And the housekeeper slammed the door in M. Bouffard's face, and went back to the commander. His fit of hilarity was over, but he was still in a very good humour, so, on seeing Madame Barbancon return with cheeks blazing with anger, the old sailor said to her: "Well, it seems that you didn't expend all your wrath upon Bonaparte, Mother Barbancon. Who the devil are you in such a rage with now?" "With some one who isn't a bit better than your Emperor, I can tell you that. The two would make a pretty pair. Bah!" "And who is it that is such a good match for the emperor, Mother Barbancon?" "It is--" But the housekeeper suddenly checked herself. "Poor, dear man," she thought, "it would almost kill him if I should tell him that the rent isn't paid, that the expenses of his illness have eaten up every penny of his money, as well as sixty francs of my own. I'll wait until M. Olivier comes. He may have some good news for us." "What the deuce are you mooning about there instead of answering me, Mother Barbancon? Is it some new atrocity of the little corporal's that you are going to treat me to?" "How glad I am! That must be M. Olivier," cried the housekeeper, hearing the bell ring again, gently this time. And again leaving her employer, Madame Barbancon ran to the door. It was, indeed, the commander's nephew this time. "Well, M. Olivier?" asked the housekeeper, anxiously. "We are saved," replied the young man, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "My worthy friend, the mason, had some difficulty in getting the money he owed me, for I had not told him I should want it so soon, but here are the two hundred francs at last," said Olivier, handing a little bag of coin to the housekeeper. "What a relief it is, M. Olivier." "Why, has the landlord been here again?" "He just left, the scoundrel! I told him pretty plainly what I thought of him." "But, my dear Madame Barbancon, when one owes a man money, one must pay it. But my poor uncle suspects nothing, does he?" "No, not a thing, I'm glad to say." "So much the better." "Such a capital idea has just struck me!" exclaimed the vindictive housekeeper, as she counted the money the young man had just handed her. "Such a capital idea!" "What is it, Mother Barbancon?" "That scoundrel will be back here at four o'clock, and I'm going to make up a hot fire in my cook-stove and put thirty of these five-franc pieces in it, and when that monster of a M. Bouffard comes, I'll tell him to wait a minute, and then I'll go and take the money out with my tongs and pile the coins up on the table, and then I'll say to him, 'There's your money; take it.' That will be fine, M. Olivier, won't it. The law doesn't forbid that, does it?" "So you want to fire red-hot bullets at all the rich grocers, do you?" laughed Olivier. "Do better than that. Save your charcoal, and give the hundred and fifty francs to M. Bouffard cold."