Saint-Just stared at the flimsy piece of paper in the officer's hand, recognizing his own handwriting on it. His face turned pale, and his heart began to pound uncontrollably in his chest.
How did that letter end up in the hands of the French police? Could Jossen have betrayed the club? Impossible—he was a student of Rousseau!
Jossen had personally delivered the letter to Brussels. If it wasn't him, then there must be a traitor within the Southern Netherlands "Committee"!
Saint-Just shot a fierce glare at Jescoot, who stood nearby, then pointed at the officer, shouting to the surrounding farrs, "They're lying! Don't be fooled!"
While the gathered crowd hesitated, Saint-Just suddenly jumped off the platform and sprinted down a narrow path leading out of the village.
The liaison from the Southern Netherlands "Committee" hesitated for a couple of seconds before lunging at the officer, attempting to snatch the letter from his hand.
The officer, who was far from the clumsy figure one might expect—due to the police reforms not yet affecting rural officers, many of whom were undertrained and underfunded—deftly dodged Jescoot's attack and swiftly kicked him in the leg.
Jescoot lost his balance and fell to the ground. Two other officers quickly moved in and pinned him down.
The farrs, stunned by what they were witnessing, turned to watch Saint-Just's retreating figure. Without needing any further explanation from the officers, they began to murmur among themselves, slowly realizing the truth.
The officer handed the letter around for the farrs to read, and after everyone had had a chance to look at it, he took it back and slipped it into his pocket.
In reality, the letter was a forgery. The real one was safely locked away in a Southern Netherlands "Committee" official's drawer.
Among the "Committee" mbers captured by the intelligence agency, one had seen a few of these letters, and Fouché had ordered soone to roughly recreate one. They then retrieved so letters written by French liberals from the postal system to match the handwriting.
As for the ten or so officers, more than half of them were actually intelligence agents in disguise. They had only flashed the letter in front of Saint-Just, and his guilty conscience had driven him to flee.
Of course, if Saint-Just hadn't run, the "officers" wouldn't have handed him the letter for a "confrontation"; instead, they would have arrested him on the spot. The farrs wouldn't have been able to tell whether the letter was real or not.
Even if Saint-Just had managed to keep his composure, exposing the agents' plot and escaping, it wouldn't have mattered. The sa scenario was playing out simultaneously in over ten other locations, such as Lille and Reims.
Among the liberal leaders inciting the unrest, so were bound to lose their nerve and flee. Once one of them panicked and ran, it would be as good as an admission of guilt, and the farrs present would serve as witnesses.
In truth, almost all the liberal agitators were on edge. The only difference was whether they fled imdiately or stayed and tried to incite the farrs to resist the police.
The officer signaled for his n to haul Jescoot to his feet and then gestured to another man, who was standing nearby with his hands tied. "Do you recognize him?" he asked.
The man nodded imdiately. "His na is Jescoot. He's one of the seven representatives of the 'Committee.'"
The officer then turned to the farrs. "Tell them who you are."
"My na is Henry Berwin. The Committee sent here to spread lies and incite conflict between the French peasants and nobles to ease the military pressure on Brussels..."
Satisfied, the officer ordered his n to take Berwin away, then addressed the remaining farrs. "As you can see, you've all been deceived by the Southern Netherlands, as well as by these so-called liberals. They're just using you to cause trouble. Whether you get arrested or even killed is of no concern to them."
The farrs began to stir uneasily. The more timid among them quietly slipped away to their hos.
Two farrs, after a brief, nervous exchange, approached the officer, trembling as they pulled a few silver coins from their pockets. Pointing at Jescoot, they stamred, "S-sir, he—he said this was 'freedom aid money,' so we...we didn't know he was here to incite violence. We'll give the money back. We swear we'll never do it again..."
While mbers of the Southern Netherlands "Committee" were being arrested en masse by the intelligence agency in places like Reims and Lille, thirty or so young nobles were huddled together in a cell in the Reims police station, grumbling under their breath:
"These stupid police are accusing us of rioting!"
"They won't keep us here long. There must be plenty of people in Versailles celebrating and spreading the word about our brave actions."
"When I get out of here, I'm going to teach those peasants a lesson! They think they can get land by threatening the governnt? No way!"
Despite being in jail, the conditions were relatively decent. Five n shared a suite with a living room and bathroom, and there were even musical instrunts hanging on the walls.
Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the hallway. Monts later, a group of guards escorted three handcuffed, dejected-looking n into the cell block.
The door to the farthest cell was opened, and the guards roughly shoved the three n inside, growling, "Good luck, scumbags!"
The iron door slamd shut with a loud clang as the guards walked away.
Across the hallway, a noble peered through the small window of his cell door and called out cheerfully, "Hey, gentlen! What 'heroic deeds' landed you in this place?"
The three n glanced at him but remained silent.
Outside the cell, the guards snickered, and one of them tapped the cell door with his baton, saying, "Hey, Dutchn, why don't you answer him?"
"Oh, you're from the Netherlands?" another noble chid in, curious. "You must have done sothing pretty serious to end up here."
The newcors, seeing the threatening looks from the guards, reluctantly turned to the noble and muttered, "We were sent by...the 'Committee.'"
"Committee?" The other nobles were intrigued. "The River Transport Committee? Or the Geological Committee?"
"No, no, it's the 'Free Allies Committee'..."
"Huh? What's that? I've never heard of it."
The Dutchman hesitated before finally admitting, "We're in contact with the French liberals, trying to incite a revolt in France... The peasants in Reims attacked the town hall because we...I an, because we encouraged them to..."
The nobles in the surrounding cells instantly turned pale with anger.
"You bastards! You're the ones behind this!"
"No wonder those peasants had muskets. They were supplied by the Dutch!"
"Damn it! Let out of here! I want to duel with these scoundrels!"
However, the guards had no intention of letting the nobles duel. Instead, two days later, they were released.
(End of Chapter)
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