The Emperor, without replying directly, called Archambaud to him and bade him dismount, while he took his seat on the fiery horse. The girls looked on in horror, but Napoleon only smiled the more, as he compelled the horse to pass the cloth and continued his discipline until he made the creature put his foot on it.
Archambaud gazed open-mouthed, hardly knowing whether to laugh or to cry. The Emperor persevered, and in a short time the horse was absolutely obedient to him, and the groom, though chagrined at his own failure, was pleased by the Emperor's success.
"Ah," said Napoleon, dismounting, "it would be a strange horse that did not understand me. There was one that I rode once one hundred and twenty-nine miles in one day. My mother was ill, and I had to do it; but the horse, poor thing, died in the course of the night."
"And you?" asked Betsy.
"Ah, I was fatigued, but in or out of the saddle makes little difference to me. I could almost sleep in the saddle. But, come, young ladies," he continued, "I came here to invite you to see my china. It is all unpacked."
The girls followed the Emperor toward the house, and "Oh!" and "Ah!" they exclaimed loudly as they looked at the beautiful dishes lately arrived from France. Among them there were plates that had cost twenty-five napoleons, each of them painted by a great artist. It was a beautiful set, given to the Emperor by the people of Paris, and the pictures were chiefly battle scenes commemorating his great victories.
Before one of these paintings, Betsy stood enraptured. It represented a slim youth, who looked almost tall, standing on a bridge and evidently cheering others on, while nearer him were the dead and dying.
"And this was really you?" exclaimed Betsy, for she recognized the standing figure.
"Yes," replied Napoleon, sighing, as if for his dead youth. "I was that boy. That was almost the beginning. I was more slender then than now."
"This is the ibis?" asked Betsy, pointing to a bird that appeared on many plates.