"He will tell you so himself, presently, for he wrote yesterday to ask if he would find us at home this morning."
"Alas! he is only too certain to find me; I cannot budge from my armchair. You see the melancholy proof of that," added the old sailor, pointing to his dry and weedy flower borders. "My poor garden is nearly burnt up. Mamma Barbançon has been too busy to attend to it; besides, my illness seems to have put her all out of sorts. I suggested asking the porter to water the flowers every day or two; but you should have heard how she answered me. 'Bring strangers into the house to steal and destroy everything!' You know what a temper the good woman has, and I dared not insist, so you can see what a terrible condition my poor flowers are in."
"Never mind, uncle; I am back now, and I will act as your head gardener," said Olivier, gaily. "I have thought of it before, and if I had not been obliged to go out early this morning on business, you would have found your garden all weeded, and fresh as a rose sparkling with dew when you woke this morning. But to-morrow morning,—well, you shall see!"
The commander was about to thank Olivier when Madame Barbançon opened the door and asked if M. Gerald could come in.
"I should say he could come in!" exclaimed the old naval officer, gaily, as Olivier advanced to meet his friend.
"Thank heaven! his master mason has returned him to us at last," exclaimed the veteran, pointing to Olivier.
"Hopeless chaos seemed to reign in the worthy man's estimates," replied Olivier, "and when they were at last adjusted, the manager of the property, struck by my fine handwriting and symmetrical figures, asked me to straighten out some accounts of his, and I consented. But now I think of it, do you know, Gerald, who owns the magnificent château in which I spent the last two months?"
"I haven't the slightest idea."
"Well, the Marquise of Carabas."
"What Marquise of Carabas?"