Mona | Page 9

Walter? What, makes you look so sober? Have I
done something naughty that you are going to scold me for?" she
concluded, playfully, as she bent forward and looked archly into his
eyes.
His face grew luminous instantly as he met her gaze, while he captured

her small hand and toyed with the rosy, taper fingers.
"Do I look sober?" and a brilliant smile chased the gloom from lip and
brow. "I did not mean to, while you know I could not scold you if you
were ever so naughty, and you are never that."
"Perhaps every one does not look upon me with your partial eyes," the
lovely girl returned, with a musical little laugh.
The man carried the hand he held to his lips and kissed it lingeringly.
"Let me see," he remarked, after thinking a moment, "isn't it
somebody's birthday to-day?"
"So it is! but I had not thought of it before," exclaimed the maiden,
with a lovely flush sweeping into her cheeks. "And," with a far-away
look in her eyes, "I am eighteen years old."
"Eighteen!" and Walter Dinsmore started slightly, while a vivid red
suddenly dyed his brow, and a look of pain settled about his mouth.
But he soon conquered his emotion, whatever it might have been, and
strove to say, lightly:
"Well, then, somebody must have a gift. What would you like, Mona?"
She laughed out sweetly again at the question.
"You know I have very strange notions about gifts, Uncle Walter," she
said. "I do not care much about having people buy me pretty or costly
things as most girls do; I like something that has been made or worn or
prized by the giver--something that thought and care have been
exercised upon. The little bouquet of blue-fringed gentians which you
walked five miles to gather for me last year was the most precious gift I
had; I have it now, Uncle Walter."
"You quaint child!" said the man, with a quiver of strong feeling in his
tone. "You would like something prized by the giver, would you?" he
added, musingly. "Well, you shall be gratified."

He turned again to his desk as he spoke, unlocked and pulled out a
drawer.
"Would you like this?" he asked, as he uncovered a box about eight
inches square.
"Why, it is a mirror! and what a queer one!" exclaimed the maiden, as
she bent forward to look, and found her lovely, earnest face reflected
from a square, slightly defaced mirror that was set in an ebony frame
richly inlaid with gold and pearl.
"Yes, dear, and it once belonged to Marie Antoinette. Doubtless it
reflected her face many times during the latter half of the last century,
as it now reflects yours, my Mona," said Mr. Dinsmore.
"To Marie Antoinette?" repeated Mona, breathlessly, "to the Queen of
France? and would you give it to me--me, Uncle Walter?"
"Yes, I have kept it for you many years, dear," the man answered, but
turning away from her eager, delighted eyes and glowing face, as if
something in them smote him with sudden pain.
"Oh! thank you, thank you! It is a priceless gift. What can I say? How
can I show you how delighted I am?" Mona cried, eagerly.
"By simply accepting it and taking good care of it, and also by giving
me your promise that you will never part with it while you live," Mr.
Dinsmore gravely replied.
"Of course I would never part with it," the young girl returned, flushing.
"The mere fact of your giving it to me would make it precious, not to
mention that it is a royal mirror and once belonged to that beautiful but
ill-fated queen. How did it happen to come into your possession, Uncle
Walter?"
The man grew pale at this question, but after a moment he replied,
though with visible effort:

"It was given to your great grandmother by a Madame Roquemaure, an
intimate friend, who was at one time a lady in waiting at the court of
Louis the Sixteenth."
"What was her name?" eagerly asked Mona--"my grandmother's, I
mean."
"She was a French lady and her maiden name was Ternaux, and when
her friend, Madame Roquemaure, died, she bequeathed to her this
mirror, which once graced the dressing-room of Marie Antoinette in the
Tuileries."
"What a prize!" breathed Mona, as she gazed reverently upon the royal
relic. "May I take it, Uncle Walter?"
"Certainly," and the man lifted it from the box and laid it in her hands.
"How heavy it is!" she exclaimed, flushing and trembling with
excitement, as she clasped the precious treasure.
"Yes, the frame is of ebony and quite a massive one," said Mr.
Dinsmore.
"It looks like a shallow box with the mirror for a cover; but of course it
isn't,