It was indeed, raining in torrents, but Herminie, absorbed in grief, did not even notice that the night was dark and stormy as she left the Hotel de Beaumesnil, and wended her solitary way homeward. CHAPTER XI. THE PURSE OF MONEY. M. de Maillefort was waiting alone in one of the drawing-rooms when Madame Dupont came to conduct him into Madame de Beaumesnil's presence. The hunchback's countenance had lost its usual expression of cynical raillery. Profound sadness, mingled with an intense anxiety and surprise, could be easily discerned upon his features. Standing with one elbow resting on the mantel, and his head supported on his hand, the marquis seemed lost in thought. One might almost have fancied that he was seeking the solution of some difficult enigma; but now and then he would wake from his reverie and gaze around him with eyes glittering with tears, then hurriedly passing his hand across his forehead, as if to drive away painful thoughts, he began to pace the room with hasty strides. Only a few minutes had elapsed, however, when Madame Dupont came to say: "If M. le marquis will be kind enough to follow me, madame la comtesse will see him now." Stepping in front of the marquis, Madame Dupont opened the door leading into Madame de Beaumesnil's apartment and announced: "M. le Marquis de Maillefort!" The countess had made an invalid's toilet. Her blonde hair, somewhat dishevelled by the passionate embraces bestowed upon her daughter, had been smoothed afresh, a dainty cap of Valenciennes lace surmounted the pale face, from which every tinge of colour had now fled. Her eyes, so brilliant with maternal tenderness a few moments before, had lost their lustre, and the hands that burned so feverishly when they pressed Herminie's were fast growing cold. Noting the appalling change in the features of the countess, whom he had seen but a comparatively short time before radiant with youth and beauty, M. de Maillefort started violently, then paused a moment in spite of himself. "You find me greatly changed, do you not, M. de Maillefort?" asked Madame de Beaumesnil, with a sad smile. The hunchback made no reply. His head drooped, and when he raised it again, after a minute or two, he was as pale as death. Madame de Beaumesnil motioned the marquis to seat himself in an armchair near the bedside, saying as she did so, in a grave but affectionate voice: "I fear my moments even are numbered, M. de Maillefort, and I shall therefore endeavour to make this interview as brief as possible." The marquis silently took the seat designated by the countess, who added: "My note must have surprised you." "Yes, madame." "But kind and generous as ever, you hastened to comply with my request." The marquis bowed, and, in a voice full of emotion, the countess went on: "M. de Maillefort, you have loved me devotedly," she said. The hunchback started visibly, and gazed at the countess with mingled dismay and astonishment.