Xavie & Sylvie Audouin

It has been a fucking while since my name was on every damn citizen's mouth, so allow me to reintroduce myself. Name's Père Duchesne, I make furnaces for a living and denounce all those worthless bastards that dare causing any harm to the nation in my free time; yes, fuck, nothing in this damn world gives me more pleasure than beating those fools down and using my dirty tongue in favor of the good sans-cullotes! That being said, if there's anything you need this ol'fucker here to take care of, don't hesitate to send it to my inbox!

Author's Note:

Bonjour, messieurs,

Upon being informed of the existence of this site (and of certain individuals that seem to actively use it), I couldn't help but notice how its interface seems ideal for a more informal approach to my usual work, where I can quickly help my readers with more trivial matters and estabilish a genuine conection between them and Père Duchesne. Still, if the occasion calls for, I will be responding as myself.

Nonethless, I must admit that this platform still very much confuses me, and I have to yet fully grasp the manners and vocabulary that might be more apropriate to use in this particular setting. So please, pardon me for any faux pas I may end up commiting.

J. R. Hébert, Deputy Procurator of the Commune.

“Hébert, I’m so happy to see you again. Forgive me for not speaking in your defense. I… it was so complicated… I regretted it deeply… Only my wife stood up for you, alongside your other comrades, arguing with some members of the Committee over your arrest.”

Sylvie sees her husband’s emotional state and doesn’t understand at first — until she sees who he’s talking to.

“Hébert, I’m happy to see you too. How is your wife? Please don’t be hard on Xavier — he’s carried so much guilt and was devastated by what happened to Ronsin, Vincent, you, and so many others. But let’s forget the past and keep writing in the style we all love. We kept all your journals ”

And don’t just let things happen — not like you usually do !

@citizenaudouin

Put your complaints in the round file there, by the corner of my front door.

So, still full of yourself, General? I'm hardly surprised

You're quite right to take that tone—seeing as you can still get away with it. But let me tell you: if I had still held office at the Ministry of War—first as Secretary General, then as Deputy Minister—and if I hadn’t been arrested , you wouldn’t have dared even begin your little conspiracy antics.

Back then, I was your "superior". Had you attempted even the eighth of a quarter of the buffoonery you now call plotting, you wouldn’t be standing here spouting nonsense like: “Put your complaints in the round file by the front door.”

No. You’d be singing a very different tune, I can promise you that

*Sylvie wholeheartedly agrees with her husband—and adds her own sharp remarks.*

— I completely agree with my husband. If my father—Jean-Nicolas Pache—had remained Minister of War, he would have crushed you before the mere idea of a plot with the Bourbons had time to form in your mind.

The talent you have does not excuse betrayal. Nor does it justify putting the nation in danger.

As for your so-called “great deeds” since becoming a conspirator, let’s not kid ourselves. The only real thing you ever accomplished, Monsieur Savior of the Nation, was firing on starving Parisians during Year III—people who had every right to revolt.

Xavier and Sylvie read the letter. It brings back a sense of nostalgia for the time when the men in Sylvie's life held strong political positions and could assert their ideas, when her grandmother was still alive and encouraging them, and when Jean, her brother, was an adorable boy very close to them—before he turned his back on their father .

Xavier decides to speak first.

Ahh, those were truly the good old days... I started out as Secretary General under my future father-in-law, Pache, who already knew me well from the time I was involved with the Patriotic Society of Luxembourg, where we often had conversations along the way.

When I served as Secretary General under the Ministry of War, I had a number of responsibilities. We had to reorganize the entire administration, and it was a colossal—though rewarding—task. Among other things, I had to create an office to assist petitioners, including injured soldiers, women, or the elderly, providing them with information about the steps to follow for their requests.

Later, when my father-in-law was unjustly removed from his position as Minister of War, I lost that position as well. But when Bouchotte returned, I became assistant to the minister alongside my dear colleagues Prosper Sijas and Ronsin. Vincent also rose in rank, and we were able to place many more compatriots loyal to the Revolution, to avoid another disaster like the betrayal by the traitor Dumouriez.

During his arrest, @lazarehoche reached out to me so I could attest to his civic virtues. Charles de Hesse also asked me to intervene on his behalf so that he might be released. I also supported a promotion for the son of Fouquier-Tinville to a second lieutenant position in the 4th Regiment of Chasseurs à Cheval. I was accused of acting arbitrarily, but I explained myself before the Convention, and everyone was satisfied with the outcome.

