Chapter 253: Eliminating Traitors
The floor-to-ceiling window on the west side of the villa's second floor was gone, along with the window frame. Half of the wall behind the window had collapsed, exposing uneven red bricks, while the hallway on the other side was littered with debris and blood. A hole had also been blasted through the ceiling, though it was unclear how the cannonball managed to reach it.
Outside, the citizens cheered like a tidal wave. The makeshift gunners felt as if they had personally punched the Count of Tiolle, and the rush of vengeance was intoxicating. The gunners were about to reload when they noticed that the soldiers, who had been aiming their guns through the windows, were now panicking. Most of them were retreating inside the villa.
"Look, they're scared!" someone shouted, pointing at the villa.
"They know what crimes they've committed, and now they're losing their nerve."
"Everyone, charge in and avenge our loved ones!"
The crowd roared and surged toward the villa. Sporadic gunfire came from the windows and doors, but it did nothing to stop the oncoming tide of people.
Watching from a distance, Fouché frowned. The sudden cessation of resistance inside the villa was suspicious. He quickly realized what might be happening and turned to the officer next to him. "They might be trying to escape! Quickly—no, I'll go myself! You keep an eye on the nearby buildings!"
"Yes, sir!"
Dressed like an ordinary merchant, Fouché led five of his men as they joined the rioting crowd and stormed into the villa.
Inside, chaos reigned. Everyone was frantically looting valuables and destroying anything in sight. Screams, laughter, and faint sobs echoed through the halls, accompanied by the sound of wood and porcelain being shattered. Hundreds of people were engaged in a frenzied symphony of madness and destruction.
Someone soon set fire to the kitchen on the villa's south side, and smoke quickly spread through the house, carried by the breeze.
Fouché surveyed the scene briefly before hurrying to the stairs. All around, rioters and soldiers were locked in combat, with some tumbling down the stairs. Fouché deftly dodged them and made his way up to the second floor.
The second floor was even more chaotic. Smoke had begun to rise, but the people were too caught up in their frenzy to care. They coughed as they fought with the soldiers, who fired sporadic shots before being overwhelmed by the sheer number of attackers.
Fouché made his way down the hallway toward the central courtyard of the villa. Ahead, he spotted seven or eight soldiers clustered outside a room, nervously pointing their guns in all directions. Nearby, the bodies of several rioters lay on the ground, and a large section of the west wall had collapsed, leaving piles of rubble.
He immediately realized this was the room that had been hit by the cannon earlier. The presence of so many soldiers here meant that someone important was inside.
As he considered how to get closer, smoke began to drift in. A military officer ran down the hallway from the other side, shouting to the soldiers, "The fire has reached the wine room! You, you, and you—come with me to put it out! Hold on a little longer; Aurore will soon arrive with reinforcements from the Count of Casté's estate!"
The officer led a few soldiers away, leaving the remaining soldiers to fend off the encroaching smoke. They tried to wave it away, but their eyes soon began to water from the stinging fumes.
Fouché took a deep breath and signaled to his men. Seizing the moment when the soldiers were distracted by the smoke, he ducked through the hole in the wall.
The smoke inside the room wasn't as thick. A military officer, alerted by the noise, turned around, only to be met with Fouché's sneering face as he drew a pistol and shot him, sending the officer flying backward.
Fouché then noticed a man lying on a reclining chair in the middle of the room. The man's face was deathly pale, and his wig was askew. Startled by the gunshot, he tried to lift his head to see what was happening.
That dust-covered face was none other than the Duke of Orléans.
Fouché holstered his pistol and took a few steps forward. Only then did he notice that the man on the chair was missing his left arm from the elbow down, the stump tightly bound with bandages. A shard of glass, over an inch wide, was lodged in his back, and although it had also been heavily bandaged, blood still dripped steadily from the glass.
"You…" The Duke of Orléans tried to speak, but the pain twisted his features into a grimace. He was wracked with a fit of coughing, blood flecking his lips—his lungs had clearly sustained severe damage.
The sounds of fighting between soldiers and police agents echoed from outside the room but soon died down.
Fouché approached the Duke, staring at him as if admiring a piece of art. In a calm voice, he said, "Good afternoon, Your Grace. I regret to inform you that, due to your crimes of treason and conspiracy to overthrow the royal family, the honorable Prince has authorized me to sentence you to death."
When the Duke of Orléans heard the words "Prince," his eyes bulged, and the veins on his forehead throbbed. He struggled to say something, but the pain sent him into spasms. Cold sweat poured down his face, cutting lines through the powder on his cheeks.
"Yes, His Highness is fully aware of everything you've done," Fouché said, as if reading his thoughts. "He took action to deal with your little…how should I put it…games.
"Oh, and His Highness also asked me to give you something."
Fouché retrieved a small silver box from his pocket, opened it, and took out its contents. He unfolded a piece of paper to reveal a crown, carefully crafted from paper and painted gold, with jewels drawn on it. The Duke of Orléans stared at the paper crown, his bloodshot eyes wide with fury. He wanted to scream, to tear the crown to shreds, but he found himself paralyzed, as helpless as a frozen insect.
Fouché placed the exquisitely crafted "crown" on the Duke of Orléans's head, then drew a dagger, smiling faintly. "His Highness said he understands your longing for the throne. But this is the only crown you'll ever wear."
Just as he raised the dagger, he noticed the Duke's body suddenly slump in the chair.
Fouché frowned, reached out to check the Duke's pulse, then sighed in disappointment and sheathed the dagger.
A short while later, a dozen agents from the Police Bureau left the Count of Tiolle's villa, each carrying items like plates and candlesticks, blending in perfectly with the looters.
The agents stationed around the perimeter also withdrew, disappearing into the crowd of over a thousand rioters like drops of water in the sea.
…
Versailles Palace.
Mirabeau bowed deeply to Queen Marie Antoinette. "Your Majesty, as you can see, those who opposed this bill have been convinced. This is a reform that everyone desires. The nobles, with their noble character, have sacrificed some minor privileges to bring great hope to countless farmers."
He glanced out the window at the nobles gathered in petition. They were all supporters of the bill to abolish noble privileges—newly risen nobles—while the old nobility's ranks had fallen silent.
The core of the old nobility was no longer concerned with political affairs. Nine of them had been killed in their estates by rioters, and the rest had seen their properties thoroughly destroyed. Not only had their mansions been smashed or burned, but their most valuable assets—deeds, bonds, and even their proofs of noble lineage—had also been lost.
In this era, a noble without wealth befitting their status had no influence, and their political power would fade away along with it.
(End of Chapter)
Friends, if you want to read chapters in advance, subscribe to my patreon.