So marked were her habits that a few had even bestowed on her the soubriquet of "the daughter of the guillotine." At the Cabaret de la Guillotine, where at lunch the menu bore the list of those to be executed in the afternoon, she was pointed out as the one who had never missed a performance. When discussions arose as to an execution, it was always Louison who was appealed to to decide. This development astounded Dossonville, then annoyed him, and finally aroused him to such a pitch of disgust that one day he broke out: "Louison, it is not right, nor human, nor decent to give way to such a curiosity. You must stop it. It is dangerous. It will become a mania. Already you seem at times inhuman." "Others are there every day," she protested. "But not like you. You must stop. What, does it please you to be called the daughter of the guillotine?" "I don't know. It is always pleasant to be known." "It is repellent." "Don't come, then." For a fortnight he absented himself, angry and disturbed. But in measure as she ceased to appeal to his interest she perplexed his curiosity, and he was impelled more and more to study her, seeking to understand the reasons of her indifference to suffering and the evident absence of emotion. At the end of two weeks, she met him on the boulevards with an amused smile. "Since you persist in regarding me as a curiosity," she said, "you might try what you can discover. Mama is back." Dossonville, without waiting to be urged twice, made a trip to the shop of the wig-maker and discovered that la Mère Baudrier had indeed returned from the provinces. So that night, toward eleven o'clock, he led his watch-dogs back, relying on a plan of campaign which he had imagined to force a revelation. Stationing Sans-Chagrin at the door, under which showed a slit of light, he knocked and entered without awaiting permission. A woman, shading a candle, came precipitately down the stairs, crying: "Who's there, and what do you want?" "Are you la Mère Baudrier?" "Well?" "Are you?" "Yes." "Descend; I wish to speak with you." She came down slowly, regarding him with alarmed surprise. "Who are you?" "The Citoyen Dossonville. I represent the Nation." Then, while the look changed to one of dismay, she blurted: "But what has the Nation to do with me?" "Do not fear, citoyenne, you will have every chance to excuse yourself." "Then I am to be arrested?" Dossonville, without replying, said: "Lead the way to the back; I must speak with you alone." She obeyed, repeating: "Am I under arrest? Am I? There's some mistake. I'm the Citoyenne Baudrier. Of what can I be accused?" "Exactly on that point I am to interrogate you. It may be long; sit down." La Mère Baudrier, trembling, took a chair, never ceasing her mumbling. "But what? I don't understand. Why, every one will tell you that I am a patriot." Dossonville, who had been a moment interested in the resemblance of daughter and mother, seized upon the last word.