ANR Ch 7

Claude recovered even more quickly than expected. During his rest, his wounds healed, and his new flesh grew with the food he ate. After a week, he was in a state where he could live without much inconvenience, and after another week, he was well enough to ride a horse. He asked the doctor sent by Yves to make sure to inform the captain of his condition.

Meanwhile, the newly opened House of Representatives was overwhelmingly dominated by the far-right royalists. They extended the term of the representatives from five to seven years and abolished the traditional practice of electing a fifth of the members each year. As a result, the barely maintained balance of the assembly was broken, and bills pleasing to the far-right began to be made.

Jean Simon was sent to Paris for trial as expected. Thanks to this, Michel, who had been identified as a suspect, was released, but unfortunately, he had nowhere to go due to the death of the viscount and ended up wandering the streets.

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A few days later, a carriage stopped in front of him, who had collapsed on the street without having eaten properly. And some passersby watched someone from the carriage take the boy away.

“I have come to escort the captain.”

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Mrs. Evermonde of the Perrier mansion remembered the face of this soldier, who had visited after a long time. He was the captain’s adjutant, but he hadn’t been to the mansion in the past few weeks. She had thought he might have been dismissed, but the word came that he had been resting due to an injury.

“Sit anywhere you like and wait.”

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As she was about to push him into the waiting room and turn around, someone approached from behind Mrs. Evermonde. Turning around, she saw who it was and quickly stepped aside.

“Let’s go to the parlor. I have someone to introduce to you.”

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Yves had already dressed in his uniform and called for his subordinate. Claude gave a short greeting to Mrs. Evermonde and followed his superior to the parlor.

As Claude followed a step behind, Yves’s profile came into view. It was a face he hadn’t seen in a while. Despite the doctor’s suggestion to take it easy on the return, he had rushed here as soon as the bandages were removed. Although the pain had not entirely disappeared, it was not in his nature to stay at home and rest.

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Yves opened the parlor door and guided Claude inside. A familiar face turned from the sofa and ran towards Claude.

“Sergeant!”

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Michel, neatly dressed, rushed into Claude’s arms without giving him a chance to stop. Shock and pain spread simultaneously across Claude’s face. Michel had inadvertently touched his wound. Claude frowned and let out a short groan. He couldn’t be angry because it was an unintentional act.

“Thanks to you, sergeant, I was released.”

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Michel hugged him again. Claude was certainly bewildered.

Are we that close to express such affection?

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With his hands awkwardly raised, unable to touch Michel, Claude glanced at Yves for help. But his superior only leaned against the wall with an amused expression, whistling.

“Oh dear, this is a scene that cannot be seen without tears.”

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Michel blushed and barely let go of Claude.

“Sorry, I was so happy that I… I heard from the captain that you got injured trying to save me. Thank you. You are the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

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The story was quite distorted. As Claude looked back at Yves, he slightly shook his head. It seemed to mean to keep silent about his involvement. Judging by the police testimony, Michel did not know that Yves had visited the mansion that day.

“Well… I’m glad you were released safely. How did you come here?”

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“Ah, Captain Perrier was an acquaintance who occasionally visited my master. So I have a connection. In fact, I couldn’t stay at the Perrin mansion. Everyone there originally disliked me. They blamed me for what happened to my master, beat me with sticks, and kicked me out, but the captain found me by chance and took me in. He said I could stay here until I found a place to stay…”

Michel looked at Yves, seemingly wanting to confirm his words. He would be in real trouble if Yves changed his mind now. Fortunately, the captain seemed to keep his promise and explained the situation to Claude.

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“After hearing that he was wandering without a place to go, I took him in. Walking around with my adjutant has somehow sparked my interest in charitable work.”

“That’s a good development.”

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“Arrogant. Anyway, he insisted on greeting you when I mentioned knowing you, so I brought him down. I didn’t realize you two were so close. Should I leave you two alone?”

Michel waved his hands at Yves’s joke.

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“No, Captain! Please don’t misunderstand. I’ve made the sergeant uncomfortable with my thoughtlessness. The sergeant isn’t like that at all…”

“No need to worry. The captain is well aware of that.”

