The old officer, though he positively loathed the idea of swathing his neck in this uncomfortable affair, was so deeply touched by this attention on the part of his housekeeper that his voice trembled with emotion, as he replied:

"Why, Mother Barbancon, Mother Barbancon, what extravagance! I really ought to scold you well."

"See, there is a J and a B for Jacques Bernard, embroidered in each corner," said the housekeeper, calling attention to this decoration with manifest pride.

"True, there are my initials. See, Olivier!" said the good man, delighted with this attention.

"Why, my dear, good woman, you have no idea what pleasure, what great pleasure you have given me!" he added.

"Oh, thank you, monsieur," replied Madame Barbancon, as deeply touched and as joyfully as if she had received the most generous reward.

"But it is getting late," she added. "Look, it is half past six. Quick, monsieur, let me put it on for you."

"Put what on, Mother Barbancon?"

"Why, the cravat, monsieur."

"On me? The deuce take me, if--"

But a meaning look from Olivier made the old officer realise how much chagrin he would cause the worthy housekeeper by refusing to don her gift.

On the other hand, the good man had never worn a white cravat in his life, and fairly shuddered at the idea of such a piece of neck-gear.

But his natural kindness of heart conquered, and, smothering a sigh, he yielded his neck to Madame Barbancon, saying, in order to complete his exclamation in a manner that would be more flattering to his housekeeper:

"I meant to say, the deuce take me if I refuse, Mother Barbancon, but it is much too fine for me."

"Nothing can be too fine for such an occasion as this, monsieur," said the housekeeper, carefully adjusting the cravat. "It is a great pity that you haven't something better to wear than that old blue coat you've had at least seven years, but with your cross of the Legion of Honour and this handsome cravat,"--pulling out the ends of the cravat until they looked like two immense rabbits' ears, and then eying her work complacently,--"you have no cause to blush for your appearance. Ah, monsieur," she added, stepping back a little to see the effect better, "it makes you look twenty years younger, doesn't it, M. Olivier?

Besides, it is so--so stylish--it makes you look like a notary, indeed it does."

The poor commander, with his neck imprisoned in the huge cravat that reached up to the middle of his cheeks, turned and looked in the little mirror that hung over the mantel in his bedroom, and it must be confessed that the effect was really very becoming.

"It's a pity it prevents me from turning my head," he said to himself, "but, as Mother Barbancon says, it is rather becoming--and decidedly professional looking," he added, with just the least bit of foppishness.

And the old officer pa.s.sed his hand rather complacently through his thick white hair.

"Come, uncle, it is quarter of seven," said Olivier, with all a lover's impatience, "and quite time we were off."

"Very well, my boy, we will start at once. Give me my hat and cane, Mother Barbancon," said the old officer, not daring to look either to the right or left, for fear of disarranging the wonderful rabbit-eared bow.

The evening was superb, and the distance from the Batignolles to the Rue de Monceau very short, so the commander and Olivier proceeded modestly on foot to Herminie's home.

Fortunately the exercise this involved softened the rigid folds of the commander's cravat a little, and though he may have looked a little less imposing when he reached his destination, this fact did not impair in the least the n.o.ble expression of his honest, manly face.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

THE SIGNING OF THE MARRIAGE CONTRACTS.

On the very evening that the two marriage contracts were to be signed, M. Bouffard, the owner of the house that sheltered Herminie, his pianist, as he had styled her ever since the young girl began giving lessons to his daughter,--M. Bouffard came after dinner to make his usual tour of inspection, for rent day was close at hand.

He reached the house about half-past six in the evening, and seated himself in Madame Moufflon's room to question her in regard to the supposed financial condition of the tenants, and to ascertain if any of them showed signs of uneasiness as the dread moment approached.

"Why, no, M. Bouffard. I can't say that any of them do," replied Madame Moufflon, "that is, except the new tenant on the third floor."

"Well, what about him?" inquired M. Bouffard, anxiously.

"When he came here, three months ago, he was as pompous as a lord, but in proportion as rent day approaches, he is becoming polite, distressingly polite to me."

"I shall have to watch the fellow closely, then, Madame Moufflon, that is a very bad sign. Ah, what a pity it is that that handsome young fellow who paid my pianist's rent didn't take to those rooms on the third floor. He wouldn't have--"

M. Bouffard never finished the sentence, for there came two or three such violent knocks at the porte-cochere that Madame Moufflon and her employer both bounded out of their chairs.

"Well, well, who is it that knocks as I, the owner of the house, would not think of knocking?" exclaimed M. Bouffard. "Let me see who this ill-mannered fellow is," added M. Bouffard, stepping to the door, as the portress pulled the rope.

"The doors, please!" cried a stentorian voice, thus announcing that both doors of the porte-cochere must be opened to admit a carriage.

M. Bouffard and the portress, amazed at this unheard-of demand, stood as if petrified on seeing a tall powdered footman, attired in a bright blue livery trimmed with silver braid, emerge from the shadow.

"Open both doors, quick!" said this liveried giant, authoritatively.

M. Bouffard was so overcome that he bowed low to the lackey.

"Will you never get the doors open? This is outrageous! The prince is waiting--"

"The prince!" gasped M. Bouffard, with another even more profound bow to the footman.

Just then another no less imperious blow of the knocker resounded.

Madame Moufflon drew the cord with an automatic movement exactly as before, and again a voice cried from under the archway:

"Both doors, please!"

And another footman, clad in green and gold livery this time, stepped up to the door of the porter's lodge, at which an acquaintance must have been standing, for he exclaimed:

"What, Lorrain, is that you? I just saw your master's carriage. What's the matter here? Why don't they open the doors? Are the porter and portress asleep?"

"One would think they had gla.s.s eyes. Look at them, they don't move."

"And it is madame la d.u.c.h.esse they're keeping waiting. She never gets impatient, oh, no!"

"Madame la d.u.c.h.esse!" repeated M. Bouffard, more and more astounded, but still motionless.

"_Mille tonnerres!_ will you open the doors sometime to-night?" demanded one of the footmen.