When the little flurry over the sword had ended, Napoleon seemed lost in thought, and the children wondered what he was thinking of. Perhaps the laughing ways of these young people reminded him of his little son, whose growth from babyhood to youth he was destined never to see. Some such thought must have been in his mind when he turned to one of his attendants, saying:

"I believe that these children would like to see some of my bijouterie. Go bring me those miniatures of the King of Rome."

In a short time the messenger returned, laden with little boxes, while the children loudly expressed their delight. They knew the story of the young Napoleon, once the pride of the French nation, on whom had been conferred the title King of Rome. They knew that he had gone to live with the Austrian Emperor, father of his mother, Maria Louisa, and perhaps some of them had heard of his stout resistance to those who came to take him away from his beautiful home, the Tuileries. Already they had seen some of the portraits of the little boy, brought by Napoleon to St. Helena, and they were pleased by the idea of seeing others of the collection.

So they gathered around the Emperor as children will when something interesting is to be shown them.

"How lovely!" cried Jane, gazing at the miniature she was first allowed to hold in her hand.

It was indeed a beautiful picture, showing a baby asleep in his cradle, which was in the shape of a helmet of Mars. Above his head the banner of France was waving and in his tiny right hand was a small globe.

"What does it mean?" asked Betsy, a little timidly now, as she noted the expression of mingled pride and sadness in Napoleon's face.

"Ah, those are the symbols of greatness. He is to be a great warrior and rule the world."

"Yes—in a minute," murmured Betsy, as one of the boys whispered to her to translate "Je prie le bon Dieu pour mon pÈre, ma mÈre, et ma patrie," inscribed beneath a picture of the child on a snuffbox cover, which showed the little fellow in prayer before a crucifix. Then they both looked at another miniature portraying him riding one lamb, while he was decking another with ribbons.

"Ah!" mused the Emperor again sadly. "Those were real lambs. They were given him by the inhabitants of Paris,—a hint, I suppose, that they would rather have peace than war."

"And this is his mother," continued the Emperor, as a woman, far less handsome than Josephine, was shown in the miniature with the boy, surrounded by a halo of roses and clouds.

"She is beautiful," exclaimed Napoleon; "but I will show you the most beautiful woman in the world."

The girls echoed his words. "I never saw any one so beautiful in my life," cried Betsy, gazing on the portrait of a young, charming woman.

"And you never will," avowed Napoleon.

"The Princess of—" queried one of the French.

"My sister Pauline," said Napoleon, "and you show good taste in admiring her. She is probably one of the loveliest women ever created."

"But now," he continued, when they had seen all the pictures, "let us go down to the cottage and play whist."

Turning reluctantly from the miniatures, the children walked down to the cottage and soon were ready to play.

But the cards did not deal smoothly enough. "Go off there by yourself," said Napoleon to young Las Cases, "and deal until the cards run better. And now, Mees Betsy, tell me about your robe de bal."

Betsy's face flushed with pleasure. "Do you really want to see it? I will go upstairs and get it."

To Betsy the ball to be given soon by Sir George Cockburn was a wonderful affair. It was considered a great event by all the people of the island, but for Betsy it had a special significance, because it would be her very first ball. In England, at her age, her parents would not have thought of letting her go to a ball, but amusements were so few at St. Helena that to keep her home would have seemed cruel.

At first her parents had objected to her going, but when Napoleon saw her in tears one day and learned why, he asked her father to let her go, and thus she gained her father's consent.

It is not strange then that the little girl took a great interest in her gown for the ball, and since she felt indebted to the Emperor for his intercession, she was pleased that he expressed an interest in her costume.

So she ran upstairs light-heartedly to get the new gown, and in a few minutes returned with it on her arm.

"It is very pretty," cried the Emperor, examining the gown critically; and all the others, except the stern Las Cases, had a word of commendation for it.

It was a delicately pretty gown, trimmed with soft roses. Even if it had not been her first ball-gown, Betsy's pride in it would have been justified; but as things were, no cynical person could have found fault with her for picturing to herself what a fine impression she would make at this first appearance at a grown-up function.

The Emperor's praises were particularly gratifying, because he had a way of ridiculing any detail of dress that he did not like.

"Oh, Mees Betsee," he would cry, "why do you wear trousers? You look just like a boy;" and any one who has seen pictures of girls in pantalets will admit that they merited criticism. Or again he would say:

"If I were governor I would make a law against ladies wearing those ugly, short waists. Why do you wear them, Mees Betsee?"

It was, therefore, delightful to the young girl that he approved her ball-gown.

After sufficient praise had been given the dress, the four sat down to play, Napoleon and Jane against Las Cases and Betsy.

"Mademoiselle Betsee," said the Emperor, "I tire of sugar-plums. I bet you a napoleon on the game. What will you put against it?"

"I have no money," replied Betsy, a little shyly for her. "I have nothing worth a napoleon except—oh, yes—my little pagoda. Will that do?"

The Emperor laughed. "Yes, that will do, and I will try to get it."

So they began in merry spirits.

"There, there," cried Betsy after a minute or two, "that isn't fair. You mustn't show your cards to Jane."

"But this is such a good one." Napoleon's eye twinkled.

