Raphael's Madonna painting hung on the wall of the rotunda in the Grand Trianon.
Georgiana had paused before it once, and then the First Consul had casually pointed at it, moving it from the walls of the Louvre Museum to here.
Such a thing would have been unthinkable in the twenty-first century. The Louvre Museum's collection was all national treasure.
Yet it happened in the dream, because Napoleon had stolen all those famous paintings.
When he sat quietly reading, he looked very much like a scholar, not a soldier at all. By the time Georgiana got up, he had already been working for several hours. She did not disturb him, since she had matters of her own to attend to.
She was not some compassionate Madonna who would hand out relief to those in need for free. She still preferred providing work in exchange for aid.
Although history recorded that the mountains of manure outside Paris would not be cleared until the twentieth century, this world was only a dream. Why take it so seriously?
Next year's planting would require fertilizer, and that manure could be used for precisely that purpose, provided they could find people willing to get dirty. Refugee farmers were the best people to hire.
She found a table and began scratching down notes with a quill. Monsieur Bonaparte had said that leaders sold hope, and what gave starving people more hope than a bountiful harvest?
A pain began spreading from her chest. At first, she thought it was an illusion, but then she realized she might be having a heart attack. Fortunately, the pain soon vanished, and her heart became calm again.
I miss you.
She heard Severus's voice, as if a ghost were speaking.
While she stood there in a daze, the First Consul took