CHAPTER III.
THE DINNER IN THE ARBOUR.
The Duc de Senneterre, who was about Olivier Raymond's age, had a distinguished bearing, and an exceedingly handsome and attractive face, with black hair and moustache, and eyes of a deep rich blue. His attire was marked with an elegant simplicity.
"Uncle, this is Gerald, my best friend, of whom I have so often spoken," said Olivier.
"I am delighted to see you, monsieur," said the veteran, cordially offering his hand to his nephew's friend.
"And I, commander," rejoined Gerald, with that deference to age which is imbibed from prolonged military service, "am sincerely glad to have the honour of pressing your hand. I know all your goodness to Olivier, and as I regard him almost as a brother, you must understand how thoroughly I have always appreciated your devotion to him."
"Gentlemen, will you have your soup in the house or under the arbour, as you usually do when the weather is fine?" inquired Madame Barbançon.
"We will dine in the arbour—if the commander approves, my dear Madame Barbançon," responded Gerald; "it will be charming; the afternoon is perfect."
"Monsieur knows me?" exclaimed the housekeeper, looking first at Olivier, and then at the duke, in great astonishment.
"Know you, Madame Barbançon?" exclaimed Gerald, gaily. "Why, hasn't Olivier spoken of you a hundred times while we were in camp, and haven't we had more than one quarrel all on your account?"
"On my account?"