Once back ho, Camille seized the opportunity to bombard Charles with questions: What was life like in the army? How was the food? What were the sleeping arrangents? She seed as if her son had been gone for two years instead of two days. And for soone who had never shown any interest in military life, she was surprisingly curious about the daily routines of army life.
Even more restrictive, she still refused to let Charles go out alone.
"Wait until your father gets back so he can take you," Camille said sternly. "It won't take long; I'll give him a call."
"Mom!" Charles objected. "There are soldiers everywhere along the way, and I'm a soldier myself now!"
He gave his revolver a pat, though he hadn't actually learned how to use it yet. That didn't matter—Camille didn't know this. She simply assud that as long as he could pull the trigger, it could ward off any trouble.
That reassurance convinced her to relent. "Alright, Charles," she sighed, although her face was still etched with worry. If she'd had anything she could do at the factory, she might've stuck close to him all day.
"Be quick and co back soon," Camille called after him. "You need rest!"
"I will," Charles replied, stepping outside to begin his walk to the factory.
Now that his neighbors recognized him, they greeted him warmly as before. He was t with friendly calls and complints, and even a few won blew him kisses, making him straighten his posture and stride with as much dignity as he could muster, hoping to appear like a proper adult.
As he passed, the soldiers saluted him, their eyes glancing over him with a curious mix of respect and skepticism, as if unsure how to reconcile the sight of a 17-year-old as their "officer."
As Charles rounded a corner, he entered a short blind spot in the road's visibility. Just then, a car ca swerving down from the opposite end and nearly collided with him before the driver slamd on the brakes.
"Are you crazy?" the driver yelled. "Watch where you're going, idiot!"
The driver's fury was misplaced; Charles had been on the right side of the road. The car had been speeding down the wrong lane—and Charles caught the distinct sll of alcohol from the cloud of dust that enveloped him.
Then he recognized the driver—it was Pierre, the man he was supposed to call "uncle."
Pierre seed equally surprised to see Charles. His bleary eyes took in Charles's military uniform, and he let out a strange, drunken laugh, a sound that made him look as if he had lost his mind.
"Well, if it isn't Charles!" Pierre drawled, staggering out of the car and steadying himself with one hand. "Didn't recognize you at first—you're…a soldier now, eh?"
Pierre tottered unsteadily toward him, letting out a loud hiccup as he fought off an urge to retch.
Charles instinctively took a step back.
"You should be thanking , you know," Pierre slurred, leaning against the car for support.
"Why's that?" Charles asked coolly. "Because you helped shove into the army?"
"No, no," Pierre shook his head, laughing drunkenly. "You think it's just the army?"
Charles stared at Pierre, unsure if there was sothing more he was unaware of, or if Pierre was just talking nonsense in his drunken state.
Pierre chuckled, a hollow, deranged sound. "Look at you! You really have no idea, do you?"
"I know your father, Charles. I know exactly what kind of man he is—and I knew what type of woman he'd fall for."
"So, I found your mother here in town, hired her as a maid to our family…" He laughed. "If I hadn't, you might not even exist. Doesn't that make you grateful?"
Charles was montarily stunned.
Pierre, with his reputation as a womanizer, had easily foreseen that Deyoka would fall helplessly for a young maid. Pierre knew his father Francis well, and knew that his father's strict sense of social rank and family prestige would never allow Deyoka to marry a servant girl.
Everyone knew the outco: Deyoka was banished from the family, forced to live a poor and scorned life, while Pierre was left as the heir to Francis's fortune.
But Charles didn't get angry. He simply nodded and said, "You're right, Pierre. I should thank you."
Pierre seed about to say sothing more, but just then a few soldiers called out from a distance, "Lieutenant, is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine!" Charles shouted back.
Pierre must have realized that Charles wasn't to be trifled with, because he grumbled a few words to himself before clambering back into his car, giving Charles a mocking wave as he drove away.
Laurent jogged over, his face lined with worry. "Did that drunkard hurt you, Lieutenant?"
"No, I'm fine," Charles replied, brushing it off as he continued toward the factory.
Laurent cast a suspicious look in the direction Pierre had driven off, recognizing the man as part of Francis's family and thus related to Charles. But there was nothing he could say, so he simply grunted and fell into step behind Charles.
Charles slowed down, turning to Laurent with a boyish look of curiosity. "Major, what's the age range for conscription?" he asked.
"Eighteen to forty-six," Laurent replied, his tone slightly stiffening. "You should already know this as a lieutenant."
Then, as if to clarify, he added, "You're an exception, of course. Though I'm not sure how justified that is."
Laurent assud that Charles was asking because he wanted to know why he'd been enlisted at just 17.
Charles didn't say anything, but after a mont, he added, "Can I recomnd soone for conscription?"
Laurent blinked, a bit taken aback. Recomnd soone for service? That was new. But…
"It's possible," Laurent nodded, intrigued. "As long as he fits the requirents."
"He does," Charles said confidently. "Adult male, unemployed, age forty-three. Shouldn't he be in the army?"
"That sounds about right," Laurent replied. "Unless there are special circumstances."
"His na is Pierre," Charles said evenly. "Pierre Bernard."
Laurent froze for a mont, realizing who Charles ant: his uncle, the sa man who had nearly hit him with the car just now. Then Laurent's face broke into a grin.
"Excellent idea, Charles!" Laurent said. "I can even arrange for him to get so 'special attention' in the ranks."
Charles nodded in satisfaction.
Pierre had picked the wrong person to provoke. He should have known that, of all people, Charles was the least powerful and connected.
Pierre was nothing more than a pampered playboy who lived off his family's wealth, indulging in the high life and waiting to inherit his father's fortune. The only reason he hadn't received a conscription notice yet was because Francis had pulled so strings for him.
But it wouldn't be hard for Laurent to expose those strings.
Francis would likely have no idea until it was too late, when Pierre received his conscription papers and could no longer avoid service. Once a conscription order was issued, retracting it was no small task. If Pierre were exempted, the public might question why. Ordinary citizens could start refusing service as well, which would be a catastrophic risk.
Would the likes of Grevy and Armand intervene to get Pierre off the hook? Helping a rich man's son dodge the draft?
One word in the papers, and Grevy and Armand's political careers would be finished. No one would risk it for Pierre.
Charles could hardly wait to see the look on Pierre's face when he received his conscription letter.
(End of Chapter)
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