"The other who stands there shaking in the wind is Sans-Chagrin, ex-priest, recanted and reformed. On the subject of our bargain I say nothing, only that I dispose of his neck as easily as mine." Dismissing them by a signal, he took Louison's arm. "Now for us. What do you say to a drop of something in the Rue de Bourgogne?" "I say, on to the Rue de Bourgogne!" At the scaffold they made a detour to escape the contact of blood, which made the place abhorrent and carried on the shoes of those who passed in front of the scaffold the red trail for blocks about. Louison, as they went, was crying her cockades, when suddenly they were aware of a shrinking and a widening in the crowd, and looking up, perceived Sanson, the executioner, and his sons advancing, impassive to all demonstrations. Seized with a mad desire, the girl stepped toward them, crying: "A cockade, Citoyen Sanson, a red cockade!" The next moment Dossonville had jerked her away. "Mordieu, Louison!" he cried angrily. "Why did you do that?" "Why not?" she said, laughing. "The Revolution has abolished prejudices!" "It cannot change human nature," he retorted. "You can call him Executor of Public Judgments, Avenger of the Nation, he is always the executioner." He added frankly, "Louison, ma belle, there are really moments when you are not human. At an execution you are like granite!" "Very well, do not notice me." "That's easy to say," he grumbled. "Besides, I'm curious." "Indeed." "Barabant has been telling me about that extraordinary mother of yours." "Barabant?" Louison said uneasily. "He doesn't like me." "I like nothing so well as a mystery," Dossonville continued enthusiastically. "I have three plans already to make her speak." "Five would do no good." "Why not?" "She has left for the provinces." "Diable!" "Besides, I do not care to be mysterious," she said impatiently, "and I do not like to be thought strange." "Speak no more of it," said Dossonville, though inwardly relinquishing nothing of his purpose. "In future I'll consider you only as a commonplace woman." Louison regarded him maliciously. "Determine that for yourself." "Satané de femme!" he exclaimed. "I'll be very careful what I determine. Louison, you are not a woman who can be loved comfortably. I tell it to you frankly. The place seems good; let us sit down." * * * * * Several nights later, Dossonville, resting on his rounds, was seated at a table in front of the Café de Valmy, in the Quartier des Bonnes Nouvelles. The bells had announced the midnight; from the intersections of the square the streets yawned to him out of the impenetrable darkness.