"Would you like to see?" she asked mischievously. Without waiting a reply, she halted, caught her breath a little, and drew back. The mouth dropped open, the eyes fixed themselves. Then by the sheer power of her will she banished the blood from her face. The lips closed in a thin, cruel line, the nostrils dilated, while in the eyes glowed such malignant, tigerish hatred that Barabant, with an oath, sprang backward, placing the bench between them. Immediately a low laugh rang out. The features changed from the hideousness of wrath to a look of amusement, and Louison, again erect, sidled up to him with a smile lurking in the corners of her lips. "Did I frighten you? I like to do that." Her face had regained its composure, but it was a cold constraint; she was still pale from the force of the emotion. "It is so amusing to frighten people. You see, I am able to protect myself." "That I can believe," Barabant cried, finding his voice. "It is unpleasant!" "Don't be frightened; I reserve that for my enemies. I know how to please, also." She laughed, amused at his horror. "And now I must get to selling my cockades. You can return with me only as far as the Seine. A companion such as you, you understand, would never do; it would not be professional." Arranging her cockades in the basket, which she transferred to her arm, she retraced her steps. "Ah, there's mama again," she exclaimed, as they neared the wig-maker's. "Let's see if she'll greet us more cordially." Suddenly she stopped and, with a gleam of mischief, caught his arm. "I have an idea. Follow me. I'll make her speak." They approached the woman on the step, who, after the first quick glance, abased her head without further recognition. "Good morning, mother." The woman continued silently to card the wig. "Eh, Mother Baudrier! It is I, your daughter--Louison. You won't answer? Good-by, then." Louison turned as though to leave, calling back: "By the way, I've discovered my father." The woman, with a cry, staggered to her feet, and, choking for utterance, fell back against the house; while in her eyes was the wild light of abject terror. Then perceiving by Louison's mocking laugh that it was a trick, without a word she gained the doorway and tottered into the house. Louison, amazed and perplexed, remained fastened to the ground. "Bon Dieu," she said at last, thoughtfully, "extraordinary! Who could he have been?" Barabant echoed the question, while the memory of the scene sank into his mind, and with it a silent resolve to investigate the mystery further. IX THE TURN OF JAVOGUES