So, for three months, Napoleon was drilled in French.
He did not take kindly to it.

But he did his best.

For, you see, his journey from Florence to Marseilles, and on to Autun, had opened his eyes.

He saw, for the first time, cities larger than Ajaccio, and learned that there were other places in the world besides Corsica.
But he never really lost his Ajaccio tongue, and for most of his life he talked French with an Italian accent.
It was a queer-looking little Italian boy who was thus studying French at Autun school.

You would scarcely have looked at him twice; for his figure was small, his appearance insignificant, his face sober and solemn, his hair stiff and stringy, and his complexion sallow.