At last the time came when Napoleon and his young neighbor must part. The health of Betsy's mother, Mrs. Balcombe, was not good, and the family decided to go home to England. Mr. Balcombe obtained six months' leave, but, although the family professed to expect to return, in their secret hearts they felt that they were bidding good-bye to St. Helena.

A day or two before sailing Betsy and Jane went over to Longwood to say farewell to Napoleon. They found him in the billiard-room, as usual, surrounded by books. There was sadness in his voice as he talked about their departure.

"I hope your mother's health will soon be restored," he said. "Give her my kindest regards and best wishes for the journey. Soon you will be sailing away towards England, leaving me to die on this miserable rock. Look at those dreadful mountains—they are my prison walls. You will soon hear that the Emperor Napoleon is dead."

At these melancholy words the emotional Betsy burst into tears and Jane's eyes grew moist. Betsy sobbed as if her heart would break, and Napoleon, greatly moved, tried to comfort her. Betsy felt for her handkerchief, only to find that she had left it in her side-saddle pocket. So Napoleon, holding his own toward her, said, "Take it, and keep it in remembrance of this sad day."

The sisters went the rounds of Longwood, bidding good-bye to all that was dear to them. Later they dined with Napoleon, but Betsy was still so overcome with grief that she could hardly swallow.

"Take some bonbons," said Napoleon kindly.

"I cannot," she cried. "My throat has a swelling, and I cannot eat!"

When at last they were ready to go, the Emperor embraced the two sisters with great affection.

"Do not forget me!" he said. "I thank you for your kindness and friendship, and all my happy hours in your society."

The two sisters could hardly reply.

"Mees Betsee," he added, after a moment's pause, "what would you like to have in remembrance?"

"A lock of your hair," sobbed the young girl, "better than anything else."

"Marchand shall bring the scissors, then;" and the devoted Marchand, promptly obeying, severed four locks for the four older members of the Balcombe family.

Not long before they left, Napoleon in a conversation with Mr. Balcombe said:

"I fear that your resignation of your employment in this island is caused by the quarrels and annoyances drawn upon you by the relation established between your family and Longwood, in consequence of the hospitality which you showed on my first arrival in St. Helena. I would not wish you to regret having known me."

Although Mr. Balcombe did not exactly confirm what Napoleon said about the reason for his withdrawal from St. Helena, he knew that to a great extent it was true. For a long time Sir Hudson Lowe had been dissatisfied with the intimacy existing between Napoleon and the Balcombes. While he admitted that he had no tangible cause for complaint, he was constantly watching for one, and was always ready to call Mr. Balcombe to account for what he considered partiality for the illustrious exile. As the Governor himself put it, he was not without suspicion that his relations with Longwood were not limited to the ostensible duties of his office. The Governor at this time was very suspicious of Dr. O'Meara, and as Mr. Balcombe and he were intimate friends, the former was naturally regarded also with disfavor.

More than once had Betsy's careless behavior drawn a reprimand upon her father. But for the Governor's feeling against him, Mr. Balcombe and his family might have been on St. Helena during the last sad days of Napoleon.

As it was, they went back to England the middle of March, 1818, little more than three years before Napoleon's death. Their ship was the Winchelsea store-ship, on its way from China, and on the same vessel went General Gorgaud, the bachelor of Napoleon's suite, a pompous, though brave man, for whom Betsy had no especial liking. General Gorgaud knew that he would never return to St. Helena. Mr. Balcombe had obtained a six months' leave from his official duties, but he, too, may have felt as the vessel sailed away that he was unlikely ever again to look upon its frowning walls.

As to Betsy, Napoleon's young neighbor, the tears that fell from her eyes when she said her last good-bye to the Emperor were not the last that she shed for him. As the years went by she ever listened eagerly to all the news that came from St. Helena, until the final mournful tidings in the early summer of 1821, that Napoleon had died on the fifth of May.

