In the office of the Intelligence Division at the Police Information Office, Fouché stood with a grim expression, his cold, dead-fish eyes fixed on the leaders of the intelligence team before him. His voice was raspy as he spat out, "Sha! This is an absolute disgrace!"
The mbers of the intelligence team stood with their heads lowered, too ashad to respond.
Fouché emphasized each word, "I'm giving you ten more days. If you still can't co up with sothing useful, I'll have so journalists replace you! Do you understand?"
"Yes, we understand!" they replied in unison.
They were truly frustrated. After much effort, they had finally uncovered so incriminating details about the High Court judges. They eagerly passed this information to a "source," only to have Marat smile and hand the "source" a pamphlet. Their "big discovery" had already been printed there, in far more detail than what they had found. By the next day, it was known all over Paris.
They couldn't understand how these journalists were better at gathering intelligence than they were, who were supposed to be professionals.
Determined, they vowed to uncover sothing that would shock even these journalists and redeem themselves.
As Fouché stord out, the leaders of the intelligence team began to confer:
"I've got a lead on Vézinière's maid and Depoer's mistress. What about you?"
"My contact has the combination to Vézinière's safe, and I've got a couple of people inside, but no opportunity to act yet..."
"I've copied so of the judges' letters. Want to take a look?"
"My source can access the High Court's archive room. If we have to, we could steal the files..."
...
At the Paris High Court, in the eting hall, Judge Vézinière's words were repeatedly interrupted by the noise of protesters outside. Furious, he rushed to the window and shouted down, "Can't you be quiet, you uncivilized lot!"
In response, an angry protester hurled a dirt clod the size of a fist that nearly flew through the third-floor window.
Startled, Vézinière retreated to the table, his face dark with anger, "What are the police doing? Why aren't they arresting these rioters?!"
A judge with a lancholy expression sitting to his left covered his ears and said, "Those pamphlets are the real problem. They're inciting hatred against the High Court. Without them, the crowd would disperse."
Vézinière nodded slowly but was puzzled, "Viscount Depoer, aren't most of those pamphlets controlled by the one at the Palais-Royal? Why are they attacking the High Court?"
"Who knows?" Depoer replied. "Maybe we should go ask him."
The hook-nosed judge sitting nearby said in a stern voice, "You go to the Palais-Royal. I'll go to the police headquarters! These damn police are just lazy. I'm going crazy with this rabble outside!"
Soon, several carriages made their way through the jeering crowd, struggling to leave the High Court and heading off in different directions.
...
In the study at the Palais-Royal, the Duke of Orléans looked at the two middle-aged n before him and asked, "So, what do you think?"
The High Court judges had just left, complaining about the pressure they were under from the public and asking him to do sothing about it. He was aware that pamphlets he didn't control had been circulating recently and knew it was ti to fight back. So, he summoned his two most skilled writers to discuss a strategy.
The man with the high nose, who had features reminiscent of an Italian, hesitated as he flipped through a pamphlet in his hand, "Your Grace, to be honest, these stories are quite engaging... I an, the common people find them very entertaining."
The handso man with blue eyes added, "And they're very cheap. I've heard each one only costs 1 sou 5 deniers. Look, there are even five illustrations."
"Exactly," the Duke of Orléans nodded, "I need you to write sothing even more interesting to overshadow these pamphlets. Don't worry about the cost."
As soone experienced in manipulating public opinion, he knew that producing a 16-page pamphlet with five illustrations would cost 5 to 6 sous. But to regain control of the narrative, he had to sell them for just 1 sou 5 deniers.
Based on the scale of the pamphlets' circulation, at least ten thousand copies had likely been sold. This ant that to achieve the sa reach, he would be losing 3,000 to 4,000 livres a day.
The Duke of Orléans frowned. He could afford to lose the money, but who was behind this? Who was willing to lose so much money just to fight the High Court? Could it be Brienne?
He smirked. Did they think they could challenge him with public opinion? Let them try!
...
Vézinière hurried to the city hall and made his way to the police headquarters, only to be told by a clerk that the Police Chief had gone to Brittany to purchase police equipnt.
Brittany was on the western coast of France; a round trip would take at least two weeks.
Frustrated, Vézinière asked, "What about the Chief's assistant?"
The clerk replied respectfully, "He went to Brittany as well."
Vézinière was furious, "Who's in charge here then?!"
"The Chief didn't say..."
Fuming, Vézinière had no choice but to return to his carriage and head for the Louvre District's police station. But when he arrived, he was told that Police Commissioner Arden had taken all the key officials to the police academy for training.
The next day, Vézinière hurried to the Paris police station, only to learn that Arden had gone to a training ground in the southern suburbs, more than ten kiloters away.
For three days, Vézinière chased after Arden all over the city, never managing to catch him.
Finally, he decided to go to the neighboring Saint-Germain District to request so police to disperse the protesters outside the High Court. However, the Saint-Germain police commissioner said he wanted to help but needed a cross-district order from the Police Chief to do so...
Mirabeau watched the scenery flash past the carriage window, absentmindedly rubbing his cane, his brow furrowed in thought.
To be honest, he didn't want to attend this eting today. He was well aware of the recent cabinet eting and knew that the Prince and Brienne were now on the sa side. Just a few days ago, he had participated in a rally against Brienne, so what could he possibly have to discuss with the Prince?
But Mr. Dupont insisted that this eting was crucial, urging him repeatedly to attend. Though his relationship with Dupont was just average, Dupont was a major benefactor to several politicians Mirabeau was close to and was also the president of the French Chamber of Comrce. Since Mirabeau himself managed nurous factories and shops that relied on the Chamber, he couldn't afford to offend Dupont.
The Child of Providence, huh? He smiled and shook his head. No matter how gifted, he was still just a thirteen-year-old child. Did Brienne think he could use the Prince's status to negotiate with him?
(End of Chapter)
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