"I made the dying woman a solemn promise that I would fulfil her last request, and divide my solicitude between Ernestine de Beaumesnil and the young girl the countess implored me so earnestly to protect. Then she gave me this purse," continued the hunchback, drawing it from his pocket, "which contains, she assured me, a small competence which she charged me to deliver to the young girl whose future would thus be assured. But, unfortunately, Madame de Beaumesnil breathed her last without having told me the orphan's name."
"Thank Heaven! He only has his suspicions, then!" Herminie said to herself, rapturously. "I shall not have to bear the anguish of seeing a stranger know my mother's fault. Her memory will remain untarnished."
"You can judge of my anxiety and chagrin, my dear child," continued the marquis. "How was I to comply with Madame de Beaumesnil's last request, ignorant of the young girl's name? Nevertheless, I began my search, and, at last, after many fruitless attempts, I have found that orphan girl, beautiful, courageous, generous, as her poor mother said, and that girl is—is you—my child—my dear child," cried the hunchback, seizing both Herminie's hands.
Then, in a transport of joy and ineffable tenderness, he exclaimed:
"You see I have indeed the right to call you my child. No, never was there any father prouder of his daughter!"
"Monsieur," answered Herminie, in a voice she tried hard to make calm and firm, "though it costs me a great deal to destroy this illusion on your part, it is my duty to do it."
"What!" cried the hunchback.
"I am not the person you are seeking, monsieur," replied Herminie, firmly.
The marquis recoiled a step or two and gazed at the young girl without being able to utter a word.
To resist the influence of the revelation M. de Maillefort had just made to her, Herminie needed a heroic courage born of all that was purest and noblest in her character,—filial pride.