"I am sure," said Betsy long afterwards, "after seeing Napoleon in every possible mood and in his most unguarded moments, I know that the idea of acting a part never entered his head. I had the most complete conviction of his want of guile, and the thorough goodness and amiability of his heart."

Betsy was a keen observer of human nature, and another of her judgments is worth remembering: "That this impression of his amiability and goodness was common to almost all who approached him is proved by the devotion of his followers at St. Helena. They had then nothing more to expect from him, and only entailed misery on themselves by adhering to his fortunes."

It is indeed a fact worth remembering, that Napoleon's suite, in spite of the fact that to a great extent Napoleon obliged them to practise the rigid etiquette of a court, were all devoted to him. It is true that they had to stand in his presence and in certain ways keep up a ceremony that seemed absurd in an establishment as simple as that of Longwood; but there were many hours of relaxation. In these hours of relaxation Napoleon played cards with his friends, or chess, or—after he went to Longwood—billiards. He was fond of reading aloud, and not infrequently favored his friends with a long reading. Sometimes he indulged in declamation, for he was rather proud of the fact that he had learned something of this art from the great Talma. In his later years at Longwood he devised ways of getting his needed exercise indoors and worked almost too vigorously at gardening.

An old St. Helena newspaper has an account of his exertions in his garden, not long before his death, which has a pathos of its own: "A few weeks before his death the Emperor labored with a spade in his garden so long and so severely as to be faint with fatigue. Some one suggested the probable injury to his health. 'No,' said he, 'it cannot injure my health; that is lost beyond all hope. It will but shorten my days.'"

The disease from which Napoleon died was one that he had inherited from his father,—one, indeed, for which there is no cure. So it cannot be said with certainty that his life might have been prolonged if he had been more careful to get enough, and only enough, of the right kind of exercise. Yet though his life may have had to run in its natural course, his last years would have been much happier if there had been no friction between him and the Governor of St. Helena.

The last three years of Napoleon's life were undoubtedly the loneliest he had known. He missed Las Cases, Gorgaud, the Balcombes, and O'Meara, whom the Governor was at last able to get out of the way. Napoleon kept himself busy with his gardening and his books, and when, in 1819, the Government began to build a new house for him, he spent much time watching its progress, although with true forebodings he often said that he should never live to occupy it.

He still refused to take exercise, and once in a fit of depression stayed in the house for three months. Thus his health continued to suffer and he grew stout and clumsy. When he did go out he was apt to drive around the eight miles of his enclosure at breakneck speed, in a carriage drawn by six horses. In October, 1820, he sent word to Sir William Doveton that he would be glad to breakfast with him. Sir William was, of course, happy to receive his distinguished guest, and breakfast was served on the lawn to Napoleon and Generals Bertrand and Montholon. The breakfast in the society of Sir William Doveton and his family passed off pleasantly, and Napoleon started to walk home. Unluckily he had not the strength to carry out his good intentions, and on the way back to Longwood he had to stop at a cottage by the way to rest, while his carriage was sent for.

Betsy would have been glad, if the fact had ever come to her ears, to learn that in his last year or two Napoleon had another little friend who to a certain degree could fill the place in his affections always ready for children. This was the young daughter of a soldier of the garrison, little Julia, nine years old, who was intelligent and companionable.

When he knew that Julia was coming to see him, Napoleon always had fruits and sweetmeats ready for her. Not long before he died he hung a gold watch and chain around Julia's neck, saying, "Wear this for my sake." On the cover he had scratched an inscription with his penknife, "The Emperor to his little friend Julia." When she visited him they sat or walked in the garden, and Napoleon found some amusement in giving her drawing lessons from nature. One fine morning in April, when Julia appeared, Napoleon invited her inside the house where the breakfast table was laid. Standing by the table, he filled her little basket with fruit and sweet things, and at last put a bottle of wine in the basket, saying, "For your father to drink my health in."

