experience as a charity pupil, and subsequently by the vicissitudes of army life in Africa, kind-hearted, genial, enthusiastic, and brave, Olivier had but one fault, that is, if an excessive delicacy in all money matters, great and small, can be called a fault. As a common soldier, he even carried his scruples so far that he would refuse the slightest invitation from his comrades, if he was not allowed to pay his own score. This extreme sensitiveness having been at first ridiculed and considered mere affectation, two duels, in which Olivier quite covered himself with glory, caused this peculiarity in the character of the young soldier to be both accepted and respected.
Olivier, cheerful, obliging, quick-witted, and delighted with everything, enlivened his uncle's modest home immensely by his gay spirits. In his rare moments of leisure the young man cultivated his taste by reading the great poets, or else he spaded and watered and gardened with his uncle, after which they smoked their pipes, and talked of foreign lands and of war. At other times, calling into play the culinary knowledge acquired in African camps, Olivier initiated Madame Barbançon into the mysteries of brochettes de mouton and other viands, the cooking lessons being enlivened with jokes and all sorts of teasing remarks about Bû-û-onaparte, though the housekeeper scolded and snubbed Olivier none the less because she loved him with her whole heart. In short, the young man's presence had cheered the monotonous existence of the veteran and his housekeeper so much that their hearts quite failed them when they recollected that two months of Olivier's leave had already expired.
CHAPTER II
THE BRAVE DUKE
Olivier Raymond was not more than twenty-four years of age, and possessed a singularly expressive and attractive face. His short, white hussar jacket, trimmed with red and decorated with yellow frogs, his well-cut, light blue trousers, that fitted his well-formed supple limbs perfectly, and his blue kepi, perched upon one side of a head covered with hair of the same bright chestnut hue as his moustache, imparted an extremely dashing and martial air to his appearance, only, instead of a sabre, Olivier carried that day under his left arm a big roll of papers, and in his right hand a formidable bundle of pens.
As the young man deposited these eminently peaceful implements upon a table, he turned, and exclaimed gaily, "How are you, Mamma Barbançon?"
In fact, he even had the audacity to put his long arms about the housekeeper's bony waist, and give her a slight squeeze as he spoke.
"Will you never have done with your nonsense, you rascal?" snapped the delighted housekeeper.
"Oh, this is only the beginning. I've got to make a complete conquest of you, Mamma Barbançon."
"Of me?"
"Unquestionably. It is absolutely necessary. I'm compelled to do it."
"And why?"
"In order to induce you to grant me a favour."
"We'll see about that. What is it?"
"Tell me first where my uncle is."
"Smoking his pipe out under the arbour."
"All right! Wait for me here, Mamma Barbançon, and prepare your mind for something startling."
"Something startling, M. Olivier?"
"Yes, something monstrous – unheard-of – impossible!"
"Monstrous – unheard-of – " repeated Madame Barbançon, wonderingly, as she watched the young soldier dash off in pursuit of his uncle.
"How are you, my lad? I didn't expect you so early," said the old captain, holding out his hand to his nephew in pleased surprise. "Home so soon! But so much the better!"
"So much the better!" retorted Olivier, gaily. "On the contrary, you little know what is in store for you. Courage, uncle, courage!"
"Stop your nonsense, you young scoundrel!"
"Close your eyes, and now, 'forward march!'"
"Forward march? Against whom?"
"Against Mother Barbançon, my brave uncle."
"But why?"
"To break the news that – that – that I have invited – some one to dinner."
"The devil!" exclaimed the veteran, recoiling a step or two in evident dismay.
"To dinner – to-day," continued the young lieutenant.
"The devil!" reiterated the veteran, recoiling three steps this time.
"Moreover, my guest – is a duke," continued Olivier.
"A duke! We are lost!" faltered the veteran.
And this time he entirely vanished from sight in his verdant refuge, where he seemed as resolved to maintain his stand as if in some impregnable fortress. "May the devil and all his imps seize me if I undertake to announce any such fact as this to Mother Barbançon!"
"What, uncle, – an officer of marines – afraid?"
"But you've no idea what a scrape you've got yourself into, young man! It's a desperate case, I tell you. You don't know Madame Barbançon. But, good heavens, here she comes now!"
"Our retreat is cut off, uncle," laughed the young man, as Madame Barbançon, whose curiosity had been excited to such a degree that she could wait no longer, appeared in the entrance to the arbour. "My guest will be here in an hour at the very latest, and we needs must conquer or perish of hunger, – you and I and my guest, whose name, I ought to tell you, is the Duc de Senneterre."
"It's no affair of mine, unhappy boy," responded the commander. "Tell her yourself; here she is."
But Olivier only laughed, and, turning to the dreaded housekeeper, exclaimed:
"My uncle has something to tell you, Madame Barbançon."
"There's not a word of truth in what he says," protested the veteran, wiping the sweat from his brow with his checked handkerchief. "It is Olivier who has something to tell you."
"Come, come, uncle, Mother Barbançon is not as dangerous as she looks. Make a clean breast of it."
"It is your affair, my boy. Get out of the scrape as best you can."
The housekeeper, after having glanced first at the uncle and then at the nephew with mingled curiosity and anxiety, at last asked, turning to her employer:
"What is it, monsieur?"
"Ask Olivier, my dear woman. As for me, I've nothing whatever to do with it; I wash my hands of the whole affair."
"Ah, well, Mamma Barbançon," said the young soldier, bravely, "you are to lay three covers instead of two at dinner, that is all."
"Three covers, M. Olivier, and why?"
"Because I have invited a former comrade to dine with us."
"Bon Dieu!" exclaimed the housekeeper, evidently more terrified than angry, "a guest, and this is not even pot au feu day. We have only an onion soup, a vinaigrette made out of yesterday's beef, and a salad."
"And what more could you possibly want, Mamma Barbançon?" cried Olivier, joyously, for he had not expected to find the larder nearly so well supplied. "An onion soup concocted by you, a vinaigrette and a salad seasoned by you, make a banquet for the gods, and my comrade, Gerald, will dine like a king. Take notice that I do not say like an emperor, Mamma Barbançon."
But this delicate allusion to madame's anti-Bonapartist opinions passed unnoticed. For the moment the worshipper of the departed guardsman was lost in the anxious housewife.
"To think that you couldn't have selected a pot au feu day when it would have been such an easy matter, M. Olivier," she exclaimed, reproachfully.
"It was not I but my comrade who chose the day, Mamma Barbançon."
"But in polite society, M. Olivier, it is a very common thing to say plainly: 'Don't come to-day; come to-morrow. We shall have the pot au feu then.' But, after all, I don't suppose we've got dukes and peers to deal with."
Olivier was strongly tempted to excite the worthy housewife's perturbation to the highest pitch by telling her that it was indeed