The next morning Betsy rose early. The night before the family had sat up later than their custom, talking about the arrival of the ship and the distinguished prisoners.

"Are General Bertrand and Count Montholon prisoners too?" asked one of the girls.

"No, my dear; I understand that they are at liberty to leave St. Helena whenever they wish. Of course while they are here they must obey whatever rules are made for them, but they would not be here if they had not chosen to share the fate of Napoleon."

"That is very noble," said Jane, "to leave one's home for the sake of such a man as Napoleon;" and the conversation changed into a discussion of the reasons that had induced those Frenchmen to follow their leader. The next morning Betsy awoke feeling that something unusual had happened.

Her little brothers plied her and Jane with questions about the landing of the Frenchmen.

"I wish we lived close to the town," complained Alexander, "that we might hear more about Napoleon."

"Look, look!" cried Betsy, before the little fellow had finished speaking. "What is that on the side of the mountain?"

Following the direction of her finger, the other children broke into excited cries. "The French, it must be the French! There are horses with men on them. There, see the swords flash! They must be guarding a prisoner."

"Oh, I suppose it is a prisoner. But what is that white thing?"

"It is a plume; you can see that for yourself. Let us get a spyglass."

For some time the children watched the little procession curving around the mountain-side, high above them.

"It makes me think of a great serpent winding along," said Betsy.

"It doesn't look like a serpent, through the glass. There are five men on horseback. One of them has a cocked hat. It must be Napoleon, though he wears no greatcoat."

"They're going to Longwood. That's what it is. Papa says he's to live there. I wonder how he'll like it after all his palaces in Europe."

"I'm glad he won't live near us. I should never dare leave the house, if he lived near."

"Who's he?"

"Napoleon, of course."

The morning passed. The children thought of little but Napoleon. They talked to each other of his victories and were proud that Englishmen had overthrown him.

Early in the afternoon two gentlemen called, Dr. Warden of the Northumberland and Dr. O'Meara of the garrison.

"Oh, have you seen him?"

"Seen whom?"

"Why, Napoleon; don't tease us,—Napoleon Bonaparte."

"Well, then, since you are so curious, yes, we have seen him." Dr. Warden smiled, for he was surgeon of the ship that had brought Napoleon.

"Oh, was he perfectly awful? Weren't you frightened?"

"If we were frightened, I tried not to show it. Napoleon seemed harmless. He did not even try to bayonet us," replied Dr. O'Meara.

"But how did he look?"

"He hadn't horns or hoofs; at least, we didn't see them, and on the whole he was charming, though he seemed tired. You girls will like him."

"Oh, no!" cried Betsy. "I shake and shiver whenever I think of him. If ever I look at him it will be only at a distance, but I could never, never speak to him."

"Mark my words, you will change your mind, Miss Betsy," cried one of the two as he turned away.

About four o'clock that same afternoon, when it was approaching dusk in the little valley, one of the children reported that the same horsemen they had seen in the morning were again winding around the mountain.

Soon the whole family gathered outside, and as they looked, to their great astonishment they observed the procession halt at the mountain pass above the house, and then, after a few minutes' pause, begin to descend the mountain toward the cottage.

"Oh, mamma, do you suppose they are coming here? I must go and hide myself," cried the excitable Betsy.

"No, my dear, you will do nothing of the kind. I am surprised that a great girl should be so foolish."

"But Napoleon is coming, don't you understand, Napoleon. I could not bear to look at him."

"You will look at him and speak to him, if he comes here. It will be a good chance for you to put your French to use."

Poor Betsy! Up to this time she had been proud of the French acquired during a visit to England a few years before, which she had conscientiously kept up by conversation with a French servant.

It seemed hard that she was now to be called on to do a disagreeable thing just because of this accomplishment. Of course she could not disobey her mother, and in spite of her fright she really had some curiosity to see the distinguished guest.

Not long after the party first came in sight, the French and their escort were at the gate of The Briars. As there was no carriage road to the house, all, except Napoleon, got off their horses. He rode over the grass, while his horse's feet cut into the turf. His horse was jet black, with arched neck, and as he pranced along he seemed to feel conscious of his own importance in carrying so distinguished a man as the Emperor.

"He's handsome," whispered Jane to Betsy.

"The horse?"

"No, Napoleon; just look at those jewels and ribbons on his coat—and I never saw so beautiful a saddlecloth. It is embroidered with gold."

Before more could be said, Mr. and Mrs. Balcombe were moving forward to meet Sir George Cockburn and his distinguished companion. The sisters closely followed their parents, and after the older people had been presented to Napoleon the turn of the girls came. Betsy, looking up, was impressed by the charm of Napoleon's smile. She saw that his hair was brown and silky fine; his eyes were a brilliant hazel. She also noticed one slight defect,—that his even teeth were dark, the result, she afterwards learned, of his habit of using much licorice.

The children at first were surprised to find Napoleon neither as tall nor as impressive as he had appeared on horseback. When they looked in his face they decided that he was very attractive, and when he spoke his smile and kindly manner at once won their hearts. From that moment Betsy forgot that she had ever considered him an ogre. To herself she called him the handsomest man she had ever seen.

