given up the rights he had acquired, and which were perhaps his
due?

These involuntary reflections prompted him to watch the old man
and the Baroness, whose meaning looks and certain sidelong
glances cast at Adelaide displeased him. "Am I being duped?" was
Hippolyte's last idea--horrible, scathing, for he believed it
just enough to be tortured by it. He determined to stay after the
departure of the two old men, to confirm or dissipate his
suspicions. He drew out his purse to pay Adelaide; but carried
away by his poignant thoughts, he laid it on the table, falling
into a reverie of brief duration; then, ashamed of his silence,
he rose, answered some commonplace question from Madame de
Rouville, and went close up to her to examine the withered
features while he was talking to her.

He went away, racked by a thousand doubts. He had gone down but a
few steps when he turned back to fetch the forgotten purse.

"I left my purse here!" he said to the young girl.

"No," she said, reddening.

"I thought it was there," and he pointed to the card-table. Not
finding it, in his shame for Adelaide and the Baroness, he looked
at them with a blank amazement that made them laugh, turned pale,
felt his waistcoat, and said, "I must have made a mistake. I have
it somewhere no doubt."

In one end of the purse there were fifteen louis d'or, and in the