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Claude sighed softly and inwardly resented his mischievous superior. It was too much to joke with an innocent person. Michel touched his ear awkwardly and blushed.

“When I was arrested, I was so flustered that I couldn’t think of anyone else to name. So, I accidentally mentioned the sergeant’s name… Thank you very much for not ignoring me. Meeting you that day was the luckiest moment of my life.”

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“Yes, well done. I would have done the same. It seems fate brought us together. That night was actually an important one for me too.”

Claude turned his head and looked at Yves over Michel’s shoulder. From a height larger than Michel’s head, the two men’s eyes met.

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“Ah… I really feel the same way!”

Michel, much shorter than them, did not notice their gaze and blushed, thinking the words were for him.

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“By the way, I heard you come here every morning, sergeant. Is that true?”

“Yes, mostly.”

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“Really! That’s great! I mean, I’m glad! Not that I’m glad to see you often, I mean, just… It was just a meaningless comment, don’t mind it.”

Michel rubbed his hands on his pants with a flushed face. He looked back and forth between the two with an awkward expression.

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“I’ll go now. I think I’m bothering you two. Mrs. Evermonde said she had something for me to do. I’ll be going then… Ah!”

The poor young man hit his forehead on the door as he hurriedly turned around. It seemed quite painful as he grimaced and rubbed his forehead. Then, out of embarrassment, he opened the door and went out. His noisy footsteps echoed down the hallway.

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Finally, the surroundings quieted down, and Claude and Yves were left in the parlor. It was also a reunion for them after a long time. Yves’s gaze naturally drifted to Claude’s injured side.

“I didn’t expect you to recover so quickly. You must have received the blessings of the daughters of Asclepius.”

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“That’s a difficult word.”

“It means the goddess of healing favors you.”

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“The wound wasn’t that deep to begin with.”

Yves chuckled as Claude rubbed the area where the bandage was removed.

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“Ridiculous. Have you forgotten that I was the one who helped you when you were bleeding and couldn’t get up? The doctor said that the wound could reopen if you overexerted yourself. For now, return to the unit and handle administrative tasks.”

Yves approached the mirror and tidied his outfit as if preparing to go out. Claude followed behind him.

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“Rather, assign me to an outer post. Staying indoors and taking it easy isn’t my style. What’s the plan for today? I’ll accompany you.”

But Yves glanced at him through the mirror and lightly dismissed the request.

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“It’s a personal errand, no need to follow.”

“Since when did you start considering such matters? I will prepare the carriage.”

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As if he never expected an approval, Claude saluted and left the parlor on his own accord.

You’ll regret it.

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Yves muttered under his breath. He then took something out from the walnut drawer and tucked it inside his coat.

An hour later, they arrived at their destination, a high-end brothel located on Saint-Michel Street. Just as Yves predicted, Claude’s expression began to contort with complexity. Although he was told it was a personal errand, he did not expect to be brought to a brothel in broad daylight.

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Seeing Claude’s rigid expression, Yves nonchalantly remarked, “I told you there was no need to follow me.”

“…Didn’t you say you couldn’t embrace a lady?”

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“Indeed. But you must be unaware that nowadays, there are many male attendants. They’re cheaper and offer longer service.”

Claude furrowed his brow as if he had heard something he did not want to know.

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“If you insist, wouldn’t it be better to come at night to avoid being seen? This won’t be good for your reputation, Captain…”

“It seems my adjutant is unaware that my reputation has already fallen to the sewers of Varriller.”

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Yves cut him off while removing his gloves.

“I don’t want to hear pointless nagging, so you can either return to the unit or rest at home.”

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Then he left Claude behind and entered the building alone. Yves initially intended to handle him gently, but now Claude was becoming increasingly troublesome and arrogant. Allowing him to act freely several times led to Claude forgetting his position.

The brothel was already bustling with customers despite it being daytime. Its growing popularity seemed to align precisely with Yves’s intention of showing his face.

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Inside, Louis Thiers was already waiting for him. Dressed in all his attire for once, he was sitting in the usual room, drinking brandy. As Yves entered, an attendant with a sheepish grin emerged from the wrinkled bed sheets.

“Would you mind stepping out for a moment?”

