With the old Marquis's permission, Charles opened the bedroom door and stepped inside.
The room's furnishings were surprisingly simple. There were no special decorations, only a few cabinets with peeling paint along the wall, a bed with a white sheet, and an oil lamp on the teak bedside table, casting a dim light.
The old man, propped up against the headboard, watched Charles enter. He raised a hand and pointed to the side of the bed. "My boy, sit there. And tell old Victor everything..."
Charles recounted the day's events and the details of the secret meeting, including the subsequent gunfight.
The old Marquis listened to his grandson's story without interruption, but his slightly furrowed brow showed that he was deep in thought.
"So, the later incident had nothing to do with you?"
"From what I could see, that seems to be the case," Charles nodded. "Paris has been restless lately. It was likely the police chasing after some bandits."
For security reasons, the Bonapartists always chose to hold their secret meetings in heavily populated and generally poor districts, like the 17th arrondissement this time. Such places were always a chaotic mix of characters and rife with crime, so an event like this was not particularly surprising.
Although the old Marquis shared Charles's opinion, with the characteristic caution of the elderly, he continued to press for more details before finally setting his mind at ease.
Then, the old man gently rubbed his hands together, brought his right hand to his forehead, and smoothed down his short hair. Though his expression remained as placid as a still well, in front of someone so close, these small actions betrayed his excitement.
"So, they've decided to make their move this time?"
"I think it will be soon," Charles nodded. "The current dynastic government has no support among the people."
"This government has had no support from its very first day," the old man replied coldly. "And yet, it has survived until now. A regime's survival doesn't depend on how much the people love it, but on how much it can make them fear it. France only loves a government that takes a whip to her back."
Charles was taken aback for a moment by the old man's sharp commentary.
The old Marquis continued, "However, I agree with them over there. Now is indeed an excellent opportunity! That boy from the junior branch of the Bourbons," he said, referring to the current king, Louis-Philippe, who hailed from the House of Orléans, a cadet branch of the Bourbons, "has little energy left to look after the France he schemed so hard to obtain. And that scoundrel Soult is getting old and useless—without that villain, we would have chased the king back to the German states long ago! Who is left to support them? Who else can prop up this regime?"
Charles nodded again in agreement with his grandfather.
"The men who sit at the top of France now, they look down on ministers of humble origins just as they did in the old days, yet they can't produce children worthy of being ministers themselves. And when disaster strikes, their first thought is to dress up like women and flee!" the Marquis commented scathingly. "The decline of France began with them."
This was a reference to the Count de Montmorin, one of Louis XVI's most trusted ministers. He had served as Foreign Minister and, in 1792, was arrested while attempting to escape disguised as a woman. He was sent to the guillotine in September of that year, and shortly after, the head of his family, the Marquis de Montmorin, met the same fate.
To hear such words, one would think they were spoken by a revolutionary from 1789. It was hard to imagine they came from the descendant of a great noble house. The resentment from years of being suppressed and cast aside was now laid bare.
Due to years of frustrated ambition, the Marquis de Tréville was often fiery and fierce when it came to certain topics. While his words always drew cheers among the Bonapartists, to the powers that be in post-Imperial France, they were nothing short of treasonous, further solidifying their resolve to keep him down.
Charles let his grandfather vent, watching him with a gentle expression and softly taking his hand.
The old man, who had been caustically mocking the current regime, suddenly turned to Charles with a kind look in his eyes. A gentle yet serious expression appeared on his smooth, ruddy face.
"But, my grandson, you are not like them. I can swear to God that you are the finest young man in France."
Even Charles felt a little embarrassed at being praised so earnestly by his closest kin.
"Others say I'm just boasting. Bah! Old Victor never exaggerates. You are learned and well-mannered, and you have the will to achieve great things. How many like you can be found in all of France?"
"Grandfather..." Charles could no longer take it, his face turning red.
"Alright, alright," the Marquis laughed. "My boy, how old are you this year?"
Charles was a bit startled by the abrupt change of topic. It took him a moment to answer. "I'm twenty."
"Twenty years... It's already been twenty years!" the old man sighed deeply. "It feels like only yesterday you were crawling around my feet. How quickly time flies!"
The Marquis then withdrew his hand and gently caressed his grandson's face. "You must have girls falling for you already, no? Look at that handsome face. You're almost as good-looking as I was in my day!"
