"His spirits were very good, and he was at times almost boyish in his love of mirth and glee, not unmixed sometimes with a tinge of malice," wrote Betsy years later.
"Jane," said Betsy to her sister, not long after Napoleon's arrival, "the Emperor has invited us to dine with him. What fun it will be!"
"I don't know. I am afraid it will be terribly solemn."
"Oh, no; I am not afraid of that. The Emperor isn't solemn. You ought to get acquainted with him, and you wouldn't think so."
Jane shook her head dubiously.
"I am half afraid of him. I don't see how you can dare to trifle so with him. What were you laughing at yesterday when Lucy was here? I thought the Emperor looked rather silly."
"Well, perhaps he did, if you put it that way," responded the blunt Betsy. "Only Lucy was sillier. I thought she would drag me to the ground when I told her the Emperor was coming across the lawn."
"Then why did you run and bring him up to her? I saw you do it."
"I needn't have done that. I did more harm than good. I told her he wasn't the cruel creature she thought him. But I oughtn't to have told the Emperor she was afraid of him. At least, I wouldn't have done so had I known how he would act, for he brushed up his hair so it stood out like a savage's, and when he came up to Lucy he gave a queer growl so that she screamed until mamma thought she might have hysterics and hurried her out into the house."
"It was ridiculous for a man to act like a child," responded the sedate Jane, who had not acquired Betsy's admiration for Napoleon.