"You knew it, then, all the while?" the woman cried, turning fiercely to Dossonville.
"I know nothing," Dossonville answered; and seeing that chance had come in somehow to his aid, he demanded curtly of Sans-Chagrin: "What do you know of her?"
"A good deal," Sans-Chagrin began, with a smile. "I confessed her when I was a ci-devant curé in the days of fanaticism and error."
La Mère Baudrier, very white, extended her hand for permission to Dossonville, who said encouragingly:
"Allons, you are going to be reasonable now?"
"I will speak." She turned to Sans-Chagrin. "Citoyen Sans-Souci—"
"I am Sans-Chagrin now."
"Citoyen Sans-Chagrin, they accuse me of having a daughter by an aristocrat—Louison, the bouquetière."
"But your little one was called Rose."