Chapter 244: Chronicles of France (1)

Chapter 244: Chronicles of France (1)

A month later, Félix sat in a carriage bearing the emblem of the French Embassy, heading directly to the pier through the VIP channel, formally reserved for diplomats.

Boarding from here was relatively safe. After all, Félix was a wanted man in England, and if caught, he'd face the gallows. Even though the regular channel had portraits of several wanted criminals, including Félix, hanging prominently, some of those faces were familiar to him. However, he hadn't seen a single image that even closely resembled him, and some of the portraits even got the gender wrong.

These images had weathered and faded due to wind and sun, making them nearly indecipherable. But Félix knew their importance. For the police, these slightly similar yet different portraits allowed them to question individuals who didn't use the VIP channel for boarding, giving them the opportunity to say, "You look a lot like Félix. We need to take you in for questioning."

At this point, those who knew how the game worked would promptly offer a bribe to the police and change their appearance, no longer resembling Félix. As for the less savvy, they'd be taken to the station, and trust him, they'd learn to cooperate eventually. So, creating wanted posters for criminals was an art. The key was to make the image somewhat similar to everyone while still being a bit different.

But boarding through the VIP channel eliminated these troubles. People here were well-connected and respected, and the British police, who could be fierce when dealing with the common folks, turned as docile as a house pet in this setting. They were even more polite and humane compared to a house pet.

It was Félix's first time waiting in a VIP lounge filled with "well-to-do" people. He looked around, feeling out of place amidst the opulence. Most passengers here had servants in tow, and they were currently seated on sofas, waited on hand and foot. Félix, on the other hand, was dragging a sizable suitcase (provided by Jaque Gaultier, along with the slightly more respectable clothes he was wearing), exuding what was considered a "vulgar" air.

The well-to-do passengers only spared him a cursory glance, and, seeing his rough, strong hands, reddened and wrinkled, and his face resembling sandpaper, albeit in relatively decent attire, immediately categorized him as "nouveau riche."

However, most well-to-do people, despite their inner superiority complex, were wise enough not to show it. These nouveau riches, despite their appearance, had become wealthy for a reason. Apart from luck, they were undoubtedly capable individuals. When there were no conflicts of interest, offending them without reason was unwise.

Therefore, although Félix looked like a commoner, stories of flashy newcomers didn't abound.

Félix looked around, seeking a place to sit. He noticed a young man not dressed any better than the ordinary folks and looking even more out of place than Félix amidst the luxurious VIP lounge. He was sitting alone not too far from the fireplace.

Most other well-to-do passengers kept their distance from him, probably repelled by his air of poverty. However, this was exactly what Félix needed, so he approached the young man and asked, "May I sit here?"

The young man gave a warm, friendly smile and replied in imperfect English, "Of course."

Félix also boarded a mail coach headed for Paris, finally able to breathe a sigh of relief at getting away from Géraud. He felt a sense of relief as he watched the landscape pass by, realizing that he was free from Géraud's sales pitch.

The mail coach sped along the roads of France. It was still winter, and the fields were desolate. Typically, during this time, farmers had little work and enjoyed a leisurely period of idleness, huddled in their homes while awaiting the end of winter. The countryside should have been very quiet at this time.

However, on the journey, Félix couldn't help but notice large groups of peasants toiling in the fields.

"What are they doing?" Félix asked in his unpolished French, addressing the other passengers in the mail coach.

"They're digging canals," a merchant-looking man replied. "These are veterans from the Army Association, helping the villagers dig canals during this idle period."

"Is it worth it to work so hard in the dead of winter?" Félix inquired.

"It's hard work, but it's worthwhile," the merchant responded. "These veterans have connections; they can get their hands on electric water pumps. So, all they need to do is dig the canals in winter, and when the wheat needs watering, they simply switch on the electric pump, and vast fields of wheat are irrigated. I heard that in some areas, they've been using these machines since last summer, and the wheat yields have skyrocketed. The rural folks in those places are already enjoying white bread."

"The peasants' lives seem to have improved a lot nowadays," another person interjected. "Now that the nobility is gone, although the national tax revenue is technically higher than it was during the kingdom, the farmers are left with much more due to the absence of the nobles' land rents. Add in the electric water pumps, and the Army Association even brought in experts to teach the technology. After the revolution, things have genuinely improved for these farmers."

"What about the situation for the poor in the cities of France?" Félix inquired again.

"In the cities? The poor are struggling as much as ever, perhaps even more than before," the merchant replied. "While it's not as rosy as we'd hoped, at least they have bread to eat now. When you get to Paris, you can see for yourself."

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