Even though I got along well with my colleagues—who made many excellent decisions—there were times when I had to oppose them, as in the case of François-Siméon Chauvet, who was unjustly dismissed and later arrested. I threatened to resign if he was not immediately reinstated.

Naturally, I received correspondence from important generals, including Alexandre Dumas (@general-alex-dumas), then Commander-in-Chief, in March 1794 regarding the military situation.

Nevertheless, I never got along with Hédoin Pons-Ludon, a military officer who wanted to be promoted to lieutenant colonel. I believed that decree was unwarranted, and he hurled insults at me.

I also took measures to halt or reverse sudden dismissals that I believed to be arbitrary and harmful to the public good. My position did not prevent me from accompanying representatives of the people to assess the situation in various cities and among the troops stationed there.

Finally, although this role kept me very busy, it didn’t stop me from remaining politically active. I continued to propose judicial reforms, political initiatives, and, when I had the time, attended the Jacobin Club.

Sylvie, lost in her thoughts of youth, begins to speak, her eyes sparkling with emotion.

Unlike my husband, I was never able to hold a formal position. But I learned so much just like my brother, thanks to my father. I used to sit at the table with my father's collaborators, who were always brilliant minds—like Hassenfratz, Vergne, General Meunier, Gaspard Monge, Carnot-Feulins...

I saw my father develop excellent strategies for establishing a purchasing directorate, responsible for centralizing supply acquisitions for the ministries, alongside the excellent Swiss banker Lindermann.

My father was always too cautious to share his military plans with me( and with anyone)—those were matters of state secrecy—but he taught me as much as he could about how military affairs ought to be managed. From time to time, I also saw the Roland couple back when they were still allies of my father, before their political split, when they were seeking updates on the war.

I also had the horror of meeting that miserable Dumouriez.

But if I hadn’t had so many meals with my father’s collaborators at the time, I never would have had the chance to fall in love with Xavier—the best husband I could ever have hoped for.

No need to thank me. I know we don’t necessarily share the same political views or social circle, but I also know that you are a man devoted to the Republic. It was my duty to step in and help put an end to the persecution of honest high-ranking officers who were fighting to protect a nation in danger.

I regret not being able to do more for you, as I was arrested shortly thereafter myself, and vile individuals like Fréron orchestrated a conspiracy against both my father-in-law and me, seeking our heads in vain.

I’m truly glad you escaped the guillotine—it would have been a terrible injustice had you been executed.

*Sylvie in turn writes the following message *

My...My...

I... Sorry...

*she sobbed into his arm*

Xavier had been tormented with guilt when his wife Sylvie was arrested alongside him—she was held in secret for 100 days, while he remained imprisoned for months because the right-wing factions wanted both him and his father-in-law eliminated.

Sylvie remembers that period of the White Terror—how she was released, but for months lived with the fear that she will lose her dear father and her beloved Xavier...

Citizen Lucile Desmoulins, I understand you so well, especially during that time when I feared I would be sent to the guillotine, and wrongly believed—since I was kept in solitary—that my husband Xavier and my father had already been executed. I remember that you refused to renounce your husband. I did the same. Honestly, if I hadn’t become pregnant later, I don’t think I could have survived if they had been executed—even though my little brother Jean and my grandmother Jeanne were reason enough to keep going.

Xavier nods, the horrible memories of his own imprisonment resurfacing. Lucile’s apology to her husband reminds him of what Sylvie said when she was released from prison but he was not. Then, he decides to mentally shake Camille Desmoulins back to his senses.

"Camille, stop saying your wife’s death was your fault.You didn’t suggest to the Committee of Public Safety that they arrest her, nor did you sentence her to death at the Revolutionary Tribunal. Don’t be ridiculous. There are many things I could criticize you for in your politics, but never regarding the death of your wife ."

Sylvie shoots Xavier a sharp look. He could’ve shown a bit more tact. He’s usually so respectful with all honest revolutionaries—except, of course, with Camille Desmoulins.

“Anyway, we came to bring you good news about your son, Horace Desmoulins. As you know, he was raised by his grandmother, who took excellent care of him. He is extremely proud of you both. He cherishes your memory deeply and gets along very well with his maternal aunt. He is currently in Haiti".

*Sylvie, unlike her husband, chooses a more tactful approach to help lessen Camille’s guilt.*

"And Camille, regarding your wife—I’ll tell you the same thing I once told a prisoner in the Fortress of Ham, where I was briefly allowed to share my husband’s daily life. This good man, Foussedoire, was telling us about his wife’s grievances. I interrupted him and said: ‘See, see if a woman doesn’t have as much courage to suffer as you do!’