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With a soft voice, Louis helped her up. She wobbled slightly as she got off the bed, adjusted the dress strap that had slipped off her shoulder, and disappeared outside. Louis immediately closed the door and drew the curtains. Meanwhile, Yves sat on the sofa and threw the bundle of letters he brought onto the bed.

“It’s my father’s handwriting. He has a habit of writing with his left hand, so only a skillful person can replicate it.”

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“Oh, you brought it. Don’t worry, I know a fantastic technician. By the way, Colonel Buzo is dead.”

As he refilled his already wet glass, Louis continued to speak.

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“Isn’t it strange? It seems the information Joseph passed on to you was true. It appears Le Ferre realized it much earlier.”

“It seems they noticed there was a spy.”

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“Yes. The man died without even knowing he was a spy.”

Handing a brandy glass to Yves, Louis began to inspect the bundle of letters on the bed.

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“This should be enough. But won’t your father notice this is missing?”

“Such trivial worries. Do you think my father would remember a reply sent two years ago to my aunt, who is recuperating in Saint-Tignan?”

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Yves leaned back and looked at the ceiling with an indifferent voice.

“Anyway, what’s your plan now? It seems Charbonnerie is quite alarmed, asking to reveal your existence. They seem to want you to directly participate. They must be very curious about the face of the noble benefactor who has supported them.”

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“Tell them not to misunderstand. They were the ones who escalated this in the first place. If they hadn’t recklessly assassinated the Count of Artois’ second son, there would have been no reformation of the cabinet by Cardinal Richelieu. Although, he was better off. The House of Commons, formed after Duke Villiers took power, is now full of lunatics with white flags. The barely maintained balance of the assembly is collapsing.”

“See, I told you not to take it lightly. Now you’re too entangled to back out.”

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Yves snorted in retort.

“Back out, who? If I had such intentions, I wouldn’t have returned to Paris.”

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“Looks like they’re not going to stay still either. They seem to be planning to set fire to the Count of Artois’ estate as revenge for Colonel Buzo.”

At those words, Yves frowned and downed the drink.

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“Here we go again. Find out the planned date. I’ll send a unit to the Count’s estate.”

“That’s not possible. This is top-tier information that could pinpoint me. Let’s just ignore this incident. Now that it’s come to this, you should lay low for a while too.”

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Louis gave practical advice and calmed him down.

“By the way, what happened to him? You mentioned there was a witness at Joseph’s mansion. If they find out you were connected to Joseph, Le Ferre will not let it slide. Make sure you handle it properly before anything goes wrong.”

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“Oh, he’s not a problem.”

Yves licked his thin lips, wet from the drink, and continued.

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“He’s pretending like keeping a secret about me embracing men would give him control over me. It’s laughable.”

“Oh, Yves, there you go again. Stop seducing innocent people.”

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Louis chuckled.

“Isn’t that quite a delicate secret? If revealed, won’t you lose your position? I thought I could use it if your situation turned dire, but it seems useless.”

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“You don’t know my father well. Even if the rats in the sewers of Paris babble about it, he would turn it into a non-issue. His reputation is more important than punishing me. Despite frequenting brothels every other day, nothing happens.”

“Then why do you insist on coming here?”

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At Louis’s question, Yves shrugged.

“It’s a form of rebellion. My relationship with my father is very complicated. We scratch each other when we meet, and it’s troublesome without any new material. If we weren’t blood-related, we would’ve shot each other long ago.”

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“Is it about the matter you mentioned involving your sister?”

Yves remained silent for a moment.

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“Yes. But I’d rather not talk about that. Besides, aren’t you fond of this place? You’d be the most disappointed if we changed locations.”

“Ah, of course, Captain.”

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Louis bowed mockingly in exaggerated courtesy.

“Anyway, I’m a bit disappointed. I was excited for a while, thinking I knew the secret of the Count of Perrier’s family, but it turned out to be useless.”

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“If you could directly tell His Majesty, it would still be useful information.”

“No, thank you.”

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Louis laughed emptily and tied the bundle of letters back together. He then stuffed it deep inside his coat pocket and looked at Yves.

“So, what’s the plan now? With Joseph dead, we need a new intermediary. Can we find a suitable person?”

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“No, we need a more definite approach now.”

