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

observed,” the old man warned.

Chapter 10
    T hank heaven I hadn’t run into Jane when I was in town that day. My mission was complicated enough. And for the next few weeks I led a double life. By day I visited the emperor—with whom I’d now gained such familiarity that I occasionally called him “Boney”—or sat for my mother’s tiresome lessons in the wifely arts. By night I sneaked out of the Briars to build the balloon in Huff’s laboratory. There was always the threat of discovery, and time was growing short. Thanks in part to the silks I managed to acquire in Jamestown, the work was proceeding apace.
    One evening I was asked to join the emperor and his suite at supper. I suppose this meant that he had taken me into his confidence, because the conversation seemed unguarded despite my presence.
    â€œWhat do you miss most about home?” the Countess de Montholon, wife of one of Bonaparte’saides, asked the emperor. It did not escape my notice that she appeared to be flirting with him. Her husband didn’t seem to mind.
    â€œI will not give the answer you expect, Countess,” the emperor replied with a grin. “C’est le vin.” The wine! There were knowing laughs from the others. “I do not know what the English call the bottled liquid they bring on ships to us here, but in France, it would be emptied out the bilge.”
    Unlike the others, Gourgaud seemed very troubled at the mention of home. He got up suddenly from the table and faced a wall, pressing his head against it.
    â€œOh, liberté !” he wailed. “Why am I a prisoner!”
    â€œGourgaud,” the emperor said calmly, as if he’d heard this all before. “Sit down and finish your meal. Save your drama for after, when we read Voltaire.”
    â€œYour Majesty!” Gourgaud said, turning around to face us. “Did I not save you from that Cossack at Brienne?”
    â€œYou are a brave man but amazingly childish,” the emperor replied. “Now, please join us.”
    Yes, the emperor was right. Gourgaud was acting rather silly. But I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. On the other hand, nobody else was complaining, why should he?
    â€œWhat is the matter with all of you?” Gourgaud said, waving his hand from one end of the table to the other. Everyone put their forks down and stared at the agitated man. “Don’t—don’t you miss your friends, your families? The homes you left behind? You go quietly, as lambs to the slaughter! Have you no feelings?”
    I wondered how the emperor would respond to this outburst. Would he order Gourgaud’s head in a bucket? I think the others were as fearful as I.
    But the only sound was the rustling of the curtains in the evening breeze. No one knew what to say, least of all I. It reminded me of the times my parents were not on the best of terms and we all had to suffer our way through a meal in frigid silence. At last the emperor broke the ice.
    â€œMy dear Gourgaud, how glum you look!” Bonaparte said cheerfully. He stood and put his arm around the man’s shoulders. “Isn’t it true that it is better to be selfish, unfeeling? If you were, you wouldn’t worry about the fate of your mother or sister, would you?” The emperor guided the now pliant Gourgaud back to his chair.
    â€œHave a cold rubdown; that will do you good,” the emperor advised. He walked back to his place at thehead of the table. Bertrand rushed to pull out his chair for him—just in time, like a carefully rehearsed dance. Bonaparte sat. “One must curb one’s imagination. Otherwise, one is liable to go mad. I want my friends to cheer me, not make me sadder by pulling long faces.”
    â€œI—I will do my best, Sire,” Gourgaud said, sniffling.
    â€œThere’s a good fellow,” Bonaparte said.
    The emperor picked up his fork. Everyone began eating again. Madame Bertrand