The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 81

Chapter 81: The Traitor

At 9:00 in the morning, the cabinet meeting that would decide the fate of France reconvened in the East Hall of the Palace of Versailles.

"Now, let us begin the cabinet resolution," Queen Marie Antoinette said, surveying the people seated on both sides of the large conference table. "Gentlemen, those in favor of Count Sumiar's proposal, agreeing that Archbishop Brienne should resign immediately, please make your stance known."

The Duke of Orléans immediately revealed a satisfied smile and slowly raised his right hand. He was confident of toppling Brienne — yesterday, he had promised Count Nicoll a generous sum of three hundred thousand livres, a sum that would surely tempt the "transparent minister."

Count Sumiar and Viscount Vezinier also raised their hands in turn.

A moment of silence fell over the hall.

The Duke of Orléans glanced toward Count Nicoll, signaling with his eyes for him to act.

Yet there was no response.

The Duke of Orléans furrowed his brow and cleared his throat. In a low voice, he said, "Ahem, Count Nicoll."

But Count Nicoll remained focused on the Queen at the head of the table, as though he had heard nothing.

Queen Marie Antoinette once again scanned the room and asked, "Is there anyone else?"

Seeing that Count Nicoll still sat like a statue, the Duke of Orléans finally understood that something was amiss. He shot a furious glare at him, as though trying to pierce his chest with his gaze.

Queen Marie Antoinette leaned forward, placing both hands on the table, and stood up. She declared loudly, "According to the cabinet's decision, Archbishop Brienne will continue to serve as Minister of Finance for the next two months."

She turned to Brienne, nodding to him, "May you bring us good news in two months. If not, please remember your promise."

The Queen turned and walked away.

The Duke of Orléans, furious, spun around and headed toward the other side of the table to confront the Minister of Civil Affairs, only to find that the latter had already left through the golden door without so much as a glance back, as though the two had never met the previous night.

He stormed out of the meeting hall but did not pursue Count Nicoll. Instead, he quickly exited the Palace of Versailles, climbed into his carriage, and gritted his teeth in rage, muttering, "That damned traitor, Nicoll!"

"As for you, Brienne, you’re just wasting another two months. That bill will never pass!"

...

At the Royal Palace.

Several massive crystal chandeliers illuminated the hall, which stretched over fifty meters in length.

In the paintings on the wall, the old Duke of Orléans looked arrogantly at the middle-aged man on the wooden stage, as though listening to him report matters to the Regent.

"We must do something!" the middle-aged man, wearing a curly white wig and with pockmarked skin, shouted as he waved his arms. "Everyone write to His Majesty the King, demanding that Archbishop Brienne step down immediately..."

Dozens of nobles stood or sat around the hall, loudly agreeing with him:

"Yes! Brienne has betrayed us all, and he must be punished!"

"To make us pay the same taxes as those commoners — this is an insult!"

Anyone who had attended the prominent meeting earlier that year would recognize the people present as members of the influential noble assembly, the most powerful of the aristocracy.

By the arched window on the west side of the room, a man nearing forty, with a large face and double chin, whispered to the person beside him, "This meeting was just held over ten days ago; why are we meeting again?"

The noble beside him replied, "Count Mirabeau, didn’t you hear about the cabinet meeting a few days ago?"

"I heard that Count Sumiar proposed to depose Archbishop Brienne, but it failed."

The nobleman smiled and said, "Though the motion to remove him failed, the Queen has demanded that Brienne get the tax bill registered within two months, or he will be exiled to Corsica."

Count Mirabeau nodded slightly. He was aware that the former Minister of Finance, Carona, had been exiled for failing to push the tax bill through. If Brienne failed again, it would be a public announcement to all the nobles that the High Court could control the royal power.

He smiled, "This gathering will only unite us further. In two months, we shall ultimately prevail."

At that moment, in a room on the second floor, the Duke of Orléans looked down at the bustling hall, turned, and raised his wine glass, smiling, "Look, gentlemen, everyone is on our side."

The others around him also raised their glasses, with one of them saying, "Correcting the royal errors is the duty of the High Court."

"I've seen that bill; it’s full of absurdities. I’m sure no judge would allow it to be registered."

"That’s right. Even if Archbishop Brienne makes major revisions, we cannot let that bill pass."

"Exactly, this is an outright provocation to the High Court!"

The Duke of Orléans smiled and nodded, cheerfully clinking glasses with the others.

These men were the most powerful judges of the High Court, and any bill needed their approval to be registered.

With the judges' promises and the support of the nobles in the hall, even if Brienne were capable, in two months, he would have no choice but to be exiled to Corsica.

"Oh, by the way, I’ve prepared some surprises for everyone," the Duke of Orléans said with a meaningful expression, motioning to a few small doors at the side, "I hope you like them."

The judges exchanged glances and smiled knowingly.

They knew this was part of the Duke of Orléans' entertainment for distinguished guests. Those inside the rooms were no ordinary women, but carefully selected beauties. Although it was rumored that their backgrounds were questionable, they were certainly rare treasures.

The group nodded and thanked the Duke of Orléans before picking up the mummy powder already prepared on the table, each choosing a room and laughing as they entered.

Perhaps the ancient Egyptian pharaohs could never have imagined that the bodies they had painstakingly prepared for resurrection would, thousands of years later, be ground into powder and used as aphrodisiacs.

...

At the Paris Commercial Journal Office.

The warehouse, more than ten meters wide, was filled with the smell of ink and a faint mustiness. Over ten workers, dressed in rough grayish-yellow cloth and with cracked skin on their faces and hands, were busy tying up bundles of books with rope and neatly stacking them on wooden planks.

The piles of books in the warehouse were nearly as tall as two people, filling up a little over half the space.

Suddenly, the door was pushed open. A handsome young man in a luxurious dark blue coat, with a river otter fur tricorne hat, walked in.

The workers immediately recognized that his status must be high, and they all stopped their work, nervously lowering their heads and stepping back.

The young man smiled and waved, "Please, continue with your work, don’t mind me..."

As he spoke, a foreman, wearing a felt hat, black leather vest, and black trousers, holding a wooden club, suddenly walked over from the other side and struck the nearest worker with the stick. "Lazybones! It’s not break time yet; do you want to get beaten?"

As the foreman walked a few steps toward another worker to strike him, he looked up and saw the young nobleman, Joseph, along with the manager, Denico, entering behind him. He immediately understood what was happening.

He hurriedly bowed and said, "My lord, I hope I did not offend you."

"Mr. Denico, you’ve arrived."

Joseph grabbed the foreman’s club, threw it on the ground, and coldly said, "If you strike anyone again without understanding the situation, you’re done! For now, I’ll deduct three days of your wages."

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