Pomona used the skills she had learned from Minerva to give Antor a manicure.
Although her fingers had already been beautiful, Hathor seemed to like having bright colors on her nails.
"Did you go to the Tuileries Palace earlier, sweetheart?" Hathor asked absently as she examined her newly painted nails.
"Yes," Pomona answered honestly.
"Then you saw him?" Hathor asked.
"Yes." Pomona's tone dropped, making her reluctance obvious. Though Hathor had not said who "he" was, she knew she meant Napoleon.
"What did you say?" Hathor asked.
"Nothing..."
"I need to know every detail," Hathor interrupted. "Don't tell me you forgot so quickly."
"He had just returned to France from Egypt," Pomona said. "He did mention the lack of supplies."
"Did he?" Hathor smiled meaningfully, looking like a femme fatale in love and eager to learn every secret of her beloved.
"You must be wondering why I'm so interested," Hathor said, as though she had used Legilimency on Pomona. "I am a god of Egypt, and he was a French invader."
"I think your 'blessing' has already made him suffer enough," Pomona said helplessly.
"You seem to sympathize with him?" Hathor twirled her hair around a finger and looked at Pomona with ill intent.
"No." Pomona immediately denied it.
"The first time I saw him, he was still wearing that heavy French uniform," Hathor went on by herself. "Can you imagine what it felt like to walk through the desert in that black wool uniform, in a place as hot and dry as Egypt? Many soldiers died in the desert between Alexander the Great and Cairo. They did not even have canteens, because those splendid uniforms had not been designed with belts for hanging them. At first, I thought another fool who was all appearance and no substance had arrived.