And a century
of intercourse, good-will, and admiration has left us still inquisitive
about each other.
Napoleon felt such confidence in his plans for the conquest of England
that if any British officer belonging to the fleet in the narrow seas
was taken (which did not happen largely), he sent for him, upon his
arrival at Boulogne, and held a little talk with any one who could
understand and answer. He was especially pleased at hearing of the
capture of Blyth Scudamore (who had robbed him of his beloved Blonde),
and at once restored Desportes to favour, which he had begun to do
before, knowing as well as any man on earth the value of good officers.
"Bring your prisoner here to-morrow at twelve o'clock," was his order;
"you have turned the tables upon him well."
Scudamore felt a little nervous tingling as he passed through the
sentries, with his friend before him, into the pavilion of the greatest
man in Europe. But the Emperor, being in high good-humour, and pleased
with the young man's modest face and gentle demeanour, soon set him at
his ease, and spoke to him as affably as if he had been his equal. For
this man of almost universal mind could win every heart, when he set
himself to do it. Scudamore rubbed his eyes, which was a trick of his,
as if he could scarcely believe them. Napoleon looked--not insignificant
(that was impossible for a man with such a countenance), but mild, and
pleasing, and benevolent, as he walked to and fro, for he never could
stay still, in the place which was neither a tent nor a room, but a
mixture of the two, and not a happy one.
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