In hearing her speak French again, Cheri felt reassured. He was no wordmonger, but having the chance at clarity was of some consolation to him. At her inquiry, Cheri bowed his head slightly “I find myself in need of making some money, quite fast” and he conveniently omitted what he might do once in possession of that money. Probably feeling secure enough in his beauty and in his abilities, he didn’t feel the need to expand. Recognising, once again, a peer in her, he felt no fear nor did he believe he needed to hesitate to state what his plan was. But before he could expand, she complimented him. 

As the Madame took his chin, rather than avoiding the contact or back off all together, Chéri took half a step forward, as if he was taking delight in the exchange, putting on an angelic expression “I do, Madame, and not only that, I assure you.” He added, batting the long lashes. “Not at all, Madame. And I will be as clean as an altar boy.” He assured her, mainly confused due to his lack of knowledge of the stereotype of dirty French people. And upon request, Chéri did not hesitate to offer a warm smile, those normally reserved for the hot summer days on the beach and the long, lazy sunsets after a serene day. Then he made it brighter, promising, the smile of someone who had encountered a whole new joy, he never knew he could feel. Maybe he was now trying to impress her “Will Madame take care of me?” He asked, making his voice deeper and sweeter, but also docile.