Harry Potter Morning Light

There is a famous dish in France called foie gras. Normal foie gras is not so fat, but the farmer will use an iron pipe to pour food down the throat of the goose, and start to pour another meal before the goose has time to digest. It is precisely because of this long-term force-feeding that a fatty liver that is 6-10 times larger than normal foie gras is produced.

The capacity of the stomach pouch is limited. If you feed too much at one time, it will burst the stomach, so you need to increase it one time at a time.

It was precisely because I heard that farmers in the Alsace region borrowed usury, which made people there angry and resent Georgiana, that she came up with the agricultural loan method. But she didn't know where people's bottom line was, and there were too many certificates issued at one time. At that time, they did not represent precious metals such as gold and silver, but land.

No one wants to borrow money, and you can live lightly without debt. During the Great Revolution, land distribution and cancellation of debts were very popular, but sometimes there is no way not to borrow money.

The carriage stopped when she was preoccupied, and it was Figel who opened the door for her this time.

"We stopped for lunch, ma'am," said Figel. "I hear there's Normandy mussels here."

She got out of the car and looked at the flat plain. Except for the slightly undulating hillside, she couldn't find any mountains or rivers as a reference. It was a real "middle of nowhere".

"Lead the way," said Georgiana.

"Ma'am, there is actually someone you might want to meet." Figel said, and then she took a half step back, and there was a young girl standing behind her.

She greeted Georgiana with a standard court curtsy.

"Who are you?" Georgiana asked.

"Madame, I am Leyla du Renard, daughter of a wood merchant in Rouen." The girl said in a crisp voice.

Georgiana froze for a moment.

Then she remembered that the Archbishop of Rouen had said that he wanted to introduce a girl, and they were living in a manor named Renard Rich.

"I thought you went to Paris," said Georgiana.

"You have another girl for me," said Mrs. Barryon now behind her. "Let her get up, ma'am."

Only then did Georgiana react, and quickly asked Leyla to stand up.

Leila has obviously learned noble etiquette, although it is still a bit far from the real court etiquette.

She is about 16 years old, has chestnut curly hair like broken waves, and has a little freckles on her face, but she is not ugly, but looks youthful and lively. She is wearing a woolen skirt with a collar wrapped in fur, which looks warm and pleasing to the eye.

"How did you get here?" asked Georgiana.

"Father sent a boat to bring me here." Leila said softly, "The banquet has been arranged."

"Your father also has a villa here?" Georgiana asked.

"He has a few business friends in San Roman, and my uncles helped me prepare it." Leila said happily.

Georgiana glanced at Mrs. Barryon.

"Let's go." Mrs. Barrillon supported Georgiana. "I'm hungry too."

There is an Italian-style manor castle outside the small town, which belonged to the previous lord, but Leila took them to that place.

It seems that a festival is being held in the city. Even though it is not an industrial city, there is still an exhibition of local products. It seems that there has been a bumper harvest, and there has been no food failure. Food and juggling are everywhere, and local girls have sent Georgiana flowers.

She glanced at Bonaparte who was not far away. He seemed very happy. After a short stroll, they went to a medieval-style tavern next to the market.

Logically speaking, the people who came to this place were peddlers, but at the moment they were basically well-dressed people. All the tables were covered with snow-white tablecloths, and the sterling silver tableware was all shiny. The cup is also crystal.

Although it was deliberate, it could be seen that it was done with heart, and it was already pretty good for a young girl's first social appearance.

"Georgiana, come here." Bonaparte waved to her, and then sat down at the end of the long table.

She looked back at the other side, which should be the seat where the hostess was sitting, kept smiling, and sat down on his left. Opposite her was Shaputar.

"Remember these people." He pointed to the senior officials sitting at the table with him and said, "You have to send invitation letters to them, don't be like last time."

She looked at those familiar and unfamiliar faces, some of them were wearing military uniforms, and some were dressed as literati. They were basically middle-aged, and rarely saw young ones.

"Georgiana will not forget," she said in a deliberately sweet voice.

Now Bonaparte was happy. His long table could only seat 12 people, and there was a seat for the hostess vacant. The rest of the entourage had to sit in other places in the tavern.

Dilloch seated them with his attendants, and the girls were seated at a table alone, with Mrs. Barrillon sitting with her husband at a table full of bankers.

"Brandy?"

Napoleon's classmate, Colonel Loriston, who once helped her spread the word in Lyon, said.

"You don't want cider anymore?" asked Bonaparte suddenly.

"That's for children." She said dissatisfied.

"Would you like some apple brandy?"

She thought of the horrible bottle of cider she drank yesterday.

But looking into Bonaparte's eyes she felt that he did not mean that.

"Which region has the best apple brandy?" asked Georgiana.

"I don't know, do you?" Bonaparte asked everyone.

None of the officials present answered.

"France's top talents are concentrated here, but they don't even know where the best cider is to drink." He said sarcastically, like a "social queen" making waves in a salon.

