The Argosy — page 241: what you’re looking at

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

224 The Old Stone Cross. was an unusual pleasure for them to be alone together ; for in Brittany it is not considered quite the right thing. ‘This is paradise, sauntering down these lanes with you, ma mie,” Gaston said in tender tones. And Jeanne’s blue eyes danced with pleasure as she heard. It was indeed paradise to walk thus with Gaston. But they were not talkative ; in fact, except now and then, neither spoke at all. Still there was no doubt they were enjoying their un- usual holiday. Presently Gaston drew his companion into a wider track. Taking her by the hand, he led her silently through a chestnut grove ; till, deep in the shelters of a cool glade, they stood before a large stone cross, or crucifix. Unloosing the girl’s hand and going nearer, he threw his arms round the crucifix. “There!” he exclaimed, triumphantly, as he unclasped them. ‘“I can just do it. Did you see, Jeanne? You will be mine, my love, won’t you?” and the young Breton turned his speaking face with the glad light in the usually grave eyes, on the blushing girl. She did not pretend to misunderstand him. In this district of Brittany, when a youth can clasp the old stone Cross, he is said to be old enough to marry. With her fair face turned to him and her blue eyes fixed on his, she gave her answer. ‘ T will, mon ami.” Gaston, took both her hands in one of his. Holding them tightly, he raised his broad hat with the other, and spoke solemnly in a clear tone: “ Bon Jésu, make me worthy of her !” Then the two, kneeling by the old stone Cross, plighted their troth, imploring the blessing of the Bon Dieu upon their future. Once, as boy and girl, Jeanne and Gaston had stood by this same old stone ; there the boy had told the girl laughingly that she should be his little wife as soon as he could get both arms round the crucifix. And then once again, Gaston, with Jeanne at his side, had come to the Chestnut Wood. But, no; the young Breton’s arms were still not long enough to clasp the cross. Yet once more now, on this lovely spring evening, the two presented themselves before the time-worn and honoured emblem. And Gaston, grown to manhood, put his strong arms round the cross. Jeanne Pichon was his. With slow steps they left the shady and sequestered grove, looking back to the last. The sun, slanting down through the leaves, seemed to impart life to the still, carved form hanging on the old Cross. ‘Vou tremble, my Jeanne!” the young lover spoke, as he felt the hand he held quiver. ‘‘ Why?” ‘‘T am afraid of Pierre,” she answered. ‘Of Pierre! Why of him?” ‘¢ Ah, mon ami, you do not know all,” sighed the girl. “ Pierre swears I shall marry him. Or else—I dare not think of it.” “You are going to marry me; not Pierre,” Gaston replied, trying CONNIE MOOOLKS (E(©)