Betsy and the Emperor (9781439115879) by Staton Rabin Page A

both of us.
    â€œMarchand is waiting to cut my hair,” he said. “So I fear we must be on our way.”
    He kissed the old man on both cheeks, in the French manner. Rather excessive, I thought, but Huff seemed pleased. I gave Huff a hug in farewell, in the English manner.
    As we left the laboratory, Bonaparte took a misstep and bumped into the bookcase. One volume toppled from it. Bonaparte picked up the book, blew the dust from the cover, and recited the title in French. It translated to Aeronautical Experiments —by Joseph-Michel and Jacques-Étienne Montgolfier.
    â€œAh!” Bonaparte said in recognition. “The Montgolfier boys!”
    â€œYou knew them?” Huff asked, excited.
    â€œMais oui!” Bonaparte replied. “They wanted tobuild one of their hot-air balloons for me—for aerial spying on the battlefield. I dismissed them, of course. A good general knows his enemy without viewing the top of his head.” The emperor returned the book to the shelf.
    We bade adieu to Huff, who was staying behind to work on the hieroglyphics, and made our way out of the cave. I couldn’t help wondering how feeble old Huff managed the difficult journey through the cave to and from his laboratory every day; but I suppose he had in determination what he lacked in vitality.
    Twenty minutes later the emperor and I emerged into the daylight.
    â€œIt looks like rain,” I said. “We better go back.”
    â€œYes,” the Emperor replied. “But, as Docteur Franklin said, it is wise to make haste slowly.”
    Hope was nuzzling Belle like an amorous suitor.
    â€œAh,” Bonaparte said. “Hope is like myself. He cannot resist a pretty face!”
    We mounted up.
    There was something I wanted to say to the emperor, now that Huff was no longer with us to take offense at my words.
    â€œYou stole the Rosetta stone, didn’t you?”
    The emperor shrugged. “Borrowed it, one could say.”
    â€œMy sister Jane says that you have hidden vast treasures. You have stolen from—”
    Bonaparte turned on me angrily. “Would you like to know about Napoleon Bonaparte’s treasures? Would you, Mademoiselle? Yes, they are vast, but they are not hidden away. The harbors of Antwerp and Flushing, where there is room for the largest fleets in the world. The waterworks I built at Dunkirk, Havre and Nice. The huge docks of Cherbourg, the port of Venice. The high roads from Antwerp to Amsterdam, from Mainz to Metz, and from Bordeaux to Bayonne. The passes over Simplon, La Corniche, and Mont Genèvre, which open the Alps in four directions and excel all the constructions of the Ancient Romans. More treasures? More?”
    I looked at him blankly. He continued.
    â€œThe re-establishment of the church destroyed by the Revolution. The setting up of new industries, the new Louvre Museum, warehouses, streets, the water supply of Paris. The quays along the river Seine. The revival of weaving mills in Lyons, and building of the Rhine-Rhone canal. More than four hundred sugar factories. The roads from thePyrenees to the Alps, from Parma to Spezia, and from Savona to Piedmont. The bridges across the Seine, and others in Tours and Lyons. The Napoleon Museum, where, I assure you Mademoiselle, the works of art have been obtained by purchase or peace treaties. These—these are all the treasures of Napoleon and will outlast the centuries!”
    For the second time that day I was speechless. Could it be? Could one man—one man—really have been responsible for all those achievements?
    We rode the rest of the way back to the Briars in silence.

Chapter 8
    O uch! Marchand! Those are scissors, not the guillotine. Take care!”
    The emperor patted the spot of blood on his neck where his valet had accidentally nicked him. It was merely a small scratch—I could see that from where I stood—but the emperor ordered, “Get a tourniquet!”
    â€œI am very