Napoleon Must Die
Napoleon Must Die
“The tent was full of medical instruments, books, and a skeleton hung from one tent pole. Victoire wasn’t sure if the skeleton had come with the army’s chief surgeon or from inside the wrappings of one of the local mummies. As always, even before noon the air in the tent was stifling. “You’re not a very substantial woman,” he observed when he had finished looking her over. “There’s nothing much on your bones.” “I’m strong enough,” she told him, taking no offense. “I am like a cavalry officer, all sinew.” From the physician’s expression, he had his doubts. “You’re not the sort who faints, are you?” “No, I’m not. That is no bravura. I have seen wounds before, and I am no stranger to hospitals. My husband is Major-Inspector Vernet, and I have accompanied him at other times.” She did not admit that they had only been married sixteen months and that the most travel she had undertaken with Vernet until they come to Egypt was a short, rugged holiday in the Alps.
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