Yves slowly rose from his seat and moved to the window. He spoke while looking out the window.

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“There is a distant relative of the Count of Artois who goes around causing trouble. He’s known as Baron Maurice. They say he effectively runs Le Ferre. Getting close to him should naturally open a door.”

“What do you mean by a door?”

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“With the House of Commons’ term extended to seven years, waiting until the next election is too late. His Majesty won’t last beyond this year. So, I will infiltrate Le Ferre. Sort out the information you can leak to Charbonnerie, and when the chance arises, we’ll eliminate the Count of Artois together. It’s time to end this tiresome ordeal.”

Yves rubbed his eyes with his right hand as if weary. His words were dry, but they harbored clear treason.

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As a soldier, plotting to assassinate the King’s brother was a capital offense just by voicing it. But nothing progresses without risking life. Yves had resolved this long ago, so it was not surprising at this point.

He slightly parted the curtain and looked outside. He could see the street with carriages passing by. As a cart loaded with large barrels went by, the buildings and shops across the street came into view. There stood Claude, waiting without moving an inch from the spot where they parted. Yves had told him to do whatever he wanted, and he was indeed doing just that.

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“Really stubborn, huh.” Yves murmured as he slowly sipped his brandy.

“What’s that? Who’s outside?” As Louis started to get up and approach, Yves quickly drew the curtain to hide the view and changed the subject.

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“It’s nothing. Let’s start slowly. Spread more rumors about me while I find the entrance. Make it provocative and sensational.”

“Your father will be even more furious.”

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“Well, since the reality isn’t much different, he’ll have nothing to say. Shall we call it a day?” Yves put his glass down on the table and wiped his mouth.

Louis shook the brandy bottle with a disappointed look. “There’s still some left. It’s not often I buy it with my own money, and you won’t even join me?”

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“You’ve got plenty of lovers here. Call them to drink with you. Don’t forget to leave through the back door.”

Then, without even a goodbye, Yves left the room. Left alone, Louis gave an awkward smile and filled his glass, reminiscing about the day he first met Yves.

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It was already two years ago. When a few editorials were published in Le Mercure, a young officer who had just returned from the Spanish War came to give a long speech.

‘I read your editorial. I agree with your view that we cannot cut off the king’s head again. I was a soldier who supported the Spanish king, but many French fought with the revolutionary forces against the French army to prove their ideals were not misguided.’

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At first, Louis didn’t understand what he was talking about.

‘Nationality, race, or origin seemed unimportant to them. They considered everyone with a desire for equality as comrades. I was loyal to France, but they were loyal to human dignity. That’s when I began to feel my own possessions were utterly insignificant, and I pitied my men who died there.’

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At this point, Yves’ expression had turned serious.

‘I want to take responsibility for their deaths. And I want to escape this painful sense of powerlessness.’ 

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By then, Louis could only laugh out loud. What was this man talking about? With such a grand name and appearance, was he really up for such foolishness? As Louis stared back silently without his glasses, Yves, frustrated, finally revealed his true intentions.

‘Damn, I’m asking you to help me cut off Artois’ head, why can’t you understand that?’

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Only then did Louis invite him to sit.

‘Let’s talk while sitting.’ 

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From then on, the two worked secretly for their respective goals. Louis Thiers, a liberal politician and lawyer, wanted the downfall of the royalists, while Yves wanted a normal parliament to be the foundation of French politics, not an emperor or radical forces.

Why the eldest son of the staunch royalist Antoine de Ferrie was involved in this, Louis did not know.

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Even now, the mention of his fallen comrades in the Spanish War seemed absurd.

Later, Yves confessed he acted that way believing Louis would take him seriously.

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The two, finding they got along surprisingly well, shared intelligence between the underground anti-government organization Charbonnerie and the far-right royalist group Le Père.

They were both suited for espionage, and their operation grew beyond the usual antics of young Frenchmen. Realizing that nothing would progress without risking their lives, they confirmed their resolve once more.

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After days of pondering, Yves showed his determination to continue. Initially, Louis thought it was rebellion against his father, but it seemed not to be just that. Yves sometimes mentioned his deceased sister, but mostly it was incomprehensible muttering.