Believe me, Camille—your wife had just as much courage. I’m sure the same can be said of Foussedoire’s wife. And as for me, even with all the suffering I endured beside Xavier, if I had to do it all over again, I would. I imagine Lucile Desmoulins would say the same. We stood with you in the fight from the very beginning, and so we are also ready to share your burdens . Citizen Lucile Desmoulins, If you could please give our regards to the Hébert couple—Xavier and I were devastated by their loss. And since you get along well with Marie-Françoise Hébert, I don’t think that will be an issue.

*Still, Xavier goes on to write the following words*

You may know of me? Unless my reputation precedes me? Or doesn't? Either way, how has life treated you? Fair? From one ardent revolutionary to another, salut et fraternité.

Xavier, intrigued, grabs the letter. At first, he reads silently. Then, his eyebrows furrow, his mouth tightens... Red with anger, he mutters under his breath:

— That impertinent Desmoulins… He dares write to me while pretending not to know me?! What nerve, truly worthy of his rotten newspapers! *He snatches a quill and begins furiously scribbling a reply.*

— "Desmoulins, you are as insolent as your defamatory paper. It's astonishing that a patriot like Fouquier-Tinville could be related to you. Go squawk in your two-penny gazettes." *At that moment, Sylvie enters, coughing slightly.* Xavier? We said we'd read it together, didn't we? I don't want you reading and sending letters behind my back like last time. She grabs the letter Xavier is about to send, reads quickly, then rolls her eyes as she recognizes the signature. — Oh, Desmoulins... Honestly, next time, be direct instead of dancing around the point with your scandal-mongering flair. *She softens, remembering Hébert. * — Well, I never got over your attacks on Hébert — one of my wedding witnesses, rest his soul — nor on all my Hébertist friends. But seeing France occupied by foreign troops, the monarchy restored... I must admit that, in a way, my father might’ve been right: we should have set our quarrels aside when facing certain of Danton’s allies. The Indulgents and the Hébertists should have reconciled... maybe then the homeland would have been saved. A bit late for regrets now...

You noticed my sarcasm? Ha, how telling it is for you to be forgotten even by me and the annals of history as well.

Remember that citoyen.

Remember who's the better journalist by far and the most celebrated one. Not you.

"Very well, Desmoulins. Tell me, then—what did you really accomplish while playing secretary to Danton, who was Minister for a time? Here’s a clue: almost nothing.

Meanwhile, I was hard at work at the Ministry of War—corresponding with generals, reorganizing the administration with my father-in-law. Later, I became assistant to Bouchotte, the Minister of War himself.

You, true to your reputation: all noise, very little substance.

And by the way, I was one of the best-known orators among the Neo-Jacobins during the Directory, and my writings are doing just fine—thanks for asking.

Do you even know why you’re remembered? Why you were rehabilitated? Thanks to your dear Fréron—yes, that Fréron, the carnival muscadin who betrayed everyone, launched the White Terror, and sent his little street gangs to beat up Jacobins… while I was risking my neck because of men like him.

If your name is still mentioned today, it’s because he switched sides at just the right moment. So tell me—what’s it like to be remembered only by proxy, and thanks to such a disgraceful man?

And while we’re at it: Hébert, at least, took real risks. He fought for the abolition of slavery. He stood up for something. He helped my father-in-law, the former Minister of War, when he was forced into hiding in shame—thanks to that infamous Dumouriez.

And you, during all that? Sitting on your deputy’s bench, clucking and applauding others. What an accomplishment."

Sylvie steps in, sensing a migraine coming on.

“Okay, time out.

First of all, Xavier—you were among the earliest sections calling for the deposition of Louis Capet. Desmoulins was part of that too.

I signed the petition demanding the removal of that tyrant, just like you did, Xavier. And just like Desmoulins’s wife, I supported the execution of Louis Capet.

Desmoulins voted for the king’s death, and my father signed the official execution report. He stood up to Roland—just as Desmoulins opposed the Girondins on key matters.

And the two of you—can’t you at least agree on this much? That you both suffered deeply when your wives were imprisoned? That you were both enemies of Capet and endured the terrible loss of friends?

Look, if you’d set your grievances aside back then, maybe we wouldn’t still be dealing with the misery that’s followed since the Restoration.

