"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."