"He is one of the few combinations of high birth and intelligence I have ever seen."
"We know him," was the reply, "and he is one of the most popular men in the ward-room. Oh, how funny he was when we first knew him!" added Betsy. "He was coming back from the Admiral's ball. We met an old cart, and he was surrounded by brother middies, all shouting, 'Lord W.'s carriage stops the way.' Well, we couldn't get past, as the cart had been dragged inside the arch through which we were to pass. Afterwards this same young man had a narrow escape. He was rowing guard when hailed by sentry. On account of the surf, the sentry could not hear him give the password, and so he fired among the crew."
"Yes, he can do anything. Sir Pultney Malcom put him in charge of the government farm, and said he had never seen such vegetables produced on the sterile rocks of St. Helena."
"Whatever British sailors take in hand," said Napoleon, "they never leave undone."
A marble bust of the King of Rome was sent to Napoleon, probably by Maria Louisa. Napoleon gazed on it with proud satisfaction and he seemed pleased with the praises of Betsy and her mother.
"You ought to be proud to be the father of so beautiful a boy," said Mrs. Balcombe.
Smiles lit Napoleon's face, and Betsy, child though she was, was impressed by his expression of paternal fondness.
The bust was of white marble and executed by Caracci, and it bore the names Napoleon François Charles Joseph. The child was shown wearing the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor. It had been brought from Leghorn by the gunner of a ship bound to St. Helena, and although it had come so mysteriously, people generally understood that Maria Louisa herself had taken the trouble to have it sent in this way to Napoleon, her husband.
"Now, come," said Madame Bertrand, after the sisters had spent some time admiring Napoleon's gifts, "let me show you my presents;" for the ship that had brought the bust brought things also to others of the French exiles. These were chiefly for Countess Bertrand and Countess Montholon from Lady Holland, who often remembered them in this way.