The Argosy — page 243: what you’re looking at

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

2260 The Old Stone Cross. ‘Bon soir, Mamselle Jeannette,” he said, with a grim smile. “ Why so quick to avoid me?” “You ask that !_-when you know you have been trying to poison ‘my mother’s ear against Gaston!” returned the girl, indignant tears springing to her eyes. Pierre gazed at her in silence. ‘Si, si,” he then said, in the guttural Breton accents. ‘‘ And more than that would Pierre Michel do to win Jeanne Pichon.” “You think I am to be won by such low means?”—a world of scorn and hatred in her voice. ‘‘Tiens, I would not marry you, Pierre Michel, though there were no such person as Gaston in the whole land of Brittany.” And as Jeanne drew herself up proudly, Gaston’s cross shone conspicuously on her breast. The Breton’s dark face wore an angry look; a fierce fire leaped into his eyes, his frame shook. ‘We'll see that, ma belle! You shall not marry Gaston. I would shoot him at the very altar.” And, with these words, shaking his fist savagely, Pierre disappeared. A Frightened and excited, Jeanne returned home. But she said nothing of her rencontre with Pierre Michel. Iil, THE good priest, Pere Gildas, had just celebrated early mass in his little church, and was leaving the sacristry to return to breakfast. When about to close the door, his sight was attracted by a man kneeling near the altar of Notre Dame de Secours. His head was bent low on his hands, his body was heaving with low stifled sobs. The priest felt sure he saw one of his flock in some trouble. He went gently up to the kneeling figure, and laying a hand on the bent head, he spoke softly. ‘* Are you in tribulation, mon fils ?” The man raised his face, and the Pere recognised Gaston Michel. ‘What is it?” he asked, kindly. ‘Vou cannot help me, mon pere,” Gaston replied, rising at the same time from his knees. “Give me the chance,” smiled the good father. But Gaston shook his head. Pere Gildas led the young man away, and brought him to his small but pretty cottage. ‘ Le café, Marcelle—vite,” he called out to an old woman in the tiny garden, as he entered. ‘ Oui, oul, mon pere.” And old Marcelle hastened to bring in the Curé’s frugal breakfast. Not till his visitor had drunk some hot coffee and broken his fast, and, refreshed by the food and cheered by the kindness, looked a trifle less dejected, did the good father resume his questioning. Gaston spoke of what the priest already knew: his betrothal to Jeanne beneath the old Cross. He now told of his elder brother’s CONNIE MOOOLKS (C(O)