remained house-mother and
care-taker, looking after her own household, and refusing to spend the
money with which her son provided her, for fear that some day she or her
family might need it. In all the troubles in Corsica she accompanied her
husband to the mountain-retreat and the battle-field, encouraging him by
her bravery, and urging him to patriotic purpose, until the end came,
and Corsica was defeated and conquered. She carried all the worries and
bore all the responsibilities of the Bonaparte household; and it was
only by her management and carefulness that the family was kept from
absolute poverty.

Her children loved her; but they feared her too, and never thought of
going contrary to her desires or commands. Late in life Napoleon
once told a boy of whom he was fond the consequences of the only time he
ever dared make fun of "Mamma Letitia."

"Pauline and I tried it," he said; "but it was a great mistake on our
part. It was the only time in my life that my mother herself ever
whipped me. I don't believe Pauline ever forgot it. I never did."

So it was Mamma Letitia who first spoke on the arrival at home; and her
first question was as to the children who had remained behind.

"Where is Napoleon? Where is Pauline?" she asked.

Little Pauline sprang from behind her uncle the canon.

"I am here, mamma," she said, and threw herself in her mother's arms.

"But where is Napoleon?"

"He has not been good, mamma," Pauline replied. "See! he is there,
behind the door. He dare not come out. He pouts."

"It is not so, mamma," said Napoleon, coming forward; "I do dare. I am
sad; but I do not pout."

"And is he obstinate still, Uncle Lucien?" Papa Charles asked. "Has he
confessed, or asked your pardon?"

"He has done neither," Uncle Lucien replied. "I have never seen, in any
child, such obstinacy as his."

"Napoleon! Obstinacy!" exclaimed Mamma Letitia. "Why, tell me; what has
the boy done?"

Then Uncle Lucien told the story of the rifled basket of fruit, excusing
the lad as much as he could, although it must be confessed that the kind
of canon was considerably "put out" by the reason of what he called
Napoleon's obstinacy.

When, however, he reached the part of his story that described how he
wished Napoleon to confess his misdeed, little Panoria, having, as
I have told you, none of that awe of the Canon Lucien that his grand
nephews and nieces had, burst in upon him,--

"Why, then!" she cried, "I should n