Charles curiously surveyed the grand and beautiful city, much like a child seeing it for the first time.
He had been to London before, and although it was also large, it felt dirtier and smellier compared to his hometown of Philadelphia. Paris, however, was filled with an elegant beauty, its streets were wide and tidy, and not a whiff of excrement was to be sensed.
Along the streets, some people were still repairing buildings, but overall, broken trees aside, there were no obvious signs of the ravages of hail left to be seen.
He disembarked at Marseille and along the way had seen shocking destruction, with towns and cottages as though bombarded by pirates with cannons. He had not expected Paris to have recovered so quickly.
Suddenly, a chorus of shouts erupted from up ahead:
"Hang these shameless rich people!"
"It's his bank that took our money!"
"France has been cheated out of tens of millions of livres by them, hang him!"
"These swindlers, all cold-blooded murderers..."