"Who danced the best at the Governor's ball?" Napoleon asked Betsy one day.

"Mrs. Wilks, the Governor's lady."

This was before the arrival of Sir Hudson Lowe.

"What sort of dances are in fashion there?"

"Quadrilles, country dances. Mr. C. brought them to St. Helena."

"Oh, he is a great dandy!"

"Yes; he will sit with his feet above his head an hour before dressing, the more readily to squeeze them into tight shoes. He wore an epaulette nearly down to his elbow, and his sword hilt was embroidered with golden oak leaves. The same embroidery confined his stockings, on each knee, like the order of the garter. When he first arrived he was disgusted that St. Helena ladies knew only kitchen dances and reels, and finally he drilled quadrilles and other new dances into them."

Betsy's description of the young dandy amused Napoleon. "Bring him to Longwood some day," he said.

A pass was obtained for the young man and Napoleon received him most politely. "I hear from Mees Betsee that you are a great dandy,—and what a fine coat!"

The young man, who had been in some fear of the Emperor, felt better.

"You are more fortunate than myself," continued Napoleon, "for I have to wear my coat turned." Although this was true, it was only because there was no cloth his shade of green on the island.

On the whole Napoleon liked the young dandy, especially as he spoke French fluently.

But Napoleon was not always glad, or even willing, to receive visitors. In fact, after the first few months on the island, he practically refused to allow strangers to be presented to him, unless there was some special reason for his seeing them.

One day, when Napoleon was still at The Briars, the girls were walking with him down Pomegranate Walk, which led to the garden, when he heard strangers' voices. He did not wish to meet them, and began to run away, but, unluckily, when he reached the garden gate he found it locked. Napoleon was not likely to turn aside from anything he had undertaken to do, and as the voices drew nearer, too impatient to wait, he insisted on jumping over the gate fence. There was a prickly pear on top, the thorns of which caught him so that at first he could not extricate himself. Then he had to descend rather ignominiously on the garden side, before the strangers appeared. The thorns had really done considerable damage, and it took no little skill on Dr. O'Meara's part to extract them.

To Betsy's friends Napoleon was apt to be more obliging than to others, and tourists, many of whom stayed over at St. Helena on their way to or from Africa or India, frequently sought her services to effect an introduction.

"Sir," said Betsy to Napoleon one day, "may I present a lady to you? She is just here from India. Her husband has high rank."

Napoleon was not fond of women visitors, but he gave his consent to Betsy's request.

At the appointed time the lady from India appeared, gowned in crimson velvet bordered with pearls. Her black hair was braided and adorned with pearls, and butterflies of diamonds and emeralds and rubies. She was one of the plainest women Betsy had ever seen, and she was fearful of the impression she would make on Napoleon.

After Napoleon had asked the usual questions, "Are you married?" and "How many children have you?" he looked closely at her to see what compliment he could best pay her.

At length, after a pause that might have embarrassed a less complacent woman, he said politely, "Madame, you have the most luxuriant hair."

That the lady from India had fine hair was so evident a fact, that she need not have been so exceedingly pleased by Napoleon's compliment. Yet she was so overcome by it that when she returned to England she sent letters to the newspapers speaking of the Emperor's great admiration for her.

Napoleon, in reality, did not at all like this visitor, and when she had gone he said severely to the young girl:

"You shall introduce me to no more ladies." His tone was so unusually severe that Betsy did not dare confess what really was the case, that she had brought Mrs. S. to see Napoleon merely to tease him, knowing that it was positively disagreeable to him to meet very plain women.

Betsy one day came to him full of excitement over a traveller whom she had just seen.

"Oh, he is extraordinary; queerer than any one I have ever met here. His long black beard reaches to his waist, and he wears a regular mandarin's dress."

"An Englishman dressed like a Chinaman?"

"Yes! You know he has been there so long, and he has done the most wonderful things! Why, he has even travelled to Thibet and talked to the Grand Lama."

The Emperor's interest was aroused.

"I have always wished to hear something about the Grand Lama," he said, "especially about the way he is worshipped, for I believe that much I have read is fabulous. I should like to see this traveller."

"I knew you would," cried Betsy, "and he is anxious to see you, too. He was a prisoner of war once in France, and he says you treated him very kindly; so he has brought you some presents, and if—"

"Yes, and if he can get a pass—"

The sentence was left unfinished. But Mr. Manning obtained a pass to see the Emperor and presented him with a number of curious things that he had collected in his travels.

