บท 81: Chapter 81: The Betrayer
Chapter 81: The Betrayer
At 9 a.m., the cabinet meeting that would decide the fate of France resumed in the East Hall of Versailles Palace.
"Now, we shall begin the cabinet vote," Queen Marie surveyed the people seated at the large conference table. "Gentlemen, those in favor of Count Sumière's proposal that Archbishop Brienne should resign immediately, please raise your hands."
The Duke of Orléans smiled confidently as he slowly raised his right hand. He was certain of his plan to bring down Brienne—he had promised Nicolet a hefty sum of 300,000 livres, a sum that would surely sway the so-called "Invisible Minister."
Count Sumière and Minister of Foreign Affairs, Vergennes, also raised their hands in succession.
The room fell silent for a moment.
The Duke of Orléans glanced at Nicolet, signaling that it was his turn to act.
But there was no response.
The Duke of Orléans frowned, cleared his throat, and whispered, "Ahem, Count Nicolet."
But Nicolet continued to stare intently at the Queen, as if he hadn't heard anything at all.
Queen Marie scanned the room again. "Anyone else?" she asked.
The Duke of Orléans realized something had gone wrong when Nicolet remained as still as a statue. He glared at Nicolet, as if trying to burn a hole through his chest with his eyes.
Queen Marie placed her hands on the table and stood up, her voice loud and clear. "Based on the cabinet vote, Archbishop Brienne will continue to serve as Minister of Finance for the next two months."
She turned to Brienne and nodded. "May you bring us good news in two months. If not, I trust you will remember your promise."
With that, the Queen turned and left.
The Duke of Orléans, fuming with anger, stormed around the table, intending to confront the Minister of Records, but Nicolet had already left through the golden doors without looking back, as if the two had never even met the night before.
The Duke of Orléans stormed out of the meeting hall, but instead of chasing after Nicolet, he quickly exited Versailles Palace and jumped into his carriage, grinding his teeth in frustration. "Damn that traitor Nicolet! As for you, Brienne, you've only bought yourself two more months. That tax bill will never pass!"
…
At the Palais-Royal.
Several massive crystal chandeliers illuminated the hall, which stretched over 50 meters long. On the wall, a portrait of the old Duke of Orléans gazed down arrogantly at the middle-aged man standing at the wooden platform below, as if listening to him report to the Regent.
"We must do something!" the middle-aged man, his face marred by pockmarks and wearing a white curled wig, shouted as he waved his arms. "Everyone must write to the King, demanding Brienne's immediate resignation!"
Around the hall, dozens of nobles, some standing and some sitting, echoed his sentiments:
"Yes! Brienne has betrayed all of us, and he must be punished!"
"Making us pay the same taxes as the commoners? It's an insult!"
Anyone who had attended the grand assembly earlier in the year would recognize that these were all members of the Assembly of Notables—the most influential nobles in France.
By the arched windows on the west side, a man in his late thirties with a large face and double chin whispered to the person next to him, "Why are we having another meeting like this? Didn't we just have one a little over ten days ago?"
The noble beside him replied, "Count Mirabeau, don't you know about the cabinet meeting a few days ago?"
"I heard that Count Sumière proposed Brienne's removal but failed."
The noble chuckled. "Although they didn't succeed in removing him, the Queen gave him two months to get the tax bill registered, or he'll be exiled to Corsica."
Mirabeau nodded slightly. The previous Minister of Finance, Viscount Calonne, had already been exiled for his failure to pass the tax bill. If Brienne also failed, it would be a clear signal to all the nobles that the High Court had the power to challenge the monarchy.
He smiled. "This gathering will make us even more united. In two months, we will be victorious."
Meanwhile, in a room on the second floor, the Duke of Orléans glanced down at the lively hall before turning to raise his glass with a smile. "Look, gentlemen, everyone is on our side."
The others in the room also raised their glasses, one saying, "It is the duty of the High Court to correct the errors of the Crown."
"I've reviewed the bill; it's full of absurdities. I'm confident that no judge will allow it to be registered."
"Indeed. But even if Archbishop Brienne makes significant revisions, we must not let the bill pass."
"Exactly. This is a challenge to the High Court!"
The Duke of Orléans nodded and enthusiastically clinked glasses with the others.
These were some of the most powerful judges of the High Court. Any bill that sought registration needed their approval.
With the support of the judges and the backing of the nobles in the hall, no matter how capable Brienne was, he would be forced to leave for Corsica in two months.
"Oh, by the way, I've prepared a little surprise for everyone." The Duke of Orléans gestured towards several small, closed doors nearby, a knowing smile on his face. "I hope you enjoy it."
The judges exchanged glances, their smiles showing that they understood.
They knew this was the Duke of Orléans' way of entertaining his esteemed guests. Behind those doors were not ordinary courtesans, but carefully selected beauties, though it was said their origins were questionable. Still, they were undoubtedly rare treasures.
The men nodded their thanks to the Duke of Orléans, then picked up the powdered mummy remains from the table, each choosing a door with lewd smiles.
Little did the ancient pharaohs know that their painstakingly preserved bodies, meant for resurrection, would be ground into powder thousands of years later and used as an aphrodisiac.
…
At the offices of the Paris Gazette.
The wide warehouse was filled with the smell of ink and a faint mustiness. Over a dozen workers in coarse gray-yellow clothing, their hands and faces cracked and worn, were busy tying up stacks of booklets with rope and neatly placing them on wooden pallets.
The stacks of booklets reached over two meters high, filling more than half the warehouse.
Suddenly, the door swung open. A handsome young man in a fine deep blue coat and a fur-lined tricorn hat walked in.
The workers could tell he was someone of high status and quickly stopped what they were doing, nervously bowing their heads and stepping back.
The young man smiled and greeted them, "Carry on with your work, don't mind me..."
As he spoke, a supervisor in a felt hat, black leather waistcoat, and black trousers, holding a wooden stick, approached from the other side. Without warning, he struck the nearest worker. "Lazy fool! It's not break time yet. Do you want a beating?"
The supervisor took a few more steps, raising his stick to strike another worker, but when he looked up, he saw the young nobleman and the manager, Denisot, who had just entered the warehouse. Realizing what was happening, he quickly bowed. "My lord, I hope I didn't offend you. Monsieur Denisot, it's good to see you."
The young nobleman was none other than Joseph. He snatched the stick from the supervisor and threw it to the ground, saying coldly, "If you ever hit someone without cause again, you're fired! And this time, you'll lose three days' pay as a penalty."
(End of Chapter)
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