"He is the only one of my brothers who does not cry or complain when he is punished. If you heard what a noise Joseph and Lucien make, you would fancy that uncle was flaying them alive!"
"But about Napoleon. What can he be talking about alone in the grotto?"
"Hush! Here he is! Let us hide ourselves behind this lilac-tree, and you'll hear."
"I see Severia coming to call us."
"Ah! it will take her an hour to gather ripe fruit for uncle the canon. We shall have time enough. Come!"
And the little girls, gliding between the rock and the overhanging shrubs, took up their position in perfect concealment.
The boy who advanced toward the grotto differed from the generality of children of his age in the size of his head, the massive form of his noble brow, and the fixed examining expression of his eyes. He walked slowly—looking at the bright blue sea—and unconscious that his proceedings were closely watched by two pair of little bright black eyes.
"Here I am my own master!" he said as he entered the grotto. "No one commands me here!" And seating himself royally on a bench within the dark entrance, he continued, "This is my birthday. I am eight years old to-day. I wish I lived among the Spartans, then I should be beyond the control of women; but now I have to obey such a number of people—old Severia among the rest. Ah, if I were the master!"
"Well, and if you were the master, what would you do?" cried Eliza, thrusting forward her pretty little head.
"First of all, I'd teach you not to come listening at doors," replied Napoleon, disconcerted at being overheard.