"Well, it isn't fair," added Betsy with the excitement in her tone often observable in vivacious natures. As the cards were shuffled she repeated, "Remember, you mustn't look at your cards until they are all dealt."

"But it seems so long to wait."

"Then I won't play. You revoked on purpose."

"Did I? Then I must hide my guilt;" and Napoleon mixed all the cards indiscriminately together, while Betsy tried to hold his hands to prevent further mischief, as she pointed out what he had done.

Napoleon, amused by Betsy's indignation, laughed until the tears came.

"Mees Betsy, Mees Betsy, I am surprised. I played so fair, and you have cheated so; you must pay me the forfeit, the pagoda."

"No, Monsieur, you revoked."

"Oh, but Mees Betsy, but you are mÉchante and a cheat. Ah, but I will keep you from going to the ball!"

While they were playing Betsy had quite forgotten the pretty gown that she had laid carefully on the sofa. Now, all too late, she realized its danger, for the Emperor, suddenly turning toward the sofa, seized it, and before she could stop him ran out of the room with it, toward the Pavilion.

Betsy in alarm quickly followed, but though she went fast, Napoleon went faster, and had locked himself in his room before she reached him.

Poor Betsy was now thoroughly frightened. She was sure that her pretty gown, with its trimmings of soft roses, would be destroyed.

"Oh, give it to me, please!" she cried in English, as she knocked upon his door. But the Emperor made no reply. Then she made her appeal in French, using every beseeching word she knew to get him to return it. Still his only answer was a mocking laugh, repeated several times, and an occasional word of refusal. Nor did any one else come to Betsy's assistance. As short a time as the French had lived at The Briars there was hardly one of them on whom Betsy had not played some trick, and even the members of her own family were unsympathetic when a message was brought her from Napoleon that he intended to keep her dress and that she might as well make up her mind she could not go to the ball.

Poor Betsy! At night, after many wakeful hours, she cried herself to sleep. When morning came things did not seem so black. She felt sure that the Emperor would not do what he had no right to do, keep her pretty dress. He would surely send it back to her. But the morning wore away, and, contrary to his habit, Napoleon did not come near his neighbors of The Briars. Betsy sent several strongly appealing messages, but to them all came only one reply:

"The Emperor is sleeping, and cannot be disturbed."

So strong indeed was the dignity with which Napoleon had hedged himself, that even the daring Betsy did not venture to intrude upon him when he was resting.

Afternoon came, and at last it was almost time to start for the valley. The family were to ride there on horseback, carrying their ball-dresses in tin cases, and they were to dress at the house of a friend.

The horses were brought around, the black boys came up with the tin cases that held the dresses—the dresses of the rest of the party—but nothing of poor Betsy's. The little girl's cup was full to overflowing; she, the courageous, began to cry.

She turned to one of the servants:

"Has my dress been packed?"

"Of course not; we didn't have it to pack."

"Then I cannot go."

Her tears had ceased. She was now too angry to cry longer.

"I will go anyway," she said on second thought. "I will dance in my morning frock, and then you will all feel sorry, for I will tell every one how I have been treated."

At this moment a figure was seen running down the lawn. It was Napoleon, and Betsy gave a scream of delight as she saw that in his arms he carried her dress.

Her face brightened and she hastened to meet him.

"Here, Mees Betsy," he cried; "I have brought your dress. I hope you are a good girl now, and that you will like the ball; and mind you dance with Gorgaud."

"Yes, yes!" said Betsy, too happy to get her dress to oppose any suggestion, although General Gorgaud was no favorite of hers and she had a long-standing feud with him.

"You will find your roses still fresh," said the Emperor. "I ordered them arranged and pulled out, in case any were crushed."

To the little girl's delight, when she examined her gown she found that no harm had been done it, in spite of the rough treatment it had received at Napoleon's hands.

"I wish you were going, sire," she said politely, as he walked beside the horses to the end of the bridle path.

"Ah, balls are not for me," he replied, shaking his head. Then he stopped.

"Whose house is that?" he asked, pointing to a house in the valley far beneath. "It is beautifully situated," he continued; "some time I shall visit it. Come, Las Cases, we must not detain the party."

"We must hurry on," whispered one of those on horseback.

"Good-bye, good-bye," and Napoleon and the elder Las Cases went down the mountain toward the house that he had seen in the distance, while Betsy and the others rode on toward the ball.

Next day Napoleon said that he had been charmed with the beautiful place in the valley that he and Las Cases had visited after he had seen the others ride away to the ball. He had found the owner of the place, Mr. Hodgdon, very agreeable, and at last he had ridden home on an Arab horse that the latter had lent him.

Before Napoleon withdrew within his shell he was not only inclined to receive visitors but to pay visits. Betsy and Jane were riding gayly along one day when they came unexpectedly upon Napoleon, also on horseback.

"Where have you been?" asked the venturesome Betsy.

"To Candy Bay," replied Napoleon, without resenting her inquisitiveness.

"Oh, didn't you think Fairyland just the most perfect place?"

"Yes, indeed, I was delighted with it and with its venerable host, Mr. D. He is a typical Englishman of the highest type."

"Yes, and only think, he is over seventy years old and yet has never left the island. I don't know what St. Helena would do without him," said Jane.

"I call him the good genius of the valley," added Betsy.