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"But where is your great-great-grandmother that you told me about, and rather insinuated she was as nice as my Ambrosine Eustasie de Calincourt?" "There she is, in the place of honor. She was painted by Gainsborough, after she married. What do you think of her?" "Oh! she is lovely," I said, "and she has your cat's eyes." "'She is your ancestress, too, but she is not like you.

I never willingly let myself think of Antony, but unconsciously my thoughts are always turning to the evening in the fog. I do not know where he is. He may be at Dane Mount, only these few miles off, and yet we must not meet. I wonder if Ambrosine Eustasie de Calincourt had ever a lover. Probably and she would have listened to him, being of her time.

I have heard nothing from or of him for two years. He may be dead we cannot count on him. In short, I have decided, after due consideration and consultation with my old friend the Marquis, that you must marry Augustus Gurrage. It is my dying wish." My eyes fell from grandmamma's face and happened to light on the picture of Ambrosine Eustasie de Calincourt.

It is bound in brown leather and has the same arms and coronet upon it that my chatelaine has the arms of Ambrosine Eustasie de Calincourt and an "A. E. de C." entwined, all tooled in faded gold. "The arms on my knife!" Antony said, pulling it from his waistcoat-pocket and comparing them. "My knife," I said. "Tell me all about her A.E. de C.," he commanded, seating himself on the sofa again.

He made me many compliments, and said how very like I was growing to my ancestress, Ambrosine Eustasie de Calincourt, and he told me again the old story of the guillotine. Grandmamma seemed watching me. "Ambrosine is a true daughter of the race," she said. "I think I could promise you that under the same circumstances she would behave in the same manner." How proud I felt!

Going away to the great, vast beyond and perhaps there she will meet Ambrosine Eustasie de Calincourt, and all the other ancestors, and Jâcques de Calincourt, the famous friend of Bayard, who died for his lady's glove; and she will tell them that I also, the last of them, will try to remember their motto, "Sans bruit," and accept my fate also "without noise."

I always wear a little gold chatelaine that belonged to Ambrosine Eustasie de Calincourt and is marked with her coronet and initials; it has a tiny knife among the other things hanging from it. The muddy hunter could not find one; he searched in every pocket. At last he turned to me and said: "Do you happen to have a knife by chance?" and then when he saw I was a girl he took off his hat.

She pushed the hair back from my forehead I wear it brushed up like Ambrosine Eustasie de Calincourt and she looked and looked into my eyes. If possible there was something pained and wistful in her face. "My beautiful Ambrosine," she said, and that was all. I felt I was blushing all over my cheeks. "Beautiful Ambrosine." Then it must be true if grandmamma said it.

It is two weeks now since I wrote my name Ambrosine de Calincourt Athelstan for the last time, two weeks since I walked down the rose-strewn guillotine steps on Augustus's arm, two weeks since he Ah, no! I will never look back at that. Let these hideous two weeks sink into the abyss of oblivion!

For once you must have been wrong, and it would have been better for me to have worked in the gutter! I wonder if you felt that at the end. But we had given our word. Augustus held us to it, and no Calincourt had ever broken his word. By the afternoon post came a letter from Sir Antony Thornhirst. He had returned from Scotland, he said, and hoped we would soon pay him our promised visit.