One morning, not long after the ball, Betsy took a slight revenge on the Emperor. She had a certain favor to ask of him, and she had gone to look for him in his favorite retreat in his garden, the Grapery, near a large pond of clear water, full of gold and silver fish. Though called a grapery, vines of many different kinds twined over the trellis-work, while the grapevines were chiefly over an arbor at the end.

In the sultriest weather this little arbor was cool and pleasant, and here Napoleon was in the habit of taking his books and papers when he wished to work out of doors.

He had no regular hour for rising, and sometimes he would go there as early as four o'clock and write until breakfast, or dictate to Las Cases. No one was permitted to intrude on him there, no one but Betsy occasionally, and then it could hardly be called intruding, for she usually went at the Emperor's request, or, as it might be said, she had a general invitation. When Betsy said, "Come and unlock the garden door," Napoleon stopped, even in the middle of the sentence he might be dictating, and she was always admitted. This general invitation, however, might have been withdrawn if Betsy had not been too sensible to interrupt the Emperor often. She was careful not to abuse what was for her a special privilege.

On this particular morning she went to the arbor door with some hesitation. One of her friends from the valley, a very charming girl, had come to pass the morning with her.

"Now, Betsy," she had said, "I hear that you are a great favorite with Napoleon and you must introduce me, for I am just dying to see him."

"I do not think I can," replied Betsy. "It is a very hot morning and I saw him go early to the arbor. I do not like to disturb him when he is busy."

"Busy! How can a prisoner be busy? It cannot matter whether he is idle or busy."

"He is not a prisoner, at least we don't call him so," retorted Betsy indignantly, "and he is writing books."

"Oh, I suppose you know best, but if you cannot be obliging, I shall be mortified when I go home to say that I did not see him. I heard you knew him so well, that I supposed you wouldn't mind introducing me."

Thus put on her mettle, Betsy yielded against her better judgment and went down to the arbor.

At first there was no answer to her knock. Napoleon had fallen asleep over his papers. At last she succeeded in arousing him. "What do you want?" he asked rather gruffly as he came to the little door.

"Let me in, and you will know."

"No, tell me first what you want and then I will let you in."

Betsy was not so sure of this, but since she could not help it, she had to explain her errand.

"I wish to introduce a young lady to you."

"Oh, no, indeed; I am not well."

"But she will be so disappointed,—and she is so pretty."

"Not like the lady I was obliged to say agreeable things to yesterday?"

"Oh, no, she is very different. She is really young and handsome."

"Very well, then, since you have promised, I suppose I must go, but come in for a minute,"—this not very politely, it must be admitted. As Betsy entered the little enclosure she rushed to the table and rather rudely snatched up some of the papers on which Napoleon had been at work.

"Now," she said, "for your ill-nature in making me stand so long at the door, I shall keep these and find out all your secrets."

The Emperor looked at Betsy with some alarm. He did not like to see his papers in her hands.

"Put them down instantly," he cried.

"No, no," rejoined Betsy, running around the garden with the papers held high above her head. The Emperor looked at her sternly.

"Very well! Unless you obey me at once, I shall no longer be your friend."

Hardly ever before had Betsy heard Napoleon speak so severely. She saw that he was in earnest and that she must obey. She saw, too, that she was in danger of losing his regard, and even without looking far ahead she realized that he might not go to her friend, if her own foolishness continued longer. So, giving up her trophies, she seized the Emperor's hand and led him to the house.

Now that he had yielded to Betsy's wishes, Napoleon was most courteous to her guest. He talked graciously to the young lady, complimented her on her beauty, and when she was ready to go home helped her on her horse.

"She is a very pretty girl," he said later to Betsy, "but she has the airs of a marchande de modes."

In thus intruding on Napoleon in his arbor study, Betsy had shown a rashness that no one else in the family would have ventured to imitate. One day, however, Betsy aided an intruder, whose behavior the Emperor could not resent although he was disturbed by it.

It happened in this way. One morning while Napoleon was busy in his outdoor study making notes, Betsy was romping about in the garden near by.

"Come, Tom Pipes!" she called loudly; and a second later a beautiful Newfoundland dog rushed to her side. Tom Pipes belonged to Sir George Cockburn, the Admiral, and was well known to every one at The Briars, as he was in the habit of accompanying his master on his occasional visits to Mr. Balcombe's house. After his long run up the mountainous road under the hot sun, Tom Pipes was always delighted to reach The Briars, for the place had many ponds and little streams, into which the intelligent dog would plunge for a swim.