On another note, Desmoulins—I would be infinitely grateful if you could stop making sarcastic remarks about Hébert, a man I’ve always adored. Xavier and I will never recover from his loss. He was no traitor, he was a patriot, and he suffered just like you did—because his wife was arrested too."

Sylvie begins coughing violently. Xavier, alarmed, turns his attention to his wife.

“Look what you’ve done to my wife, Desmoulins! Well… I suppose that’s partly my fault too. But don’t worry—we’ll pick this argument up again next time.”

And then, Xavier delivers one final line—sharp, dry, with a sly smile:

"His wife suffered along with Lucile?"

Came the deep inconceivable thoughts bursting from the seams, yet, he couldn't reconcile the image of Lucile making peace with an enemy, however distant now...but why strike at Madame Hébert with such ferociously when....surely, the committee had no bounds, only repulsive morality.

He himself had been a father of four, though at one point, Xavier believed he would never see his son and first born. Back when he was imprisoned by the reactionaries after Thermidor, he was certain he would be sent to the scaffold with his father-in-law. So he could only feel sympathy for Lucile, who was about to leave her child behind, never having known him. Perhaps, for a brief moment, he even felt something for Desmoulins.

*Sylvie couldn’t help but reflect on the symbolism of Madame Hébert and Madame Desmoulins becoming friends just days before their deaths—an unintended echo of her father’s failed attempt to reconcile the Hébertists and the Dantonists . Perhaps the homeland could have been saved if this conciliation had taken place. As she said : We will never know . *

Xavier, reluctantly—and above all at his wife’s insistence—said: “I’ll concede that to you as well. Even if we will NEVER be friends.”

You may know of me? Unless my reputation precedes me? Or doesn't? Either way, how has life treated you? Fair? From one ardent revolutionary to another, salut et fraternité.

Xavier, intrigued, grabs the letter. At first, he reads silently. Then, his eyebrows furrow, his mouth tightens... Red with anger, he mutters under his breath:

— That impertinent Desmoulins… He dares write to me while pretending not to know me?! What nerve, truly worthy of his rotten newspapers! *He snatches a quill and begins furiously scribbling a reply.*

— "Desmoulins, you are as insolent as your defamatory paper. It's astonishing that a patriot like Fouquier-Tinville could be related to you. Go squawk in your two-penny gazettes." *At that moment, Sylvie enters, coughing slightly.* Xavier? We said we'd read it together, didn't we? I don't want you reading and sending letters behind my back like last time. She grabs the letter Xavier is about to send, reads quickly, then rolls her eyes as she recognizes the signature. — Oh, Desmoulins... Honestly, next time, be direct instead of dancing around the point with your scandal-mongering flair. *She softens, remembering Hébert. * — Well, I never got over your attacks on Hébert — one of my wedding witnesses, rest his soul — nor on all my Hébertist friends. But seeing France occupied by foreign troops, the monarchy restored... I must admit that, in a way, my father might’ve been right: we should have set our quarrels aside when facing certain of Danton’s allies. The Indulgents and the Hébertists should have reconciled... maybe then the homeland would have been saved. A bit late for regrets now...

You noticed my sarcasm? Ha, how telling it is for you to be forgotten even by me and the annals of history as well.

Remember that citoyen.

Remember who's the better journalist by far and the most celebrated one. Not you.

"Very well, Desmoulins. Tell me, then—what did you really accomplish while playing secretary to Danton, who was Minister for a time? Here’s a clue: almost nothing.

Meanwhile, I was hard at work at the Ministry of War—corresponding with generals, reorganizing the administration with my father-in-law. Later, I became assistant to Bouchotte, the Minister of War himself.

You, true to your reputation: all noise, very little substance.

And by the way, I was one of the best-known orators among the Neo-Jacobins during the Directory, and my writings are doing just fine—thanks for asking.

Do you even know why you’re remembered? Why you were rehabilitated? Thanks to your dear Fréron—yes, that Fréron, the carnival muscadin who betrayed everyone, launched the White Terror, and sent his little street gangs to beat up Jacobins… while I was risking my neck because of men like him.

If your name is still mentioned today, it’s because he switched sides at just the right moment. So tell me—what’s it like to be remembered only by proxy, and thanks to such a disgraceful man?

And while we’re at it: Hébert, at least, took real risks. He fought for the abolition of slavery. He stood up for something. He helped my father-in-law, the former Minister of War, when he was forced into hiding in shame—thanks to that infamous Dumouriez.

And you, during all that? Sitting on your deputy’s bench, clucking and applauding others. What an accomplishment."