Charles's face grew even redder. "No, not yet."
"Well, you should get on with it! When you find a girl you like, pursue her at once. Don't bring shame on the name of old Victor the cavalryman!" The old man patted Charles's shoulder lightly.
"But she would have to like me back, wouldn't she?"
"Who wouldn't find my grandson worthy?" the Marquis scoffed. "You have your looks, you have your talent, and you have the name Tréville! Is there any woman in France you are not worthy of? You are worthy of a royal princess!"
"Please, spare me some dignity..." Charles was finally overwhelmed by his grandfather's blind praise.
"I am only speaking the truth. In fact, my grandson, you already possess everything a young man could wish for, except for one thing: a wealthy family..." His eyes suddenly dimmed, and he repeated softly, "But we have no money."
A bitter smile formed in Charles's heart. In this day and age, was there anything more tragic than having no money?
The most terrifying consequence of the Great Revolution—or its greatest achievement, depending on one's point of view—was that afterward, every Frenchman, even the nobility, understood a fundamental truth: God did not ordain some men to be noble. Without power to accompany it, bloodline was worthless.
When Louis XVI and his queen died at the guillotine, and their son, the Dauphin, perished in filth from cold, hunger, and disease, everyone realized that even the noblest blood could not make a neck harder than a guillotine's blade. The French people's reverence and obedience toward their former nobles and lords vanished completely. Even the nobles themselves no longer believed they were destined to rule France.
Not only that, but now even the word "noble" was being devalued.
Although the Bourbon monarchy had reclaimed power in France with the help of foreign bayonets, they could not, after all, turn back time. They had to admit that France had been irrevocably changed, and they were forced to recognize the new elites who had risen during the Revolution. Most of the nobles ennobled by the Emperor during the Napoleonic era were allowed to keep their titles, and some were even admitted into the Chamber of Peers by Louis XVIII for switching their allegiance.
When men who were formerly peasants, fur traders, soldiers, and even bandits could acquire noble titles and sit brazenly in the Chamber of Peers, how much reverence for the aristocracy could possibly remain?
Bloodline was once the passport to high society. Without a good surname, a man could never hope to enter the famous drawing rooms and salons. A newly created duke was respected far less than an earl whose title had been passed down for centuries. But now, in this new era, money had replaced lineage as the pivot of society. Everything revolved around money. A noble family for several hundred years? Ah, congratulations on surviving the storm of the Revolution, it's truly remarkable you're still here. But wait... do you have any money?
The old man was silent for a moment, then suddenly sighed, the light in his eyes fading.
"If only I had saved up a bit of a fortune back then. But I was always thinking of living for the moment! Ah, that's how people are. You only learn to regret when you're old..."
Charles squeezed the old man's hand again, looking at him intently, his eyes filled with warmth.
"No. The love you've given me is more important than any inheritance you could have left me."
The old man stared back at his grandson, tears welling in his eyes. "What great fortune old Victor has had, to be blessed with a grandson and granddaughter like you in his final years!" Then, an infinite brilliance returned to his eyes. "But, my grandson, old Victor will see to it that you have everything. We will have money, we will return to glory, and we will take back France!"
Yes, take back France. This had been the eternal dream of the Bonapartists since 1815.
After the July Revolution of 1830, King Louis-Philippe had changed the previous regime's policy of high-pressure suppression of the Bonapartists, showing a limited degree of tolerance in the hope of uniting the people as much as possible.
The peak of this leniency was in 1840, when he arranged for the return of Emperor Napoleon's remains from the British government and had the Emperor interred with full honors.
However... what the Bonapartists wanted was not tolerance, nor even honor. What they wanted was France itself—political power. This was something the king could never tolerate, and so the crackdown on any Bonapartist movements continued to be severe.
In 1916, during the final days of the Russian Empire, the Tsar issued a proclamation to his subjects, saying in an almost pleading tone: "You want freedom, I will give it to you. You want freedom of the press, of speech, of assembly, I will give you all of it—everything except my political power."
The revolutionary mentor Lenin's reply was brutally simple: "Besides power, all else is illusion."
For the Bonapartists of 1847, and indeed for political factions of all eras, the answer was the same.
They had to take back France.