"Good-bye, Comtesse."
"Good-bye," I said, "Will you tell me your name? I did not hear it—"
"My name! Oh, my name is Antony Thornhirst—why do you start?"
"I—did not start—good-bye—"
"No, you shall not go until you tell me why you started? And your name, too; I do not know it either!"
"Ambrosine de Calincourt Athelstan."
He knitted his level eyebrows as if trying to recall something, and absently began to pull the knife out of his pocket. Augustus was coming towards us.
"Yes," I said, "but it is too late. Good-bye."
The look of indifference, the rather mocking smile, the sans souci, which are the chief characteristics of his face, altered. I left him puzzled—moved.
* * * * *