The Argosy — page 136: what you’re looking at

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

A Romance of the Cloister. 121 dead to those who love us when once the veil is taken. No message from without reaches that living tomb.” ‘Dear, dear! you belong to a great family then; but we might have guessed it from your speech. And all the cloistered sisters do. Ah! where their great dowries go to, who can tell us? Well, you won’t forget Jeanne Marie, mademoiselle, I’m sure—and pardon the liberty I’m taking. Here’s my smelling bottle in case you feel faint, and just open your mouth for a drop of cordial. You look for all the world like a ghost.” Meantime the young man pondered. When at last he spoke his plan was made out in every detail. “Tis a long way, anyhow, and we must take the longest.” He pulled out his purse and counted his little stock of money, two gold pieces and some silver. “*T have a Napoleon here; no harm in an extra coin or two ; you'll repay me when you get back,” put in Jeanne Marie. ‘‘ And mademoi- selle won’t forget me.” “T think I have enough, but I'll borrow your twenty-franc piece. As I say, mademoiselle must not travel by railway or any public conveyance for fear of discovery. We shall have to trust to a lift when we can and do the rest on foot. It is fair-time at St. Bertrand, and Bernard, the butcher at the Maison Blanche (you know the hamlet a league off, Jeanne Marie ?), will be starting between five and six o'clock. He will carry us so far if his cart is empty. Now, Jeanne: Marie, you go back ; and next day if I am enquired for, say I have got a job of work a long way off. I had finished working at the convent and was paid, so no one will ask about me there.” “Poor lammie! May you get safe home, darling,” cried the good woman, embracing the fugitive again and again. ‘Excuse me, mademoiselle ; I feel to you as a mother might, and you have a feel- ing heart, I know. ’Tis little enough I can do for a fellow-creature in distress, but twenty francs are twenty francs, and many a bright gold piece earned in my youth has gone to others never more to re- turn. The gown and the stockings are brand new, dear; never yet put on. But you won’t forget.” ** Adieu, Mére Michon, adieu,” broke in the young man impatiently. “Be wary ; keep your mouth shut.” The girl whispered inarticulate thanks and blessings ; then they parted ; Jeanne Marie trudging back to the village, the pair making the best of their way through the pine wood. “It is very lonely here, but there is nothing to be afraid of,” the young man said; ‘‘and the dawn will soon break. Our way will seem shorter when we can look about us.” “Oh, I fear nothing—with you,” was the passionately grateful reply. ‘‘You are strong, you have a commanding voice, you would never let me be forced back to the convent.” “* Make your mind easy,” he said lightly ; then, as if to beguile the VOL, XLVIII, I CORNICLIOO® CS (SO)