Bulls were actually color-blind, yet the sight of the vivid red cloth in a matador's hand still inevitably enraged them.
When they charged at the matador, the matadors evaded them with graceful yet thrilling movements, earning the audience's applause. This eventually gave rise to the superstition that one must not wear red in front of a bull.
After boarding the carriage, Georgiana looked through the window at the Pomona, moored in the nearby harbor. The rest of the journey would actually have been more comfortable by ship, but she did not think the British Navy would let Napoleon have his way—unless the ship was bound for Elba.
That morning, she had worn a red silk gown, the same color as the British Army uniform.
She would not wear a cotton dress at such a time, nor could she dress like a noblewoman from France. Instead of a cashmere shawl, she had put on furs.
Besides, how was she supposed to behave when she met Britain's agricultural commissioner? Was she meant to weep over her grievances and claim she could not wait to go with him to the harbor and leave France?
There had not even been the basic hand-kissing greeting. It was Bonaparte who had pulled out her chair for her.
It was not that she had become strange; the atmosphere at the time had simply not been friendly enough for anyone to speak freely under such immense pressure.
When the procession left Le Havre, it was not as grand as when it had entered the city, but the leading officials and merchants had all come.
In the eighteenth century, it was perfectly normal for foreigners to travel back and forth across border regions; control had been insufficient in the first place. The trade treaty of 1786 had benefited Brittany's