"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 Barbançon."
"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 Barbançon 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 Barbançon," said the young soldier, bravely, "you are to lay three covers instead of two at dinner, that is all."