On this particular day, Tom needed no second word from Betsy to make him accept her invitation to take a dip in the pond, stocked with gold and silver fish, that was near Napoleon's arbor. The dog bathed and swam and amused himself in the water, and at last clambered up the bank. A moment later, as if tired from his exertions, he lay down by Napoleon's side. Napoleon, like every one else at The Briars, knew and admired the dog, and if he noticed Tom Pipes's approach had no objection to it. He was so absorbed in his work, however, that he probably was hardly aware of the nearness of the creature. After a few minutes' rest, Tom Pipes realized that he had not completed his toilet. So, rising to his feet, he began to shake himself vigorously. Instantly a shower of water bespattered Napoleon's face and clothing, and drenched the papers on the table. The sheet on which he was writing was entirely spoiled, and he himself looked rather ridiculous, as he tried to brush off the drops of water. In spite of his annoyance, Napoleon could not help laughing, for although he scolded and did his best to drive Tom Pipes away, the dog could not understand him. The two had been shipmates on the Northumberland, and the dog was so delighted to see Napoleon again that instead of running away, he kept jumping on him, leaving on the Emperor's clothing repeated imprints of his wet and muddy paws.

While all this was happening, Betsy, looking on, was convulsed with laughter. She had not had this particular ending in mind when she had called Tom Pipes to play with her, but no deliberate practical joke of hers had ever been more amusing to her; and the best part of it was that the Emperor could not really blame her nor punish Tom Pipes.

Very often, however, it was not Betsy who got the best of a practical joke. Not infrequently she lost her temper over little things that were not worth minding, and Napoleon, to whom she was a constant source of amusement, could not forbear teasing her, just to see how she would take his fun. One day, looking over Betsy's shoulder, Napoleon discovered that her translation was not finished. Her father required this bit of work from her every day, and now Napoleon saw a way to pay her back in some of her own coin.

Taking the paper from Betsy, and holding it aloft, the Emperor approached Mr. Balcombe, who was now mounting his horse for a ride.

"Balcombe," he cried, "voilÀ le thÈme de Mdlle. Betsee. Qu'elle a bien travaillÉ!" he concluded sarcastically.

Betsy's father looked at the sheet of paper which was quite blank, and, entering into the spirit of the thing with Napoleon, he professed to be very angry. Calling Betsy to him, he reproved her severely.

"If your translation is not ready when I return home to dinner, I will punish you severely." Mortified by this reproof, Betsy cherished plans of retaliation against the Emperor, which she carried out when she pinioned him in the corner with her sword.

Yet after all she deserved the reproof, since her father had made a rigid rule that his daughters should have a translation from English into French ready every morning before the hour when Napoleon visited The Briars. He rightly considered it a great privilege for the young girls that the great man should be willing to look at their French themes, with a view to improving their use of his language.

One morning the sisters observed Archambaud, Napoleon's groom, leading a beautiful horse in front of the house.

"That is the Arab they have bought for him to ride."

"I shouldn't think he'd care to ride that horse," responded the timid Jane. "See how he rears and plunges."

"He's afraid of that white cloth on the lawn."

"Yes, but they've put it there on purpose, to break him of the habit of shying."

While they were speaking, Napoleon approached.

"Sir," said the confident Betsy, "I don't believe you can ride that horse."

"I! Don't you think me a good rider?"

"Yes; I think you look better on horseback than any one I have ever seen."

"Only look!" Napoleon was trying to draw her out.

"But you really ride better than anyone else, as I told you the other day when you rode around the lawn. I didn't suppose any one could make a horse wheel in such a narrow circle."

"Yet you think this Arab could conquer me!"

"But it looks so ugly,—I mean its disposition."

The Emperor, without replying directly, called Archambaud to him and bade him dismount, while he took his seat on the fiery horse. The girls looked on in horror, but Napoleon only smiled the more, as he compelled the horse to pass the cloth and continued his discipline until he made the creature put his foot on it.

Archambaud gazed open-mouthed, hardly knowing whether to laugh or to cry. The Emperor persevered, and in a short time the horse was absolutely obedient to him, and the groom, though chagrined at his own failure, was pleased by the Emperor's success.

"Ah," said Napoleon, dismounting, "it would be a strange horse that did not understand me. There was one that I rode once one hundred and twenty-nine miles in one day. My mother was ill, and I had to do it; but the horse, poor thing, died in the course of the night."

"And you?" asked Betsy.

"Ah, I was fatigued, but in or out of the saddle makes little difference to me. I could almost sleep in the saddle. But, come, young ladies," he continued, "I came here to invite you to see my china. It is all unpacked."

The girls followed the Emperor toward the house, and "Oh!" and "Ah!" they exclaimed loudly as they looked at the beautiful dishes lately arrived from France. Among them there were plates that had cost twenty-five napoleons, each of them painted by a great artist. It was a beautiful set, given to the Emperor by the people of Paris, and the pictures were chiefly battle scenes commemorating his great victories.

Before one of these paintings, Betsy stood enraptured. It represented a slim youth, who looked almost tall, standing on a bridge and evidently cheering others on, while nearer him were the dead and dying.

"And this was really you?" exclaimed Betsy, for she recognized the standing figure.

"Yes," replied Napoleon, sighing, as if for his dead youth. "I was that boy. That was almost the beginning. I was more slender then than now."

