The Argosy — page 245: what you’re looking at

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

228 The Old Stone Cross. and Ursule’s stuck at once in her foot. Now Anne Ferrier tried twice. No, her pins fell out, for all her grand dot.” The kind Sainte Ufévritre was the patroness of the young girls, and was supposed to smile, or not, upon their projects of marriage. Ts it Alain Mauclerc, Barbe ?” “ Mais oui; who but he—bless his beau visage!” returned the light-hearted Barbe, dancing round her sister. ‘Then, remembering herself, she threw her arms round poor Jeanne’s neck and burst into a flood of tears. ‘¢ Jeannette, my darling, I love you so! I can’t bear to think you are unhappy ; nor can Alain.” ‘Vou cannot help us, Barbe. No one can but the Bon Dieu, and it looks as if He had forgotten us—though the Pere says it is wrong to say so.” “The Bon Dieu never forgets one of his children who trust in Him,” Barbe answered sadly. “Tt is no use talking about our trouble, my Barbe,” concluded Jeanne. ‘‘It is upon us, and we must bear it.” IV. In a low room in one of the rude cottages of the district, a wood fire, mixed with dried seaweed, burning smokily on a rough hearth, a large yellow dog lazily warming himself by the red embers, there sat the two brothers Michel at breakfast. A very silent pair were they. An angry scowl distorted the face of the elder; his black eyes lowered angrily as he now and then glanced furtively upwards. Gaston’s eyes were bent on his breakfast, which he was eating as fast as he could. ‘That despatched, he rose from his chair, and stood facing his brother. ‘Pierre, I must speak. I cannot bear this persecution any longer. I mean to fix our wedding-day, and keep to it. It will be of no use your trying to stop the marriage.” Gaston spoke very quietly ; he was determined not to lose his temper. But his mind was made up; this state of things must end. He could not see his Jeannette grow paler and thinner day by day. Pierre Michel did not answer for some minutes. ‘Then, with angry, passionate vehemence, he bade his brother please himself. If he insisted on marrying Jeanne Pichon he would not leave the church alive. ‘ Tll shoot you with my own hands; I have said it—and I mean it—so marry Jeanne at your peril,” he raved, bringing his clenched fist down on the table with a force that made the crockery rattle, and the dog start up with a growl. Then, not waiting for any rejoinder, Pierre seized his hat, and rushed out of the cottage, banging the door after him. The younger Michel remained standing where he was; the violence of his brother had frightened him. What was he to do? It GOmiGbdooks. Go