It was such a ridiculous answer, and so entirely unexpected, that a moment of positive stupefaction preceded a fresh outburst of hilarity on the part of the commander, who, as soon as he could control his mirth a little, inquired: "Negroes, what negroes?" "Why, those American negroes with whom he was always plotting, and who, while he was on his rock, began a tunnel which, starting at Champ-d'Asile, and passing under St. Helena, was intended to transport to the capital of the empire other negroes, friends of the American negroes, so Bu-u-onaparte, in company with his odious Roustan, could return to ravage all France." "Really, Mother Barbancon," exclaimed the veteran, admiringly, "I never knew your imagination to soar to such sublime heights before." "I don't see that there is anything to laugh at, monsieur. Would you like to have conclusive proof that the monster always intended to replace the French by negroes?" "I should indeed, Mother Barbancon," exclaimed the veteran, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Come, let us have the proof." "Ah, well, monsieur, hasn't everybody said for years that your Bu-u-onaparte treated the French like so many negroes?" "Bravo, Mother Barbancon, bravo!" "Well, isn't that proof enough that he would like to have had all negroes instead of Frenchmen under his thumb?" "Thanks, Mother Barbancon!" exclaimed the poor commander, fairly writhing with merriment. "But this is too much, really too much!" Two loud and imperious peals of the bell made the housekeeper spring from her chair and hurry out of the room, exclaiming: "There is some one who rings in a lordly way, I must say." And closing the door of the veteran's chamber behind her, Madame Barbancon flew to admit the visitor. This proved to be a stout man about fifty years of age, wearing the uniform of a second lieutenant in the National Guard,--a uniform that gaped in a ridiculous manner behind, and disclosed to view in front an enormous stomach, over which dangled a big gold chain. This personage, who wore an immense bearskin hat that nearly covered his eyes, had a pompous and extremely self-important air. On beholding him, Madame Barbancon knit her brows, and, evidently not very deeply impressed by the dignity of this citizen soldier, asked, in a decidedly sharp tone: "What, you here again?" "It would be very strange if an owner"--the word owner was uttered with the majestic air of a ruling sovereign--"if an owner could not come into his own house, when--" "You are not in your own house, for you have rented it to the commander." "This is the seventeenth of the month, and my porter has sent me a printed notice that my rent has not been paid, so I--" "We all know that. This is the third time in the last two days that you have been here to dun us. Do you expect us to give you our last cent for the rent? We'll pay you when we can, and that is all there is about it." "When you can? A house owner is not to be paid in promises."