midnight
It was the dwelling of the Marquise de Campvallon : Arrived there , the unfortunate child knew not what to do , nor even why she had come . She had some vague design of assuring herself palpably of her misfortune ; to touch it with her finger ; or perhaps to find some reason , some pretext to doubt it . She dropped down on a stone bench against the garden wall , and hid her face in both her hands , vainly striving to think . It was past midnight . The streets were deserted : a shower of rain was falling over Paris , and she was chilled to numbness . A sergent-de-ville passed , enveloped in his cape . He turned and stared at the young woman ; then took her roughly by the arm .