Alas! it was too late for any one to wish Napoleon good health. Not long after he had suggested the toast for Julia's father, he had to go to bed. Whatever others thought, he was sure that he would never rise. He probably knew that the end was near. The very end came suddenly, and many on St. Helena, who had not known of the seriousness of his condition, were greatly surprised to hear of his death on the fifth of May.

Before the funeral Napoleon's body lay in state, and naval and military officers and many others were permitted to view it. When Sir Hudson Lowe looked at Napoleon immediately after his death, he was impressed by the nobility of the dead man's expression. "His face in death," he wrote to Lord Bathurst, "was the most beautiful I have ever seen." Yet even to the dead Napoleon the Governor maintained the same attitude as to the living, for when it came to the question of the inscription to be placed on the Emperor's coffin, he would not permit the simple "Napoleon" with dates and places of birth and death, but insisted that in addition it should bear the surname "Bonaparte."

British soldiers carried Napoleon from the house to the car that was to bear him to the burial place; but the horses that drew the car were four that had belonged to the late Emperor. Orders had been issued to conduct his funeral as that of a general of the highest rank. In consequence the left side of the road from Longwood to the grave was lined with troops. It was a solemn and impressive procession that moved along as escort, paying the last earthly honors to Napoleon, on whose coffin lay his sword and the mantle of Marengo.

Napoleon had always wished to be buried in France, but toward the end of his life, when it seemed unlikely that his wish could be gratified, he gave directions as to the spot in St. Helena that he preferred. This was a romantic and picturesque enclosure in a ravine not very far from Longwood. Often, when out walking, the Emperor had stopped there to quench his thirst at a small spring. The little valley was shaded with Norfolk pines, firs, and other trees, and here, near the spring, under the shade of two great willow trees, Napoleon's body was laid to rest. As it was lowered into the grave three discharges from eleven pieces of musketry were fired.

As his sorrowing attendants turned away, how overwhelmingly sad must the reflections of the two of Napoleon's personal suite have been! Only Montholon and Bertrand were there at the last, though Marchand and other attendants still remained. Montholon, when a boy of ten, had known Napoleon in Corsica, and Bertrand had long been one of his officers,—"the best engineer officer I have ever known," said Napoleon.

Now their years of faithful devotion were at an end. With heavy hearts they turned their backs on the lonely grave under the willow trees and soon they sailed away to the great world, their hearts filled with memories of Napoleon.

Nineteen years after Napoleon's death a French frigate, La Belle Poule, commanded by the Prince of Joinville, arrived off Jamestown. The wheel had turned, and the friends and admirers of Napoleon were on top.

Even Great Britain was not unwilling that the dead Napoleon should have the honor that was his due. The frigate had come for the body of Napoleon to give it proper honors in France. On La Belle Poule were Count Bertrand, his son Arthur, born at St. Helena, General Gorgaud, the young Las Cases, and the faithful Marchand.

The body of Napoleon was taken from the tomb under the willow trees and borne back to France. Every one knows of the magnificent funeral given their dead hero by the impulsive French. Every one has heard how countless throngs filled the streets of Paris, how the military display has seldom been equalled, as the catafalque, preceded by a riderless horse, went slowly along the tree-lined boulevards. The wonderful tomb of Napoleon in the Hotel des Invalides is known to many, but there are few in comparison who have visited the little enclosure at the bottom of the deep ravine where the Emperor's body lay for a score of years. Yet, in the days of wooden ships, when St. Helena was the place where captains had to call to re-provision their vessels, many a passenger on going ashore hastened to Napoleon's grave, and while the world stands the secluded valley will continue to claim the interest of Napoleon's admirers. The vault itself is now covered with a broad, flat stone, without inscription, and its cemented surface is cracked in places. There is a hedge around the fence and a sentry box at the entrance of the enclosure. Here there is a notice to the effect that the grave is now the property of the French Republic, and in the sentry box an attendant keeps a book and registers the names of all who visit the spot where once lay the body of Napoleon.