But it was clear that event had played a crucial role in his relationship with his father. Whatever it was, the money and information from this noble were too valuable.

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Hopefully, his resolve would not waver, but recently, something seemed off.

Louis approached the window where Yves had stood, pulled back the curtain, and looked outside. There was a tall soldier on the street, and Yves, now visible, briefly talked with him before they disappeared into an alley together.

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“Hmm…”

Louis rubbed his chin silently, watching the street where they had vanished.

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The trial of Jean Simon came earlier than expected.

A well-dressed lawyer appeared, somehow secured. The lawyer argued in front of the judge and citizens about the legitimacy of Simon’s actions, focusing particularly on exposing the scandalous private life of the victim, Viscount Joseph de Ferring, to incite that his crimes were worse than murder.

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“Thirteen, it’s thirteen! That’s the number of women claiming to have borne the viscount’s child. Of course, some might have been exaggerating for money, but were they all lying? His affair with the wife of Judge Villefort, which made all of Paris talk, was proven true. It was so famous that it even became a novel. We all know how that tragedy ended.”

Someone shouted,

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“Madame Villefort drowned herself from shame, and the judge went mad!”

“That’s right. But that’s not all! There have been rumors of his involvement in homosexuality recently. I’m not here to spread false rumors! But if that were true, if it were really true… Wouldn’t killing someone who lived such a debauched life, regardless of gender, be a crime? Would you want to be imprisoned for such a crime?”

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“I wouldn’t help even if I were there!”

“Nor would I!”

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“Exactly! Ladies and gentlemen, Simon wasn’t the one who directly killed the viscount. The man who slit his throat was a thug named Coupo, who died weeks ago in a robbery. Should this poor Simon take the blame just because he didn’t stop the murder?”

“That’s ridiculous!”

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Though Jean Simon was charged with being an accomplice to murder, the lawyer did not use the word “accomplice” in court. He only questioned the crime of not actively stopping someone from killing.

Naturally, people shouted for his innocence, and the focus slowly shifted from Simon’s guilt to the viscount’s scandals.

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Especially, the women in the courtroom played a crucial role, condemning men who couldn’t control their lower desires and applauding the viscount’s death.

Soon, the conclusion was unanimous.

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“He’s innocent!”

“Not helping a debauched nobleman isn’t a crime!”

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“Free Jean Simon!”

People shouted, threw apples they were eating, and banged on chairs to create noise. Despite the commotion, the gendarmes did not move.

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The prosecutor gazed at distant mountains, and the judge was busy dusting off his robe.

Someone must have bribed for his release. Finding justice in recent French trials was difficult.

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Meanwhile, Captain Yves de Ferrie’s recent conspicuous behavior was a frequent topic among Paris gossipers.

Over a month had passed since he last went to the barracks, spending his days in high-end salons and brothels. He wasn’t seen with specific people or groups often, and despite his frequent visits, he did not build a network, leaving many to wonder about his intentions. He was known to spend on alcohol, prostitutes, and gambling.

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Rumors of an affair with an unnamed noblewoman spread, inflated without substance, leading to protest letters from families with marriage prospects for the captain.

His appearance contributed to the spread of rumors; a young, handsome, wealthy noble officer’s scandalous tales attracted attention. Thus, his name became known even among commoners.

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Ironically, this excessive interest extended to his aide, the man with black hair who followed him like a shadow, earning him the nickname “Black Dog,” reflecting the public’s thirst for comedic relief.

Today, Claude saw defamatory graffiti on his way to an inn on Rue Clichy. “Black Dog” was crossed out and changed to “Noble’s Dog,” with another addition,

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“The noble’s dog licking the captain’s X.”

This seemed to be the most recent. Asked if it upset him, Claude would say it didn’t feel good, but he didn’t take it to heart.

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Parisians live on rumors; it’s like their daily bread. They exaggerate, envy, criticize, fabricate, conceal, gossip, and enjoy it. However, rumors are highly volatile; in a month, someone else might take his nickname.

There were already over ten “dogs” in the city. If Claude’s hair were red, he would have been called “Red Dog.”

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Claude tied up his horse and entered the inn. Brebue, behind the counter, called out loudly, “Hey, the celebrity has arrived.”

