I.I - Elise Fauce
I.I
Elise Fauce
Though Elise did not keep up with the news she was around enough Parisians to know the subject on everyone’s mind. The empire was a-stir from corner to corner with rumors of a new war. It seemed that every "Hello" was responded to with a "have you heard?" and the inevitable turn to martial matters.
Elise was unconcerned with these matters, as she served a different, covert purpose: sweet rolls.
His Imperial Majesty had placed a ‘moratorium’ on sweets after he discovered his wife slipping a sweet roll to the jolly prince. The two had argued then- by all accounts- and the emperor forbade his sin to become, in his words, "A heifer." The Empress was beside herself after the fight but quickly found resolve once she consorted with her household.
"Your husband may be master of Europe, but you are mistress of this family!" Elise had proclaimed. Marie-Louise looked upon her favorably ever since and selected her to carry out the all-important task of secretly procuring sweet rolls beyond the watchful eyes at the Tuileries. It was a well-worn joke now that the only thing that could send the emperor into a rage on sight was a British good or a sweet roll.
Her path through the city was well-traveled, she navigated the winding alleys of Paris with the ease and speed of water running downhill.
Her arrival at the bakery was typically met with something like, “Hello there, mademoiselle! What will it be today?” Or some other exclamation. Today, it was silence. The usually affable proprietor sat at a table, unresponsive to her entry.
"Monsieur De Goult! What is the matter?"
The man looked at her, and half-heartedly responded, "Ah, mademoiselle, will it be another sweet roll?" His attempt at the usual greeting was pitiful.
"Of course," she started, "but not before you tell me what is the matter?"
The man sighed. A face that seemed so quick to smile stayed blank, "My boy, he has been called by France. We do not know where he is to go or what he is to do. The best we can tell is to report down in Lyon." He sighed. "It is a feeling I share, I suppose. Is it selfish to feel this way when so many have lost more these past years?"
Elise frowned, "Not at all, monsieur. You are allowed to feel for your son!”
The man nodded, “We will pray the Lord keeps him close.” he sighed again, but smiled afterward, “Perhaps he will be stationed somewhere safe. Now, to that sweet roll.”
Elise returned the smile but could tell the man’s heart was not in it.
*
Re-entry to the Tuileries was surprisingly difficult. Soldiers lined the streets surrounding the palace - a blockade of them at the Rue de Rivoli now impeded her progress. She approached, only to have a tall, mustachioed grenadier step in front of her. His uniform was resplendent, the nicest Elise had seen on a soldier. It only occurred to her afterward that she was most likely talking to a member of the Emperor’s Guard.
“Halt, miss. What business do you have here?”
Elise frowned, “I am an attendant to the Empress, Marie-Louise. What is going on? Why are you blocking the road?”
The soldier frowned and turned to what appeared to be an officer. “Captain?”
The man looked down at some sort of book for a long moment. He thumbed through a few pages. “It’s fine.”
The grenadier turned back, “Go on then.”
Elise crossed the impromptu barricade but was nearly run over by several horsemen galloping from the intersecting road towards the palace entrance. She almost yelled out at them until she noticed that all three wore a similar uniform: black boots, blue jackets, gold epaulets, and a red sash. Those three men were Marshals of the Empire.
Something was afoot.
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