The Tuileries Garden was vast, large enough for the soldiers stationed at the Tuileries Palace to drill in.
The clamor of men and horses drew Pomona's attention. Napoleon, still dressed in civilian clothes, was sitting on horseback, watching them train.
The air of an ordinary man had vanished from him. That haughty aura, the bearing that placed everyone beneath him, had returned.
No ordinary person worshipped another ordinary person. In the way those Imperial Guards looked at Napoleon, Pomona sensed an emotion called "fanaticism," as if they were looking not at a man, but at a god.
Bella and her lot wore the same look when they watched Voldemort. Otherwise, they would not have been mad enough to imprison themselves in Azkaban, guarded by Dementors, just to prove their loyalty.
Napoleon was not the king from those wizarding fairy tales, the sort who would be duped by a charlatan in pursuit of magical power.
He was very clever, yet somewhat lacking in confidence, especially when it came to women. It was a weakness many men shared. Pomona did not know whether he had been influenced by Egypt or simply had the taste of a political upstart, gilding everything in sight. It was truly rather wasteful, especially now, when France had only just emerged from turmoil and every industry needed rebuilding.
The pink diamond he had intended to give Hortense earlier could not have been cheap based on its size alone, even if its cut was not particularly fine. Perhaps he had bought it with spoils looted from Italy.
Soldiers were like that. Their usual pay was never enough to live on, and once war came, they were bound to loot everywhere. People like Jacob, who had fought in a world war yet did not even possess anything to pawn at