At Brebue’s jest, Claude chuckled and pointed to the wall. “Looks like you’re cashing in on my fame. Are you not going to erase it?”

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“I will. But if I do, worse graffiti will appear.”

Claude handed Brebue a sack. “My sister sent this.”

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“Oh… Catherine is really kind.” Brebue was pleased looking at the mended waistcoat and trousers inside. Claude, having finished his business, headed for the exit. Brebue, tying up the sack, called out, “Why not have breakfast before you go?”

“It’s late. I just stopped by on my way to Nanterre.”

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“Oh, right. You’re practically working there now, aren’t you? Is that noble treating you well? What are you so eagerly serving him for?”

Despite the embarrassing taunt, Claude showed little reaction.

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“Just do it half-heartedly. No need to be more loyal than what you’re paid for. And he’s a royalist noble. If my late uncle knew, he’d cry tears of blood.”

As Brebue’s nagging seemed to extend, Claude raised his right hand in lieu of a farewell and stepped out.

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“I’m off.”

“Hey, Claude! Have breakfast before you go!”

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Claude stepped outside, and Brebue’s voice from the doorway faded away. He took a deep breath of the morning air, hands on his hips.

A large raven flew overhead. Behind the spire of Notre-Dame, clear clouds passed.

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Time flies; it was already mid-May.

Recently, Claude had suspended judgment on his superior’s actions. Yves was never diligent, but not showing up at the barracks was puzzling. He had asked about it once or twice, but Yves had answered as if it were the most natural thing.

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Maybe he’s just tired of the unit; they’re all in disarray.

But Claude did not step out of line, waiting every morning at the Ferrie mansion for whatever schedule Yves might have.

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He was like a loyal dog, thus the nickname “dog” was fitting.

‘The Noble’s Dog Sucking on the Debauched Captain’s X’

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He repeated the curses aimed at himself, then gave a deflated laugh.

It was all envy, fabrication, concealment, and exaggeration. So, he didn’t find the expression repulsive or unpleasant. No, in fact, he felt a strange satisfaction in being linked with Yves. He knew that the rumors of an affair between him and the noblewoman were untrue.

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The captain can’t hold a woman.

Knowing this secret only to himself made Claude’s heart race with excitement.

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He walked into the stable, a little away from the inn. The brown horse waiting for its master neighed in greeting, lowering its head for a pat. Claude gently stroked its face and mane, recalling the day he first received this horse as a gift.

‘Because it seems to fit you.’

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Since then, he had tried several times to interpret the meaning behind those words but couldn’t figure out what about himself this horse was supposed to fit. So, he had been pondering over this single trivial comment for over a month, turning it over and over in his mind.

It was ridiculous. Why he found himself laughing at such a pathetic endeavor was beyond him.

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Claude untied the reins and led the horse out of the stable. He mounted it and spurred it on.

“Let’s go!”

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The black dog and the brown horse began to run towards their master.

An hour later, Claude arrived at the Perrier mansion in Nanterre and was waiting for Yves in the drawing room. The captain hadn’t woken up by noon.

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The servants seemed busy with their tasks, passing through the drawing room twice despite the guest inside. Some took necessary items, others cleaned. Standing like an unnoticed piece of sculpture in the middle of the room, Claude finally reached his limit of patience. He stopped one of the servants and asked if they could wake Yves.

However, the response was cold.

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“Oh… I’d rather not. No one just goes into the captain’s bedroom. Plus, he’s always grumpy in the morning. If I dared to wake him, I’d surely face his wrath.”

Claude couldn’t help but laugh, understanding the scenario he had previously imagined was now playing out. He couldn’t send these innocent people into danger. He paused, thinking.

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Yves probably overslept due to the Russian liquor he drank last night. Someone had to wake him. If Yves intended to cancel all his appointments, he would have told him. Moreover, he had even instructed to prepare a carriage for today. Thus, this was an unavoidable choice from his position to assist Yves.

Just then, Michel came to greet in the drawing room. Claude caught him with a grin and asked where Yves’ room was.

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“The captain’s room is on the second floor. I’ll show you.”

Following Michel up the stairs, they reached a carpeted hallway leading to a large birch door with lion carvings on the handles. Inside, past a study-like room, another door covered by curtains was pointed out by Michel as the bedroom.

