Absorbed in the girl, marveling at the strange and terrible forces that drew her back to the parent scaffold, Dossonville fell into so deep an abstraction that it cost him his concealment. Before he could retire with the departing crowd, Louison, perceiving him, had hastened to his side. "What happened last night?" she said, with an imperious gesture. "What did you say to my mother?" "How do you know I saw her?" he said, unable to control a slight movement of recoil. "I know it. What happened?" she demanded impatiently. "I was there this morning, but she was gone--gone during the night. What passed between you?" "You have been misinformed." "Dossonville, you are deceiving me," she said, looking in his face. "You saw her, and you learned the name of my father." Without allowing time for denial, she took his arm and led him toward the Cours la Reine, turning among the bypaths of the luxuriant woods. There, amid the joyous gaiety of the spring, under the soft foliage of the chestnuts, she faced him with a peremptory question: "You saw her?" "No." "She told you?" "No." Louison examined his face attentively. "What is the matter with you to-day, and why do you conceal it from me? Did you not promise to tell me?" "Yes." "Then?" "Nothing has happened." "Dossonville, you are lying lamely," she said; then she added, with a frown: "My father was a great scoundrel, then?" Dossonville did not reply. "How stupid you are! You think it would make a difference. How does it affect me? Come, I am not responsible, no matter who it is. Tell me. It cannot affect me." "It will." "Then you know," she said instantly. Dossonville shrugged his shoulders. He desired the appearance of resistance more than to resist, for his curiosity was stronger than his pity. But having thus betrayed himself, he added impressively: "Do not force me to tell you." She began to laugh. "Louison, I warn you, do not demand to know." "I do demand it. I insist." "You will curse me." "No." "I cannot tell you." "Who is it?" she cried, with a laugh. "Philippe Egalité, a farmer-general, Bailly, Capet even,--I mention the worst." "Louison," he said shortly, "they call you the daughter of the guillotine." She stopped, perplexed. "You are well named." "Don't return to that," she said irritably. "It was agreed we were not to mention that. Come, don't keep me waiting. I tell you it will make no difference." "You absolve me?" "Of course." "Even if Sanson were your father?" Louison burst out laughing, but suddenly she broke off at the sight of his face. "Is that serious?" "Yes." She repeated, "Is that serious?" "Yes." "I am the daughter of Sanson?" Dossonville inclined his head, awaiting the explosion. To his surprise, she remained quiet, withdrawing a little, while her eyes still waited on him, as though expecting a denial. "How curious!" she said at length. "I never thought of that. Ah, I understand why she hid it. Now tell me all."