Sylvie steps in, sensing a migraine coming on.

“Okay, time out.

First of all, Xavier—you were among the earliest sections calling for the deposition of Louis Capet. Desmoulins was part of that too.

I signed the petition demanding the removal of that tyrant, just like you did, Xavier. And just like Desmoulins’s wife, I supported the execution of Louis Capet.

Desmoulins voted for the king’s death, and my father signed the official execution report. He stood up to Roland—just as Desmoulins opposed the Girondins on key matters.

And the two of you—can’t you at least agree on this much? That you both suffered deeply when your wives were imprisoned? That you were both enemies of Capet and endured the terrible loss of friends?

Look, if you’d set your grievances aside back then, maybe we wouldn’t still be dealing with the misery that’s followed since the Restoration.

On another note, Desmoulins—I would be infinitely grateful if you could stop making sarcastic remarks about Hébert, a man I’ve always adored. Xavier and I will never recover from his loss. He was no traitor, he was a patriot, and he suffered just like you did—because his wife was arrested too."

Sylvie begins coughing violently. Xavier, alarmed, turns his attention to his wife.

“Look what you’ve done to my wife, Desmoulins! Well… I suppose that’s partly my fault too. But don’t worry—we’ll pick this argument up again next time.”

And then, Xavier delivers one final line—sharp, dry, with a sly smile:

Les maréchaux ? C’est une trahison de nos idéaux qui me brise le cœur. Et savoir que Jourdan en fait parti…

Et que David glorifie tout ça :

Quelle honte.

Il n’est pas digne de peindre Léonidas.

Si tu n'avais pas choisi de mourir si bêtement, tu aurais aussi été charmé par Napoléon et tu l'aurais supplié de te nommer Maréchal.

As usual, Carnot, you put your trust in the wrong people, grow suspicious of the right ones, and refuse to listen to good advice. Is it any surprise you keep messing up? It’s just like that time you brought back Pillé—the guy who convinced you to sign the arrest warrant for my father-in-law Pache, his mother, my wife, and myself. And this despite even Prieur warning you not to. Bravo! That move cost the CSP quite a bit of support.

Granted, you couldn’t have predicted the judicial witch hunt that dragged on for a year once Fréron, Tallien, and their merry band of reactionary lunatics grabbed power and nearly took our heads off. (By the way, my condolences. I had a headache just hearing about their "glorious deeds" while rotting in prison—can't imagine what it was like living it near to Tallien even for few minutes.)

Now it’s the same old story with Bonaparte. You ignored the warnings from countless ex-Jacobins—us included—even though I had decent relations with his brother Joseph. You didn’t read my reports. You didn’t listen. Honestly, try listening to a few good patriots for once! I mean, I know you're a patriot, but your clumsy actions sometimes harm our cause during the revolution.

(Okay okay, I did join Napoleon after I was spared from deportation, thinking—foolishly—that I could influence things from the inside. Turns out the inside was just as deaf as the outside.)

But that’s not the point. Really, Carnot, it’s a shame you couldn’t make the right political calls. Still, you should know that—

[Enter Sylvie, coughing politely like someone about to declare martial law in their house.] Xavier, do you again have new debts that we must paid? And Elisa refuses to come with us to visit her grandfather since she is jealous of the attention he pays to Félicie. Could you maybe help me out here? And what’s that you’re hiding? Are you writing something? Without telling me? Who’s it for? Louis XVIII? Or worse… his brother?!

No, darling! It’s not what you think! I swear, it’s not for a royalist !

[Xavier bolts from the room like a revolutionary chased by paperwork and public opinion, leaving Sylvie standing there with the expression of someone who’s been married too long to fall for this nonsense again.]

She crosses her arms, then starts rummaging through her desk like a spy under siege, convinced he's corresponding with that new royalist clique he likely associates with now that he’s become a royal court advocate. Her eyes narrow as she reads the name of the letter’s recipient.

He deserved every second of that misery.

Replacing us three with that corrupt opportunist. Ah, elle est belle votre République… République de pourris.

Wait a moment… what’s that I hear about a royalist clique?!? Advocate for the royal court?!? An Hébertiste?!?

And it's strange but I find myself strangely aligned with you when it comes to judging my husband’s choices. But please understand him.

At least he's trying to change things from within. He’s pushed for the abolition of the death penalty for political crimes, and he’s been working to reorganize the chaotic mess that passes for our administration. And he hasn't denied his revolutionary past , his revolutionary friends...

