For once Dossonville abandoned himself to reverie--a mood evoked by the memory of Louison. Since his encounter, the mystery of her birth had continually teased his imagination. The terror of la Mère Baudrier when Louison had announced the discovery of her father, and again the mother's strange rendezvous in the Square de la Bastille, suggested such an unusual solution, without offering a clue, that his mind returned again and again to the problem. In another corner, Sans-Chagrin, late in his cups, disputed with the host upon the value of religion, while Le Corbeau, who by his silence gained the majority of the decanter, pretended indifference to the discussion. "I know what I say," Sans-Chagrin was declaiming. "Religion is a farce and the Assembly will do well to abolish it!" "That is not so certain," objected the listener. "It will come." "Perhaps--" "Religion will be abolished! I know what I'm saying. I was a priest myself." "Come, now!" "True. They expelled me. And why? Why? Tell me that." "Out with it." "For instituting reforms. Religion is a farce!" A woman, scenting a story, issued from the door, and leaning on the shoulder of her husband, said: "Come, Citoyen Sans-Chagrin, tell us of that." "I reformed the confessional," Sans-Chagrin began querulously. "Aye, and it needed it, too. Every day and every hour I had to be disturbed for a confession. I said to myself, if there's so much wickedness, it's because the confessional isn't rigid enough. That's logical, isn't it?" "And what did you do?" "Only this. I announced that, in future, to avert confusion and to better impress the penitent with his crime, I would hear confessions thus: "On Monday, all the liars. "On Tuesday, all the misers. "On Wednesday, all the slanderers. "On Thursday, all the thieves. "On Friday, all the libertines. "On Saturday, all women who lead bad lives." His listeners burst out laughing, while the woman said, "And no one came?" "No one came!" Sans-Chagrin repeated indignantly. "No one came! And the Church, instead of adopting the reform, expelled me. They said I wanted to be rid of confessions. What a farce, my friends, what a mockery!" He spread out his arms in appeal to their judgment, slapped his chest three times, and fell back loosely in his chair, exclaiming, "Oh, oh, oh!" Dossonville, who had lent a moment's amused attention to this farcical recital, rose and returned to the march, a manoeuver which caused Sans-Chagrin and Le Corbeau to choke in their haste to empty the decanter. They had gone but a short distance when Dossonville's ear caught the slight rasp of a window opening overhead. Flattening himself against the wall, he covered his lantern with his cloak, with a whispered caution to his followers as the window continued to give forth its low complaint. There was a minute's silence, and then it was drawn shut, and the slight click of a bolt was heard.