They went to their next destination in the Le Bon Marche.
The storefront was wider than the others. Less glass display, more open floor. Inside, counters were arranged in blocks instead of rows. Machines sat on platforms, each tagged with a small placard, which is their designated price.
There were also a lot of people inside, listening intently to the demonstrators who were operating on so appliances.
"This is our next trip?" Elisabeth looked at Napoleon II quizzically.
"Yes," Napoleon II said. "We are not buying but we’ll entertain ourselves from how these salesn pitch their wares."
They stepped fully inside. A man near the center spotted them.
"Sir! Ma’am,!" he called, already smiling. "If you have a mont—just a mont—I’d like to show you sothing remarkable."
Napoleon II slowed but didn’t stop. Elisabeth did, curiosity already pulling her forward.
The salesman took that as agreent.
He gestured to a waist-high machine mounted on a sturdy fra. A tal drum sat inside a housing, wires running down one side to a switch box.
"This," the man said, patting it once, "is an electric washing machine. It’s one of the best-selling appliances in the country! It can wash your clothes without hand scrubbing. And it can do it fast."
He reached into a basket and pulled out a bundle of cloth that was stained on purpose.
"You load them here," he said, opening the drum. "Add water. Soap. Then—"
He flipped the switch.
The machine humd. The drum turned and the water sloshed inside.
Then monts later the drum picked up speed. The cloth inside folded over itself again and again, pulled through the water without tearing.
The salesman let it run for a few seconds, then switched it off. He opened the drum and pulled one shirt free. Water dripped from it onto the floor.
"Clean," he said, holding it up. "No blisters. No aching hands. You can wash a family’s worth of clothes before lunch."
A few people in the crowd nodded. Soone murmured approval.
Elisabeth leaned closer. She touched the damp fabric, then rubbed it lightly between her fingers.
"It didn’t twist," she said. "The seams are still straight."
"Exactly, ma’am," the salesman said quickly. "The motion is controlled and gentle. You won’t ruin your clothes.
"I see, that’s a nice contraption you have there," Napoleon II said. "How much is it?"
"It’s only 90 francs! If you can’t afford to pay in full, we offer installnts," said the salesman as he pointed at one of the cardboard stands next to his spot.
"Oh I see, installnts. For sure it has interest," Napoleon II chuckled. "Well, I must say, technology is good for the lady of the house. We’ll take a look around and decide whether we will get the washing machine or not."
"No problem sir! I’ll be waiting!"
With that, they left the man alone. Elisabeth asked in a whisper.
"Are we going to buy that washing machine?"
Napoleon II shook his head. "Nope."
"Then why are you implying that you might get one? Aren’t you making him hope for sothing that isn’t going to happen?"
"No, I just said it so that we can get out. If you entertain the salesman with questions, they will eventually make you buy it. And besides, we already have all the technology around here in the palace."
Elisabeth frowned, then nodded slowly. "That makes sense."
They continued walking.
The layout shifted again. Smaller counters now. Compact devices arranged in neat rows. Fewer moving parts. More wires.
A sharp click echoed nearby, followed by a faint hum.
Elisabeth turned toward the sound.
A man stood behind a narrow counter, sleeves rolled up, holding a slice of bread. In front of him sat a small tal box with two slots on top.
"Fresh bread, anyone?" the salesman called, cheerful.
He dropped the slice into the slot and pressed a lever.
The machine humd. A dull red glow appeared inside.
Elisabeth stepped closer. "It’s glowing."
"Electric heating elents," the man said.
A warm sll drifted out. Toasting bread.
Then—click.
The bread popped up.
Elisabeth startled slightly, then laughed. "It jumped."
"Perfectly toasted," the salesman said, lifting it. "No burning. No waiting."
Napoleon II glanced at the price tag. "30 francs."
"Yes sir! 30 francs and you can have this toaster at ho and toast your bread while you make coffee."
Napoleon II chuckled. "Thanks but not interested. Thank you though!"
"No problem sir! I am accustod to getting rejected, even the girl I want rejected . No worries."
Elisabeth blinked at the salesman, then looked away, half amused, half unsure.
They moved on.
A tall tal stand sat near the aisle, blades spinning behind a wire guard. It humd softly as the fan blades rotated at high speed.
An electric fan.
A salesman stood beside it, one hand resting on the pole, the other adjusting a dial.
"Sumr heat," he said to no one in particular. "Gone."
He turned the knob. The fan sped up. Papers on the counter fluttered. A woman’s skirt tugged lightly at her knees.
"I have those in my bedroom," Elisabeth recalled.
Napoleon II glanced at the tag. "Forty francs."
"Worth every one," the man said. "Bedrooms. Sitting rooms. Even kitchens."
They walked before the pitch could continue.
The next section was louder. A deeper hum. Pipes ran along the back wall, painted white. A boxy machine sat on a raised platform, thick hoses feeding into it.
"This is quite sothing," Elisabeth said.
"A heat pump," Napoleon II replied.
A demonstrator turned a valve. Warm air flowed from a vent. A thermoter on the side crept upward.
"Winter heating," the man said. "Or cooling, depending on the setting. You won’t even need a fireplace," the demonstrator continued.
"Impressive, just like the heating technology we have in the palace," Elisabeth said and then imdiately covered her mouth as she realized she had spoke too much.
"Oh, you guys live in a palace. Well, you do have a look of the wealthy."
"No, we are from a humble origin," Napoleon II said and added. "We are just riding on the economic miracle of France."
"True! Good thing we have the Bonaparte as our royal family. If it’s the Bourbons, I don’t think this would happen."
Napoleon II chuckled, grateful for his words.
"Well, we are just looking. We’ll co back soon."
They crossed into the next aisle.
Tall cabinets stood in a neat row, their surfaces smooth and clean. Each had a thick door with a heavy handle.
A salesman opened one.
Cold spilled out.
Inside were tal shelves. Bottles stood upright. Wrapped at lay dry, not packed in ice. Vegetables sat in shallow trays, crisp and clean.
"A refrigerator," the man said. "Electric cooling. Constant temperature. Get now for only 100 francs!"
And they moved on to another row, and another, witnessing new technologies that are now in the household of middle-class families.
Electric irons sat in straight lines, their cords coiled neatly beside them. A salesman pressed one down on a cloth, steam hissing briefly before vanishing.
Kettles followed. tal bodies, insulated handles. One was plugged in and quietly boiling without fla. A small crowd watched, unimpressed but attentive.
Vacuum cleaners stood upright like sentries. Long hoses. Canvas bags. A man demonstrated by dragging one across a rug scattered with crumbs, and the crumbs disappeared.
Sewing machines occupied the next block. Needles moving fast enough to blur.
Electric lamps ca next. Desk lamps. Standing lamps. Adjustable arms. Switches instead of matches. Light appeared instantly, clean and steady.
Then mixers. Compact motors driving tal arms through bowls of dough. The paste folded in on itself.
And there’s many more to the point they didn’t notice the ti.
"Are you enjoying it?" Napoleon II asked.
"Of course I do. Those technologies...it’s so life changing that ordinary people could have them in their hos. Tis have truly changed!"
"Well, it’s ti that we leave the place now. There’s a lighting ceremony outside Le Bon Marche."
"Lighting? But didn’t this establishnt already have lighting?"
"Well, it’s a new one. Do you want to see?"
"Of course!"
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