"The Lama," he said in answer to a question, "when I saw him, was a very intelligent boy of seven, and I went through the same form of worship as the others who were introduced into his presence."

"Were you not afraid of being seized as a spy?" asked Napoleon.

The traveller hesitated, as if not quite pleased by the question. Then, with a laugh, he pointed to his dress and beard, as if they were a sufficient answer.

"Did you pass for an Englishman?" persisted the Emperor. "The shape of your nose is too good for a Tartar."

"No," replied Mr. Manning; "I was generally taken for a Hindoo." The bystanders, looking at his fine eyes and regular features, could easily understand that in the rÔle of a Hindoo he must certainly have been successful.

The conversation between the two—the Emperor and the traveller—lasted for some time.

"Travellers," said Napoleon, "are privileged to tell marvellous stories, but I hope you are not doing this in describing to me all the wonders of Thibet."

Then he continued his questions, asking much about the Lama, and the customs and religion of his people. His queries showed that he already possessed a fund of information about this strange country, and Mr. Manning finally said, "You have as much information on Thibet as I have myself."

Napoleon accepted the compliment, but the many questions that he continued to ask, especially concerning the Chinese and their language and habits, showed that he was quite willing to admit Mr. Manning's greater knowledge of the Orient.

When the unusually long interview had ended, Napoleon turned to Betsy with an expression in which sadness was mingled with satisfaction.

"This conversation," he cried, "has given me more pleasure than anything I have experienced for many long months."

Betsy, realizing the Emperor's capacity for finding entertainment in hearing about the small things that made up the life of St. Helena, always gratified him by describing the little festivities in which she took part, or even the larger affairs of which she knew only by what others told her. Like all places garrisoned by British regiments, there was always much going on, as the phrase is, on the island, and the gossip of the place, usually harmless enough in itself, never failed to entertain him.

Sometimes he tried to draw from the little girl information that for one reason or another she did not care to give him—sometimes merely to tease him, sometimes because she feared that what she said might disturb him.

"So you have been calling on Lady Lowe at Plantation House," he said, after one of her visits to the wife of the Governor. "Tell me, does she ask about your visits to Longwood?"

"There, that is just the kind of thing she asks me. I am sure to be questioned what we say and do in your presence;" and beyond this Betsy would give Napoleon little satisfaction.

"Who is the most beautiful woman on the island?" he asked on another occasion.

"Madame Bertrand," replied Betsy, never at a loss for an answer, "is more beautiful than any one I have ever seen. Every one else seems insignificant beside her. Why, when my father saw her on the Northumberland he was very much struck by her. Her features may not be strictly beautiful, but her expression is intellectual. Besides, her bearing is so queenlike and dignified!"

"But don't you think Madame Montholon pretty?"

"No," responded Betsy unhesitatingly, in spite of the fact that she had much regard for Madame Montholon.

"Marchand," cried Napoleon, apparently changing the subject, "bring me my snuffbox,—you know which."

The faithful Marchand obeyed, and when he returned Napoleon took the snuffbox from his hands to show the girls—for Jane was with Betsy—a miniature on the lid.

It was a portrait of Madame Montholon, taken many years earlier.

"Yes, it is like her," Betsy admitted, "and beautiful, too."

"She was just like that when she was young," responded the Emperor.

Although Napoleon was fond of teasing Betsy, whenever he found that he could serve her in any way he never failed to show himself a true friend.

Once Dr. O'Meara came upon Betsy alone in the garden with tears in her eyes. To his inquiry as to the cause of her sorrow, she pouted, and at first hesitated in her reply. On second thoughts she exclaimed, "It is too mean! Just because I didn't do my lessons yesterday, to keep me home from the races!"

"Were you warned?"

"Oh, yes, but I did not expect to be punished."

"Probably this isn't the first time, and your parents are bound to make you remember."

"Oh, it is my father, and it's the meanest thing! He has lent Tom to somebody. My pony is not in the stable. Who could have been so mean as to borrow the only pony that I can ride? All the others have ridden off, and there is no way for me to go."