Honestly, he’s just exhausted. Years of struggling through the corrupted hellscape of the Republic under people like Tallien—where he almost lost his life with my father —then the Directoire... then nearly getting deported under Bonaparte. Yes, he rallied to Napoleon in the end during the Consulate, but only discreetly, hoping to fix things from the inside. It’s not a matter of lost integrity—it’s fatigue. His, and that of our poor, battered country. Plus his news relationship save my father and he is left in peace. And Saint Just, you would be disappointed to see a good number of revolutionaries who now appear as aristocrat and behave like ultra royalist with this era just like my brother who previously served the republic in military campaigns with a zeal that made me proud of him.

Okay Sylvie, that’s enough now. You don’t have to—

At least my husband doesn’t behave like my brother!

I miss him, even if he now calls himself Baron, a title handed to him by Bonaparte like a shiny toy. He’s even renounced our family name . He’s so ashamed of us, he won’t even visit our poor father in the goal to please his new friend royalist. And to think—we were so close as children... Jean...

*Sylvie starts sniffing again in an ungracious manner.

She is crying and starting to have the same ideas as Saint-Just. She fell to into depression and want to go to the Seine *

Great, just great.We were supposed to be talking about Bonaparte and Carnot's terrible decisions not my decision. And now you just gave my wife the same dark thoughts you have . Honestly, if you’d lived long enough to witness the Restoration under Louis XVIII, you’d have seen a bureaucratic disaster so chaotic, you would maybe understand my position.

*Sylvie resumes sniffing, loudly and without grace, like a republican mourning the fall of the Jacobin dream and on her relationship with her brother… or possibly the fact that there's no more clean handkerchiefs*.

In the office? Won't anyone think of the paperwork?! This is why Lindet refuses to show up here: complete disregard for the paperwork...

I told you to be gentle, it was just a training after all; yet, as usual you didn't listen.

Wait… “petit Léon capricieux”?!

Les maréchaux ? C’est une trahison de nos idéaux qui me brise le cœur. Et savoir que Jourdan en fait parti…

Et que David glorifie tout ça :

Quelle honte.

Il n’est pas digne de peindre Léonidas.

Si tu n'avais pas choisi de mourir si bêtement, tu aurais aussi été charmé par Napoléon et tu l'aurais supplié de te nommer Maréchal.

As usual, Carnot, you put your trust in the wrong people, grow suspicious of the right ones, and refuse to listen to good advice. Is it any surprise you keep messing up? It’s just like that time you brought back Pillé—the guy who convinced you to sign the arrest warrant for my father-in-law Pache, his mother, my wife, and myself. And this despite even Prieur warning you not to. Bravo! That move cost the CSP quite a bit of support.

Granted, you couldn’t have predicted the judicial witch hunt that dragged on for a year once Fréron, Tallien, and their merry band of reactionary lunatics grabbed power and nearly took our heads off. (By the way, my condolences. I had a headache just hearing about their "glorious deeds" while rotting in prison—can't imagine what it was like living it near to Tallien even for few minutes.)

Now it’s the same old story with Bonaparte. You ignored the warnings from countless ex-Jacobins—us included—even though I had decent relations with his brother Joseph. You didn’t read my reports. You didn’t listen. Honestly, try listening to a few good patriots for once! I mean, I know you're a patriot, but your clumsy actions sometimes harm our cause during the revolution.

(Okay okay, I did join Napoleon after I was spared from deportation, thinking—foolishly—that I could influence things from the inside. Turns out the inside was just as deaf as the outside.)

But that’s not the point. Really, Carnot, it’s a shame you couldn’t make the right political calls. Still, you should know that—

[Enter Sylvie, coughing politely like someone about to declare martial law in their house.] Xavier, do you again have new debts that we must paid? And Elisa refuses to come with us to visit her grandfather since she is jealous of the attention he pays to Félicie. Could you maybe help me out here? And what’s that you’re hiding? Are you writing something? Without telling me? Who’s it for? Louis XVIII? Or worse… his brother?!

No, darling! It’s not what you think! I swear, it’s not for a royalist !

[Xavier bolts from the room like a revolutionary chased by paperwork and public opinion, leaving Sylvie standing there with the expression of someone who’s been married too long to fall for this nonsense again.]

She crosses her arms, then starts rummaging through her desk like a spy under siege, convinced he's corresponding with that new royalist clique he likely associates with now that he’s become a royal court advocate. Her eyes narrow as she reads the name of the letter’s recipient.