"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, as there is no way to get into it," observed the young girl, examining it closely.
Her companion made no reply, but regarded her earnestly, while his face was pale and his lips compressed with an expression of pain.
"And this has been handed down from generation to generation!" Mona went on, musingly. "Have you had it all these years, Uncle Walter—ever since you first took me?"