Madame Bonaparte was away from home, and in the evening her husband went to meet her, accompanied by Joseph, Lucien, and Eliza. M. Fesch and the canon were also about to depart, and in passing through the ante-room, they saw Napoleon standing, pale and grave, but proud, and firm-looking as before. "Well, my child," said his father, "I hope you will now ask your uncle's pardon?" "I did not touch the fruit, papa." "Still obstinate! As the rod will not do, I shall try another method. Your mother, brothers, Eliza, and I, will be away for three days, and during that time you shall have nothing but bread and water, unless you ask your uncle's forgiveness." "But, papa, won't you let him have some cheese with his bread?" whispered little Pauline. "Yes, but not _broccio_." "Ah do, papa, please let him have _broccio_ 'tis the nicest cheese in Corsica!" "That's the reason he does not deserve it," said his father, looking at the boy with an anxious expression, as if he hoped to see some sign of penitence on his face. But none such appearing, he proceeded toward the carriage. Joseph and Lucien took a kind leave of their brother, but Eliza seemed unwilling and afraid to go near or look at him. The three days passed on, heavily enough for poor Napoleon, who was in disgrace, and living on bread, water, and cheese, which was not _broccio_. At length the party returned, and little Panoria, who was watching for her friend Eliza, came with them into the house. "Good-morning, uncle," said Madame Bonaparte to the archdeacon, "how are you? And where are Napoleon and Pauline?" "Here I am, mamma," said the latter throwing her arms around her mother's neck. "And Napoleon?" "He is here," said the canon. "Has he confessed?" asked his father. "No," replied the uncle. "I never before witnessed such obstinacy." "What has he done?" asked his mother. The canon, in reply, related the story of the fruit; but before he could finish it, Panoria exclaimed-- "Of course, poor fellow, he would not confess what he never did!" "And who did take the fruit?" asked the canon. "I and Eliza," replied the little girl without hesitation. There was a universal exclamation. "My poor child," said the archdeacon, embracing Napoleon tenderly, "why did you not undeceive us?" "I suspected it was Eliza," replied Napoleon; "but I was not sure. At all events, I would not have told, for Panoria's sake, who is not a liar." The reader may imagine how Napoleon was caressed and rewarded to make him amends for the pain he had unjustly suffered. As to Eliza, she was severely and rightly punished: first for her gluttony; and then for what was much worse--her cowardice and deceit in allowing her innocent brother to suffer for her fault. WILBERFORCE AND CHALMERS.