"This is the ibis?" asked Betsy, pointing to a bird that appeared on many plates.

"Yes; these are mostly pictures of Egypt;" and the ibis led him to a long discourse on the Egyptian campaign.

"But don't go to Egypt, Miss Betsy," he concluded. "You will catch ophthalmia and spoil your eyes."

"Pourquoi avez-vous tournÉ turque?" ["Why did you turn Turk?"] interposed Betsy abruptly.

"What is that to you?" he asked, laughing. The question referred to his having become a Mahometan, but at first it was not clear to Napoleon what she meant.

"I mean, why did you change your religion?" Betsy explained.

"Fighting is a soldier's religion," he replied. "I never changed that. The other is the affair of women and priests. Quant À moi, I always adopt the religion of the country I am in. And now," he said at last, "you have seen all the plates, and there are your little brothers coming up to find out what our Santini has made for them."

Santini was Napoleon's lamplighter, a clever little fellow, who could make all kinds of toys and was always ready to play amusing tricks to entertain the children.

"What has he now?" the little boys asked as the man approached with a box under his arm.

The children jumped about excitedly. Even the girls were curious, as, taking the box from under his arm, Santini displayed a tiny carriage to which were harnessed two pairs of mice. In spite of Santini's efforts, they did not at once start off, as he had expected, to draw the carriage, and the boys appealed to the Emperor.

"Pinch the tails of the leaders, and then they will go," commanded Napoleon.

The boys obeyed, and to the great delight of the children the mice started off at full speed. As they watched the carriage and the scampering steeds, the children shouted and clapped their hands.

One morning Betsy stood before Napoleon with an expression of disappointment on her pretty face.

"Of course I thought you meant it."

"But you are a foolish child."

"Why shouldn't you give a ball before you leave The Briars? Not a very great one, but just large enough for me to dance at. Soon you will be away, at Longwood. I thought you promised."

"You must have known I was in fun."

At last Betsy noted a tone in the Emperor's voice that warned her to go no further.

"But since you are so disappointed," said Napoleon kindly, "you may have whatever you wish to ask of me. Dites-moi, que veux-tu que je fosse Mdlle. Betsee pour te consoler?" ["Tell me, what do you wish me to do to console you?"]

Betsy's face brightened.

"Let us play the game of blindman's buff you have so often promised. Then I will forgive you for not having the ball, and never speak of it again."

"Blindman's buff, as you describe it, did not seem to be just the game for me. Can't you think of something else?"

"But you promised, and your room is splendid for it, and it wouldn't be any fun without you."

Seeing that resistance was useless, the Emperor at last consented to play. He began by binding his fine white handkerchief over Betsy's eyes.

"Can you see?"

"I cannot see you."

But Betsy, although she spoke truly in saying that she could not see the Emperor, could yet detect a glimmer of light. Napoleon waved his hands before her eyes, and the shadows and rush of air made her start.

"Ah, leetle monkey, you can see me!" he exclaimed, and he put another handkerchief over her eyes.

Then, with Betsy in the middle of the room, the game began. Soon the young girl felt some one pull her nose roughly. She knew who had touched her, for, as he crept toward her, she recognized Napoleon's footsteps. As she darted forward, he bounded away just as her hand touched his. Then, as she groped about, Napoleon pulled her ear. She was sure that she had recognized him and putting out her hand she cried triumphantly:

"I have you, I have you! Now it is your turn."

When Betsy uncovered her eyes she was mortified to find that it was her sister she had captured. Napoleon, it was true, had pulled her ear, but he had accomplished this by reaching his hand over Jane's head. Every one now laughed at Betsy.

"Come," said Napoleon, "as you have made such a great mistake, you must pay the penalty and remain blindfolded."

The Emperor continued to tease and quiz, pulling Betsy's ear or her dress, and always managing to escape being caught.

At last, when the fun was at its height, a servant, entering, announced that some one had called to see the Emperor. So the young people were left to themselves for a while. The game was at an end.

"Now, Mees Betsy," exclaimed the Emperor, when he returned to the room, "you and all the other players must come and dine with me."

"But we have already dined."

"Yet you must come. Now, Navarre," said the Emperor, when they had reached the marquee, "Mees Betsy is very fond of creams. Bring some for her."

"I cannot eat them," protested Betsy.

"But you told me you were so fond of them. Come, it is not kind to refuse."

"But really I cannot eat."

"Oh, nonsense!"

Betsy made the effort, and ate half of a delicious cream.

"That is not enough. I will feed you, little bambino, I will feed you;" and with spoon in hand Napoleon actually began to feed the little girl, laughing steadily at her as he did so.

Only by running away did Betsy at last escape, and even then the Emperor called after her:

"Stop, Mees Betsy, do stay and eat another. You know you told me you liked them."

The next day Marchand brought to the sisters a box of bonbons with the Emperor's compliments, and with them came some of the famous creams for "Mdlle. Betsee."