“I find your laughter very silly and childish,” said he, eagerly.
The young maid, however, continued to laugh.
“M. Lieutenant,” said she, “since you carry such a mighty sword, you no doubt wish to carry it as a lady’s knight, and therefore you must consider it an honor when ladies jest with you.”
Napoleon gave a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders.
“It is evident,” said he, scornfully, “that you are but a little school-girl.”
These sarcastic words wounded the vanity of the young maiden, and brought a glow of anger on her face.
“Well, yes,” cries she, angrily, “I am a school-girl, but you—you are nothing else than a puss in boots!”
A general laugh followed; even Madame de Permont, ordinarily so good and so considerate, could not suppress laughter. The witty words of the little school-girl were too keen and too applicable that she should be subjected to reproach.
Napoleon’s wrath was indescribable. His visage was overspread with a yellow-greenish pallor, his lips were contracted nervously, and already opened for a word of anger. But he suppressed that word with an effort; for though not yet familiar with all the forms and usages of society, his fine tact and the instinct of what was becoming told him that when the conversation ran into personalities the best plan was to be silent, and that he must not return personal remarks, since his opponent was one of the fair sex. He therefore remained silent, and so controlled himself as to join in the general laughter and to show himself heartily amused at the unfortunate nickname of the little Cecilia.
And that every one might be convinced how much he himself had been amused at this little scene, he brought, a few days afterward, to the youngest daughter of Madame de Permont, a charming little toy which he had had made purposely for her. This toy consisted of a small gilt and richly-ornamented carriage of papier-mache, before which leaped along a very lovely puss in boots.