The Argosy — page 217: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

200 Vo Lhe Buxgomaster’s Daughter. Gilbert Rennelon. He was truly the ugliest man in Europe; not deformed, but ugly from simple ugliness... Even the plainest and most dowerless of spinsters had felt obliged to refuse him. And this man, to Lucille’s horror, her grandmother had fixed on to be her husband. The poor girl expostulated and wept in vain. ‘Your good name is damaged, no other man will have you, and it is only by marrying that you can get back again to your place in the world. Monsieur Rennelon or a convent—that is your alternative.” Thus this unhappy marriage was decided on, and this poor victim to evil tongues returned to the Ardennes looking like the wreck of herself. The miserable burgomaster, as he bore her from the carriage in his arms, trembled with an agony of contrition. This was his doing. O, why had he refused Jules Bastoigne? Why had his insane pride made him break his daughter’s heart ? Madame Bastoigne watched her son’s face from day to day, and Saw it growing sterner and whiter, with a look of restless fever about the eyes that alarmed her. But what could she do now? It was too late to relent now Lucille was going to be married. It was Lent, and the marriage was fixed for Easter, but M. Rennelon was to make his first appearance in the Ardennes during the last days of Lent, and he was to be the Burgomaster’s guest until the wedding. Old Madame Warenne was at her son’s house, taking the whole man- agement of affairs into her own hands, and great were her preparations for the wedding feast. At length the bridegroom arrived in splendid state, with bran-new carriage and horses. But, unluckily, the horses were untried, some- thing frightened them, away they tore, and away went the bran-new carriage to utter smash and destruction. They picked up the poor bridegroom from the ruins, and carried him into his intended father- in-law’s house, with his ribs broken, his brain shaken, and his left leg hanging useless. He was ill and helpless, and cheerful through it all for a long, long while. Never had any Belgian, before or since, such an opportunity for studying his future wife’s character as he had, and did. Easter passed away, and Trinity was nearly come, before—leaning on a crutch—M. Rennelon showed his exceedingly ugly face among the Burgomaster’s flowers. It was an uglier face than ever—it was a thin white face now—in fact, a dying face—not to be seen above | ground much longer. He called Lucille to him in the garden—she had grown very fond of him, fond as if he were her brother, and leaning on her arm—for he liked the girl, and was glad to have her help—he broke to her, very gently, that he was a dying man. ‘You are better,” cried Lucille, in a trembling voice. ‘‘ See how well you can walk.” ‘* My leg is better,” said the ugly man, “ my lungs are worse. I may die any day.” ee i. j = el ie Mi ee ee comicbooks (e(0)