To the Jumel mansion came finally the last and least esteemed of the Bonaparte visitors; a squat, puffy-eyed princeling--pallid, crafty shadow of the Austerlitz Man--who had left France and jail one jump ahead of the police, had served as special constable in London to pick up enough money for food, and now for similar reason was teaching school in Bordentown, New Jersey. He was Louis Napoleon, alleged nephew of Napoleon I. I say "alleged" on the authority of Victor Hugo's famous sneer that Louis was "neither the nephew of his uncle, the son of his father, nor the father of his son." It was Hugo, too, who, when Louis became emperor of the French, under the title of Napoleon III., dubbed him "Napoleon the Little." For which witticism, Monsieur Hugo was promptly banished from France. Louis was the son of Napoleon's younger brother of the same name and of his wife--and step-niece--Hortense Beauharnais. The son had not a single Bonapartist feature nor trait. He strongly resembled, however, a certain dashing Dutch admiral, one Flahaut, on whom Hortense had been credited with bestowing a more than neighborly interest. It is not libelous, in view of many proven facts--indeed, it is scarce gossip--to say that Hortense, like her mother, the Empress Josephine, had had the foible of loving not wisely, but too often. In any event, whoever may have been his father, Louis Napoleon was kindly received by the Jumels; not as a prince, but as a guest of honor. And Papa Jumel lent him much hard-earned American money. Among all the Bonapartes, Louis was the least promising of the Jumels' beneficiaries. And of them all, he alone was to make any return for their goodness to him. The Prince de Joinville--here to investigate, and if necessary buy off, Eleazer Williams' claim to be the "lost Dauphin"--stayed at the mansion and paid charming attentions to Betty. So did the polished old scoundrel, Talleyrand, whom Napoleon had daintily described as "a silk stocking filled with muck." Less lofty of birth, but worth all the Bonapartes put together in point of genius, was a young American poet who vastly admired Betty, and who, on her invitation, spent weeks at a time at the mansion. He was Fitz-Greene Halleck; and, seated on the porch of the Jumel house, he wrote a poem that a million schoolboys were soon to spout--"Marco Bozzaris." One morning in 1830, Papa Jumel set out for New York on a business call to his bankers. He rode forth from the long, winding driveway--several flat houses and stores and streets cut across that driveway's course to-day--in the lumbering and costly family coach. An hour later he was brought home dying. The coach had upset on the frost-rutted road a few miles to the south. Jumel had fallen out--on his head.