Dr. O'Meara listened sympathetically. Probably he did not exactly understand the situation or he would hardly have encouraged a young girl to disobey her parents. It was quite natural that to Betsy, the lover of gayety, her punishment seemed greater than she deserved. Every one that she knew was going to the races, for the Deadwood races, instituted by John Rous, were made a kind of festival by the people of the island. Since every one she knew had gone to Deadwood, there was no horse at hand that she could borrow. For the moment Napoleon's little neighbor was troubled by no sense of duty; the only question was how to reach Deadwood.

Dr. O'Meara, after Betsy had poured out her soul to him, rode on towards Longwood at a rapid pace. Not long afterwards her heart leaped with joy when she saw Dr. O'Meara winding down the mountain, followed by a slave with a superb gray horse. At once she recognized Mameluke, one of Napoleon's stable, and, as the horses drew nearer, she saw that above his crimson saddlecloth Mameluke wore a lady's saddle. Even before Dr. O'Meara spoke, she understood what his quick return meant.

"Here, Miss Betsy, cheer up," he cried when he drew near the little girl. "This horse is for you. When the Emperor heard of your disappointment, he ordered the quietest horse in his stable to be sent to you."

Regardless of consequences to herself, pleased by the good-natured attention of the Emperor, light-hearted Betsy on Mameluke went to the races. Perhaps she would have hesitated had she known that her father, rather than she herself, was to be the sufferer by her heedless act, for afterwards it gave her great pain to learn that Mr. Balcombe had been severely reprimanded by Governor Lowe for having committed a breach of discipline in letting his daughter borrow a horse belonging to the Longwood establishment.

But for the time Betsy had the fun of the races, and the next day she went over to Longwood to thank Napoleon.

"Aha, Mees Betsee," he said after their first greeting, "perhaps you do not know that I too saw the races."

"But I did not see you there."

"Ah, where were your eyes? You were not thinking of me; but they were amusing."

After a little more teasing, Betsy learned that Napoleon had seen the Deadwood races from an upper window of General Gorgaud's house.

"You were so amused," he added, "that you forgot to be afraid. I have told your father you should never be encouraged in foolish fears."

"I wish you had been really there!"

"Ah, gayety is not for me." Napoleon's face became grave.

Betsy, noticing this, added quickly, "But you are coming to my birthday fÊte."

"Surely! It will not be far away at Rous Cottage."

The day of the birthday was bright and fair, and as large numbers of guests had assembled, Rous Cottage, which had been chosen for this picnic fÊte, was named for the gallant flag officer of the Northumberland, whom Napoleon admired and called "a very brave man."

In the earlier part of the celebration, Betsy, flying among her friends, was too much absorbed to notice that Napoleon had not come, but when she missed him she began to look eagerly in the direction in which she might expect to see him appear. He had said he would come to the party, and Betsy expected him to keep his promise, though it was an unheard-of thing for him to mingle in a gay crowd.

After a while she was delighted to see him in the distance, riding along the hills. Soon she saw that he was no longer riding. His horse was at a standstill. What could this mean? Presently a messenger from the Emperor appeared to say that he would content himself by looking on.

The young hostess was not satisfied with this. Rushing off to the hill where Napoleon waited, she stood before him.

"This is not keeping your promise. You said you would come, indeed you did, and you should not disappoint me on my birthday."

Napoleon smiled at his young friend, but he spoke with decision:

"No; I won't come down to be stared at by a crowd who wish to gratify their curiosity by a sight of me."

Betsy begged and pleaded, using every effort to make him change his mind, but he was firm. Nothing could change him.

A friend in England had sent Betsy a huge birthday cake, ornamented with a large eagle. That she should have had a cake decorated with this imperial emblem occasioned much comment on the island. In fact, in the eyes of some, Mr. Balcombe and his family were under more or less of a cloud on account of their open admiration for the illustrious prisoner of St. Helena. When Betsy found that her words made no impression on Napoleon, she left him for a few moments, only to return with a slice of the cake.

"You must eat this thick slice," she said, holding it out to him. "It is the least you can do for getting us into this disgrace. Some people think it almost treason when they see the eagle on the cake."

Napoleon ate the cake with evident appreciation. Then he pinched Betsy's ear in his usual familiar fashion, saying as he did so, "Saucy simpleton!" As he galloped away Betsy could not help smiling, as she heard him singing, or rather trying to sing in his most unmusical voice, "Vive, Henri Quatre."