"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 Barbancon," 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 Barbancon?" 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 Barbancon." 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 Barbancon." "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 a duke that was coming to eat her vinaigrette, but scarcely daring to subject Madame Barbancon's culinary self-love to this severe test, he contented himself with saying: "The mischief is done, Mamma Barbancon, so all I ask is that you will not put me to shame in the presence of an old African comrade." "Great heavens! Is it possible you fear that, M. Olivier? Put you to shame--I? Quite the contrary, for I would like--" "It is getting late," said Olivier, "and my friend will soon be here, as hungry as a wolf, so, Mamma Barbancon, take pity on us!" "True, I haven't a minute to lose." And the worthy woman bustled away, repeating dolefully, "To think he couldn't have chosen _pot au feu_ day." "Well, she took it much better than I expected," remarked the veteran. "It is evident that she is very fond of you. But now, between ourselves, my dear nephew, you ought to have warned me of your intentions, so your friend might have found, at least, a passable dinner, but you just ask him to come and take pot-luck; and he is a duke into the bargain. But, tell me, how the deuce did you happen to have a duke for a comrade in the African Chasseurs?"