Napoleon's Young Neighbor Part 8

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 tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs 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 a.s.sistance. 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, b.a.l.l.s 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 sh.e.l.l 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.

CHAPTER VI

A HORSE TAMER

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 pa.s.s 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.