n of the Paris military school had no desire for real work.

The certificate given to Napoleon upon his graduation read thus:--"This
young man is reserved and studious, he prefers study to any amusement,
and enjoys reading the best authors, applies himself earnestly to the
abstract sciences, cares little for anything else. He is silent, and
loves solitude. He is capricious, haughty, and excessively egotisical,
talks little, but is quick and energetic in his replies, prompt and
severe in his repartees, has great pride and ambition, aspiring to any
thing. The young man is worthy of patronage."

And upon the margin of the report one of the examining officers wrote this
extra indorsement--

"A Corsican by character and by birth. If favored by circumstances, this
young man will rise high."

Napoleon's school-life was over. On the first of September, 1785, he
received the papers appointing him second-lieutenant in the artillery
regiment, named La Fere (or "the sword"), and was ordered to report at
the garrison at Valence. His room-mate and friend, Alexander des Mazes,
was appointed to the same regiment.

It was a proud day for the boy of sixteen. At last his school-life was
at an end. He was to go into the world as a man and a soldier.

I am afraid he did not look very much like a man, even if he felt that
he was one. But he put on his uniform of lieutenant, and in high spirits
set off to visit his friends, the Permons.

They lived in a house on one of the river streets--Monsieur and Madame
Permon, and their two daughters, Cecilia and Laura.

Now, both these daughters were little girls, and as ready to see the
funny side of things as little girls usually are.

So when Lieutenant Napoleon Bonaparte, aged sixteen, came into the room,
proud of his new uniform, and feeling that he looked very smart, Laura
glanced at Cecilia, and Cecilia smiled at Laura, and then both girls
began to laugh.

Madam Permon glanced at them reprovingly, while welcoming the young
lieutenant with pleasant words.

But the boy felt that the girls were laughing at him, and he turned to
look at himself in the mirror to see what was wrong.

Nothing was wrong. It was simply Napoleon; but Napoleon just then
was not a handsome boy. Longhaired, large-headed, sallow-faced,
stiff-stocked, and feeling very new in his new uniform (which could not
be very gorgeous, however, because the boy's pocket would not admit of
any extras in the way of adornment on