"Has there ever been a master sommelier who has tasted Brittany cider?" Chaputal immediately interjected, "I want to hear their professional advice."

"Is it fashionable to drink cider in England?" General André, who was at their table, asked Georgiana.

"When you come to Brittany, of course you have to drink cider. Do you have any good introduction?" Colonel Loriston put down the brandy in his hand and said.

"You may not be used to our cider." The restaurant owner said nervously.

"Find a time and hold a wine tasting to select the best cider." Bonaparte said coldly. "The prize is a refined still. The winner can use it to expand production, and enjoy the same market entry qualifications as wine."

Georgiana expected whispers, but all eyes were on him.

"Serve." He ordered, and the restaurant owner hurriedly asked the waiter to bring up the mussels.

She thought it was boiled for nothing, but found that the mussels were drizzled with cream and prosciutto, which was a way she had never seen before.

"This is Breton country style." The boss stood beside Georgiana like a waiter and introduced to her.

"Do you use local cream?" Bonaparte asked again, as if finding fault.

"This... this is made in the UK." The boss said as if he had done something wrong, "I promise, it was bought through a formal channel."

It's okay if he doesn't say it, but it looks like he bought smuggled goods.

"Normandy should have its own animal husbandry. I heard that there are people who drink animal milk, just like the Romans." Bonaparte said.

"In fact, compared with manual twisting, Italy produces a special twisting machine, and the quality of the twisted silk produced by it is more stable and uniform than the quality of manual twisting we saw in the factory yesterday." Shaputal said, "there are In a factory using twisters made in Italy, one worker can do the work of fifty workers."

"So efficient?" Colonel Loriston asked.

"It used to be an Italian secret. A British explorer went to Leghorn. He was not allowed to see the machine, but he got the connivance of an Italian monk, so he secretly drew the pattern and hid it in silk. Brie was sent to England, his actions were soon discovered, and it is said that the Italians sent a ship to chase him, and although he survived by luck, he died mysteriously a few years later." Shaputal said.

"It sounds the same as Venice bringing back St. Mark's body." Colonel Loriston said with a smile.

“The English explorer is like a Venetian glassmaker who found an island near Derbyshire to set up his factory,” laughs Shapthal.

"Because the explorer was poisoned for stealing the secrets of Italy?" asked General Andrei.

As if suddenly realizing it, the boss took a mussel and ate it by himself.

It took about two minutes after he swallowed it, and the others saw that he was fine, and Georgiana looked at the poor boss, and his cold sweat broke out in just a moment.

"Is it delicious?" Bonaparte asked her.

"Delicious," she said, nodding, calmly eating the creamy and bacon-flavored seafood.

Then he talked about Italian literature with Fontanelli, who was also an aide, but he was Italian, and they talked at first about the Decameron and then about Tacitus.

"I feel that Tacitus did not study the causes and inner motives of things, that he did not investigate the mysteries of human behavior and states of mind deeply enough to leave posterity with an unbiased assessment," said a historian It should reflect people and nations as they are, and evaluate them based on the times and circumstances they live in. I have seen people praise him because he wants to make tyrants fear the people, but that will be unfortunate for the people. Maybe I make you feel bad Worse, we didn't come to discuss Tacitus, come on, enjoy these sumptuous delicacies."

"The people are easy to change. As long as you take up the task of leading them, they will flatter Vespasianus like Vitellius." A man suddenly said loudly, "The fear is that in the event of disaster You can't stand the test in front of you."

"Who is speaking?" asked Bonaparte.

With the sound of dragging a stool, a young man walked into the restaurant from the next door.

He looked to be in his twenties, with a hooked nose and very sharp eyes.

"Good afternoon, First Consul of France." The man said in French with an accent. "My name is Robert Peel, and I am a student at Oxford University."

"He moved in two weeks ago." The boss explained immediately.

"What have you come to France for?" asked Bonaparte.

"Grand tour, it's an English custom, don't you think I'm right, Georgiana," said the young man, looking at Georgiana.

Her heart was pounding.

Not because of love, but because of the fear that they will fight now.

"Robert Peel? Do you know the Viscount Robert Peel who has a good relationship with Prime Minister Pitt?" Bonaparte asked.

"He's my father," said Robert Peel.

Bonaparte looked him up and down.

"I heard you were talking about Tacitus just now. How about we?" said Robert Peel Jr., smiling.

"Sit across from me, Georgiana," ordered Bonaparte, "and make room for the guest."

She stood up, sat down politely across from her, and Robert Peel, Jr. took the place before her.

Menival, seated at the bottom, looked at her.

"Don't waste food." She said sternly, "Eat!"

So a group of high-ranking French officials picked up their knives and forks, but did not talk, and listened to the "chat" over there.

The boss had never seen this scene before, and left the hall after hesitating for a while.

She glanced at the maid's table, and Matilda seemed to be talking to Leila triumphantly.

She shook her head and continued eating her late lunch.