The Argosy — page 220: what you’re looking at

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

The Burgomaster’s Daughter. 203 “Ah! those Bastoignes!” interrupted the Burgomaster. ‘It seems hard that Lucille’s money —— ” ** A likely thing!” exclaimed the old lady. ‘‘ No, indeed! I didn’t persuade ce cher M. Rennelon to propose to Lucille for that. I mean to bring those people to their senses. That’s what I’m here for.” A gleam of hope illumined the poor Burgomaster’s face; but he dared not ask his mother the plan of her campaign. The next day Madame walked into the Bastoigne magasin, and presented herself at that counter where Madame Bastoigne presided. She had some troublesome wools and beads to match, and civil to her, as to any other customer, Jules’ mother aided in the process. ‘Your son is looking ill,” said Madame. “Yes,” returned the other, a little huskily. ‘‘ Here is the green shade.” “Thanks, But M. Jules, I expect, will soon be in excellent health. Money cures most ailments,” This was said with intense Sarcasm. ‘What does Madame mean ?” ‘Really! Is it possible you don’t understand my meaning ?” Witheringly sarcastic this. ‘Certainly not, Madame.” “Oh, indeed! You are quite ignorant, that you are driving a poor unhappy girl into a convent, in order to enrich your son ?” ‘Madame, you insult me.” And Jules’ mother grew white to her lips. Now Madame Warenne knew the Bastoignes were in complete ignorance of M. Rennelon’s will, but she went on in an indignant tone. “You'll never make me, or anyone, believe you are not gudte aware that your son Jules gets every sou of Lucille’s two millions if she takes the veil.” “Good heavens!” exclaimed Madame Bastoigne, clasping her hands. ‘‘ And it is honourable and honest—is it not >—to take advantage of a girl’s inexperience and romance—and love—yes, I own it; she loves your son—in order to enrich one’s own family. But two mil- lions are worth a little dishonour. Yes; this is the pink shade. Thanks.” ‘Of what are you talking?” cried Madame Bastoigne, who was now ghastly pale. ‘I am telling you what you already know, that my granddaughter is about to take the veil, in order to give your son two maullion of francs.” “It can’t be! It shall never be! He won’t touch her money!” ‘Tt won’t be hers when she is a nun; it will be his. After all, I suppose Monsieur Rennelon hada right to do what he liked. “Am I going mad?” said Madame Bastoigne. ‘As I live, GONG OO SS (CO) an