The First Consul's study in the Tuileries Palace connected to Marie Antoinette's small sitting room. Besides that, there was also a meeting room—the round hall where Pomona had run into the secret police after leaving his private study last time.
Ordinarily, no one but his secretary could enter his study. Pomona was no longer ignorant enough to walk in there either. She came to the Queen's sitting room next door and waited for him inside, like those opera starlets who arrived in carriages in the middle of the night.
A model of a seagoing ship stood in the sitting room. Pomona examined it. They said Napoleon had stowed away back from Egypt aboard the Venetian vessel Muiron before launching the Coup of 18 Brumaire. This model certainly looked like a Venetian ship.
For women of high society, their inborn charm was a pass that could conceal poverty. But if they wanted to remain here, beauty alone was not enough.
Moving into the Tuileries Palace was easy enough; staying was another matter. The terror of being sent to the guillotine and the triumph of victory were both concentrated in this Rococo-style sitting room. The pendulum clock gave off a dull sound. That regular, rhythmic ticking made Pomona feel suffocated. She thought he was probably not far from losing his mind.
Before long, she heard the study door open, followed by swift footsteps outside. She glanced at the sky beyond the window. Without realizing it, the day was nearly over.
The door slammed shut with a bang. Napoleon held a Mamluk sword in his hand. He had not been wearing one before. Though she did not know where he had gotten it, she certainly did not want it piercing her body.
"What do you have to explain?" he asked, frowning. His gaze