house, as Madame Bertrand was, some days ago?"
"Jane," said Betsy, who always saw the funny side of things, "what a fine caricature this would have made for the London print shops—Napoleon stopped at the gates by a sentinel, charging him with a fixed bayonet! How the Londoners would laugh! No, I don't blame Napoleon for staying indoors."
But when Betsy saw the Emperor after this illness, her heart was filled with pity. His skin was a waxy yellow and his cheeks hung in deep pouches. His ankles were terribly swollen, and he could not stand without the support of a table on one side and the shoulder of an attendant on the other.
As Betsy looked at him, tears fell from her eyes and she could hardly keep from sobbing aloud.
"Ah!" said Napoleon kindly. "Do not cry, Mees Betsee. I am almost well—and the good O'Meara will surely cure me."
Upon this Betsy became more cheerful, but later, when they were out of the Emperor's hearing, Mrs. Balcombe shook her head sor-
