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 Barbancon?"
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 Barbancon."
"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 Barbancon, and prepare your mind for
something startling."
"Something startling, M. Olivier?"
"Yes, something monstrous--unheard-of--impossible!"
"Monstrous--unheard-of--" repeated Madame Barbancon, 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 Barbancon, 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 Barbancon!"
"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 Barbancon. But,
good heavens, here she comes now!"
"Our retreat is cut off, uncle," laughed the young man, as Madame
Barbancon, 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 Barbancon."
"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 Barbancon 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 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?"
"I'll explain, my dear uncle, for I'm sure you'll take a great fancy to
my friend Gerald. There are not many of his stamp to be found nowadays,
I assure you. We were classmates at the college of Louis le Grand. I
left for Africa. Six months afterward my friend Gerald was in the ranks
beside me."
"A private?"
"Yes."
"But why didn't he enter the army by way of St. Cyr? It was merely a
whim or caprice on his part, I suppose, this enlisting?"
"No, uncle; on the contrary, Gerald's conduct in the matter has been the
result of profound reflection. He is a grand seigneur by birth, being,
as I told you just now, the Duc de Senneterre."
"That is a name that has figured prominently in the history of France,"
remarked the old sailor.
"Yes, the house of Senneterre is as ancient as it is illustrious,
uncle, but Gerald's family has lost the greater part of the immense
fortune it once possessed. There remains now, I think, an income of
barely forty thousand francs a year. That is a good deal of money for
the generality of people, but not for persons of noble birth; besides,
Gerald has two sisters who must be provided with dowries."
"But tell me how and why your young duke happened to join the army as a
private?"
"In the first place, my friend Gerald is very original in his ideas, and
has all kinds of odd notions about life. When he found himself within
the conscription age, on leaving college, his father--he had a father
then--remarked one day, as if it were the most natural thing in the
world, that arrangements must be made to secure a substitute if any such
contingency should arise, and do you know what this peculiar friend of
mine replied?"
"Tell me."
"'Father,' said Gerald, 'this is a duty that every right-minded man owes
to his country. It is an obligation of race, particularly when a war is
actually going on, and I consider it an ignoble act to endeavour to
escape the dangers of war by hiring some poor devil to leave his farm or
work-bench and go and run the risk of being killed in your stead. To do
this is to confess oneself a coward, and, as I am not desirous of such a
reputation, I shall serve, if my name is drawn.'"
"Zounds! I'm in love with your young duke, already!" exclaimed the
veteran.
"He stated the case pretty correctly, didn't he?" replied Olivier, with
friendly complacency. "Though this resolution seemed very strange to his
father, that gentleman had too keen a sense of honour to oppose it.
Gerald's name was drawn, and that is the way he happened to be a private
in the African Chasseurs, currying his horse, doing his share of the
stable and kitchen work like the rest of us, and even going to the
guard-house without a word of complaint if he absented himself without
permission. In short, there wasn't a better soldier in the regiment."
"Nor a braver, too, I'll be bound," said the veteran, more and more
interested.
"Brave as a lion, and so gay and enthusiastic when he charged upon the
enemy that he would have fired the hearts of a whole battalion!"
"But with his name and connections, I should think he would soon have
been made an officer."
"And so he would, doubtless, though he cared nothing about it, for when
his term of service expired, and he had paid his debt to his country, as
he expressed it, he said he wanted to return and again enjoy the
pleasures of Paris life of which he was passionately fond. After three
years of service Gerald had become a quartermaster like myself. About
this time he was severely wounded in the shoulder during a bold charge
upon quite a large body of Arabs. Fortunately, I was able to extricate
him and carry him off the field,--lifeless to all appearance,--on my
horse. The result was he was furloughed, and on leaving the service he
went back to Paris. We had become quite intimate, and after his return
to France we kept up quite a brisk correspondence. I hoped to meet him
again upon my arrival here, but I learned that he was travelling in
England. This morning, as I was walking along the boulevard, I heard
some one call me at the top of his voice, and, turning, I saw Gerald
jump out of a handsome cabriolet, and a second later we were embracing
each other as two friends embrace each other on the battlefield after a
warm engagement."
"'We must dine and spend the evening together,' he said.' Where are you
staying?'
"'With my uncle,' I replied.' I have told him about you a hundred times,
and he loves you almost as much as I do.'
"'Very well, then I will come and take dinner with you,' said Gerald.
'I want to see your uncle. I have a thousand things to say to him.'
"And knowing what a kind-hearted, unassuming fellow Gerald is, I
assented to his proposal, warning him, however, that I should be obliged
to leave him at seven o'clock, exactly as if I were clerk of the court,
or was obliged to return to quarters," concluded Olivier, gaily.
"Good lad that you are!" said the commander, affectionately.
"It will give me great pleasure to introduce Gerald to you, uncle, for I
know that you will feel at ease with him at once; besides," continued
the young soldier, colouring a little, "Gerald is rich, I am poor. He
knows my scruples, and as he is aware that I could not afford to pay my
share of the bill at any fashionable restaurant, he preferred to invite
himself here."
"I understand," said the veteran, "and your young duke shows both
delicacy of feeling and kindness of heart in acting thus. Let us at
least hope that Madame Barbancon's vinaigrette won't disagree with him,"
added the commander, laughing.
He had scarcely given utterance to this philanthropical wish when the
door-bell gave another loud peal, and a moment afterwards the uncle and
nephew saw the young Duc de Senneterre coming down the garden walk
preceded by Madame Barbancon, who was in such a state of mental
perturbation that she had entirely forgotten to remove her big kitchen
apron.