"This is a most beautiful situation," he said to Betsy's mother. "One could be almost happy here!" he added with a sigh.

"Then perhaps you will honor us with a visit until Longwood is ready," interposed Mr. Balcombe. "I understand that you prefer this to the town, and I have already put some rooms at Sir George Cockburn's disposal."

"I do prefer it."

"Then the rooms are at your service."

Strange language this to a prisoner,—the children may have thought as they listened,—to give him a choice of abode. Later they learned why their father had put the matter in this way. They heard how wretched it made the Emperor to think of returning to the small house where he had lodged in the town and where people stared into the windows, as if he were some kind of wild animal. When he found that Longwood would not be ready for him for several weeks, he had at once declared his unwillingness to return to Jamestown. The glimpse of The Briars that he had had from a distance pleased him greatly, and he had asked if it might not be possible to lodge him there. Mr. Balcombe, as an official of the Government, having placed some rooms at the disposal of the Admiral, Sir George Cockburn, was now anxious to put Napoleon at his ease about occupying them.

The Balcombe children were greatly stirred up when they found that Napoleon was to be their neighbor, for the rooms to be assigned him were near, but not in, the main house. Their fear of the Emperor had almost wholly disappeared.

Continuing to praise the view, Napoleon asked that some chairs be brought out on the lawn.

"Come, Mademoiselle," he said to Betsy in French, "sit by me and talk. You speak French?"

"Yes, sir," replied Betsy with apparent calmness, though her heart was beating violently.

"Who taught you?"

"I learned in England, when I was at school."

"That is well, and what else did you study? Geography, I hope."

"Yes, sir."

"Then you can tell me what is the capital of France?"

"Paris, monsieur."

"Of Italy?"

"Rome."

"Of Russia?"

"St. Petersburg."

He looked up quickly. "St. Petersburg now; it was Moscow."

Then he asked, sternly and abruptly, "Qui l'a brulÉ?" ["Who burned it?"]

Betsy trembled. There was something terrifying now in his expression, as well as in the tones of his voice. She could not find words to reply as she recalled what she had heard about the burning of the great Russian city and the question as to whether the French or the Russians had set it on fire.

"Qui l'a brulÉ?" repeated Napoleon.

But there was a twinkle in his eye and a smile in his voice that encouraged Betsy to venture a stammering "I don't know, sir."

"Oui, oui," he responded, laughing heartily. "Vous savez trÈs bien. C'est moi qui l'a brulÉ." ["Yes, yes, you understand well. It is I who burned it."]

Then Betsy ventured further:

"I believe, sir, the Russians burned it to get rid of the French."

Again Napoleon laughed and, instead of being angry, seemed pleased that the little girl knew something about the Russian campaign.

Now while Napoleon was sitting in the garden or walking about the beautiful grounds, all was confusion and excitement within The Briars. Betsy's mother, like any other good English housewife, was naturally somewhat taken aback at having suddenly to make plans to entertain Napoleon and part of his suite. Even though the English Government might pay for his board, she must still regard him as her guest, and in the small time at her disposal do all that she could to make him comfortable.

Rooms, therefore, must be rearranged and what furniture could be spared from the rest of the house must be put into Napoleon's apartments. So, in the short space of a few hours, the dreaded Emperor of the French, the ogre feared by the children, had become the neighbor, almost the inmate of a happy English household—English, in spite of its distance, many thousands of miles away, from the islands of Great Britain.

It was evening when Napoleon came back to the house with the family. Here again his conversation was chiefly with Betsy, as her fluent French pleased him. Her parents could use the language only with difficulty.

"Do you like music?"

"Yes, sir."

"But I suppose that you are too young to play."

This rather piqued Betsy.

"I can both sing and play."

"Then sing to me."

Thereupon Betsy, seating herself at the little harpsichord, sang in a sweet, full voice "Ye Banks and Braes."

"That is the prettiest English air I have ever heard."

"It is a Scotch air," said Betsy timidly.

"I thought it too pretty to be English. Their music is vile,—the worst in the world. Do you know any French songs? Ah, I wish you could sing Vive Henri Quatre."

"No, sir; I know no French songs."

Upon this the Emperor began to hum the air, and in a fit of abstraction, rising from his chair, marched around the room, keeping time to the tune he was singing.

"Now what do you think of that, Miss Betsy?" he asked abruptly. Betsy hesitated between her love of truth and her desire to please the Emperor.

"I do not think I like it," she said at last, rather gently. "I cannot make out the air."

She might also have added that the great Emperor's voice was far from musical. Neither then nor at other times when he tried to sing could she tell just what tune he thought he was rendering.

When he discussed music she understood him better and she saw that he was a good critic. "French music," he said, "is almost as bad as English. Only Italians know how to produce an opera properly;" and he sighed heavily, remembering perhaps that his own opera days were over.

Not long after Betsy had finished "Ye Banks and Braes," word was brought to Napoleon that his rooms were ready, and with a kindly word or two he bade good night to his young friend.

The little girl's dreams that night were, we can well imagine, quite unlike any she had ever had before. But if she dreamed of the Emperor it is certain that she did not regard him as an ogre. His wonderful personality had gained her heart. Henceforth she was to be his loyal friend as well as his neighbor.