patiently listens to her then explains again why she can't have more than she is allotted. Margeaux still sings her traditional love song, and it is still as scorching as ever, but now, there is no one sitting in the audience with whom she feels the special connection, no one to understand what her words mean to her. Helmut has been called back to his homeland, having completed the mission he was sent to accomplish.
Jacques still tends the bar and listens to the sad stories told to him by different customers each night as they drink their sorrows away. Guilliaume still throws out those too rowdy to remain in the cabaret. A new barmaid flits among the tables, maybe not as outgoing or flirtatious as Lisette had been, but likable enough, and her tips are adequate when she counts them up at the end of the evening.
As always, a rousing finale prepares the crowd for their walk out the door, and tonight is no exception. The house lights go down and the patrons become quiet in anticipation as a single spotlight suddenly illuminates a vision...a beautiful woman, Margeaux, dressed in a belted trench coat. A fedora with a red sequined band perches at a saucy angle atop upswept hair, her eyes, sultry and hot beneath the brim, mesmerizes every man in the room as she begins her slow walk in spiked heels toward the front of the stage, her steps in time to the opening strains of music from the band in the pit below. Every man in the room just knows she is singing to him alone as she begins the sensuous ballad that slowly, effortlessly picks up in tempo until, with a crescendo in the music, she removes the belt and with a quick motion, the trench coat opens and reveals beneath a slinky, red sequined, tight fitting dress that accentuates a perfect figure and reflects the light from the spotlight with tiny specks of fire that dance around the room. A slit on one side from hem to upper thigh occasionally exposes a wide expanse of creamy leg as she dances, her body seemingly a part of the song itself. As it winds to its finish, the trench coat has been discarded, and when she occasionally turns her back to the audience, a glimpse of the lowered back of the dress treats the customers to a brief tantalizing look at Margeaux' perfect back. All too soon, the song ends, and Margeaux stands facing the audience with her legs in a wide stance, arms reaching toward the ceiling, head thrown back as the song ends on an exultant note, thunderous applause already starting as people leap to their feet.
She hears a similar, appreciative cheer go up through the house every night, and myriad expressions of congratulations come from the crowd who repeatedly loves what she does for them. Frenchmen and Germans still sit in the cabaret in segregated groups across the hall from each other. Frenchmen and Germans alike would be reluctant to admit that they have something in common...their reactions to this remarkable woman, all of them hypnotized by her performance. And every night, she closes and locks the door behind them, helps clean up, counts her receipts and goes to her rooms above the cabaret...alone.