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Updated: May 8, 2025
And then the day of liberty had come, and under the breath of that liberty, so eagerly and impatiently expected, the chapters she had begun were blotted out, and so was the handsome head of a cherub or an Amadis in a sublieutenant's cap or in a chimney-pot.
She saw it and swiftly there came swooping over her brain the horrible realisation of the truth that it was all over! that never, never again would she be able to dwell on the amorous looks and words and love-phrases of HER "Amadis de Jocelyn!" that no happy future was in store for her with him that he had no interest whatever in her cherished memories of Briar Farm, and that he would never care to accept the right of dwelling there even if she secured it for him, moreover, that he viewed her very work with indifference, and had no concern as to her name or fame so that everything every pretty fancy, every radiant hope, every happy possibility was at an end.
The stories of Arthur and Charlemagne are both somewhat limited in invention by the adventures ascribed to them in the traditions and chronicles, while that of Amadis belongs purely to the imagination, and its sole purpose is to set forth the character of a perfect knight. Amadis is admitted by general consent to be the best of all the old romances of chivalry.
The housekeeper obeyed with great satisfaction, and the worthy "Esplandian" went flying into the yard to await with all patience the fire that was in store for him. "Proceed," said the curate. "This that comes next," said the barber, "is 'Amadis of Greece, and, indeed, I believe all those on this side are of the same Amadis lineage."
It was a mirror that had always been there a mirror in which the wife of the Sieur Amadis must have often gazed upon her own reflection, and in which, after her, all the wives and daughters of the succeeding Jocelyns had seen their charms presented to their own admiration.
John Harrington happened to call that evening, and on hearing what had occurred, became equally anxious with herself, and, moved by some curious instinct, went, on his way home, to Jocelyn's studio to ascertain if Innocent had been there that afternoon. But he knocked and rang at the door in vain, all was dark and silent. Amadis de Jocelyn was a wise man in his generation.
No one knew, no one guessed the story of her love for the French painter, Amadis de Jocelyn he was abroad at the time of her death, and only three persons secretly connected him with the sorrow of her end and these were Lord Blythe, Miss Leigh and Robin Clifford. Yet even these said nothing, restrained by the thought of casting the smallest scandal on the sweet lustre of her name.
But there is one a manuscript book which I never tire of reading, it is a sort of journal in which the Sieur Amadis wrote down many of his own feelings sometimes in prose, sometimes in verse and by following them carefully and piecing them together, it is quite easy to find out his sadness and secret how he loved once and never loved again "
Words, kisses, embraces they are just the sweet outflow of a great deep! but love is above and beyond all these, like an angel living with God!" He was silent. She came up to him and laid her little hand timidly on his arm. "It is time we were quite sure of that angel, my Amadis!" she said "We ARE sure but " He looked her full and quietly in the eyes. "Yes, child!" he answered "It is time!
It was a wonderful room, oak-panelled from floor to ceiling, and there was no doubt about its history, the Sieur Amadis himself had taken care of that. For on every panel he had carved with his own hand a verse, a prayer, or an aphorism, so that the walls were a kind of open notebook inscribed with his own personal memoranda.
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