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“He’ll come out from there when he wakes up. I’ve never been inside.”

“Thanks. I’ll wait here until he wakes.”

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The naive Michel nodded, closed the door, and left.

Left alone, Claude felt strange, as if he was about to commit a crime by driving everyone away.

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He defended his innocence internally, hoping Michel wouldn’t suffer from the upcoming disaster, considering the captain might throw candlesticks or glass bottles in his usual temper.

Quietly, Claude opened the bedroom door.

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Contrary to his expectation of rococo extravagance, Yves’ bedroom was serene and simple. Beside the door was a small table with a laurel-patterned mirror, and next to it, an officer’s uniform neatly hung. A large window suggested the mansion’s wealth, with sunlight filtering through long silk curtains.

In the middle of the room was a massive maple bed covered with beautifully embroidered pillows. Yves was there, lying naked, half-draped in bedclothes.

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The fact that Yves was unclothed made Claude hesitate for a moment. But then, he thought, what does it matter between men? In fact, it would be weirder to be conscious of it, so he continued forward.

Yves was deeply asleep, his face buried in a pillow. His appearance was quite different from when he wore his uniform. His soft shoulders, slender back, and the slightly visible buttocks below his well-shaped waist. His legs were long and straight, his skin pale with little body hair.

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Claude couldn’t take his eyes off Yves, as if admiring a work of art, and then noticed a large scar near his thigh. It looked like a cut from a knife, extending from the inner thigh to where the bedsheet covered. His arms and waist also had small cuts. He had a beautiful body but didn’t seem to care for it.

Claude sat quietly on the edge of the bed. Yves’ golden hair, catching the sunlight, was pleasingly disheveled. He slowly reached to tidy it, the golden locks slipping through his fingers with a sense of regret. Yves was not sweaty, just warm to the touch. He wanted to touch more.

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As Claude’s hand moved from Yves’ hair to his earlobe, then down his jaw to his neck, every touch made his heart itch. He was so caught up in this new sensation that he didn’t notice Yves had woken up and was watching him.

“Claude.”

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Yves called out the intruder’s name in a voice just woken from sleep.

Frozen for a moment, Claude’s gaze slowly moved to meet Yves’ blue eyes, which were quietly observing him. Without responding, Claude withdrew his hand, swallowing hard, waiting for a reprimand. His Adam’s apple bobbed significantly.

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“Go downstairs and ask Madame Evermonde to prepare bathwater.”

Ah, it was so natural. The situation felt so ordinary that it seemed like he was waking him up like this every morning. Enchanted by his gentle request, Claude nodded, stood up, and bowed to his superior, who had generously forgiven his rudeness, then turned to leave.

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“Next time you come into my bedroom…”

Yves’ voice from behind made Claude look back. Yves had propped himself up, resting his chin on his hand, watching him.

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“You should come in naked too.”

It was a warning not to casually enter his bedroom again, wrapped in a sexual jest instead of throwing candlesticks. But today, this didn’t feel offensive to Claude.

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“Would doing so allow me to enter your bedroom again?”

If that were true, being naked wouldn’t be much of a problem.

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“Then I will.”

The words came out on their own. Yves’ forehead furrowed slightly at this unexpected response. Claude left, closing the door quietly behind him, and hurried out through the drawing room.

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“Haah…”

At the end of the hallway, Claude exhaled deeply, scolding himself for his reckless behavior.

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Why did he do that? Why did he touch him without explanation? His body and words seemed to act before his brain could command them. He raised his right hand, which had touched Yves’ hair, to his nose. It seemed to smell of narcissus.

Damn, his mind must be broken now too. But the sensation of touching him was still thrilling. He knew what this meant. Leaning against the wall, he covered his face with both hands in anguish.

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Get a grip. He’s a man just like you.

After a few dry washes of his face, Claude hurried out of the hallway before anyone could see him.

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✧ ✧ ✧

Yves was at Saint-Laurent’s large gambling house, spinning the roulette wheel until sunset. The nobles around him whispered among themselves, watching the young officer’s game. The ball spun around the edge of the wheel, teetering on the brink before landing in a red slot.

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“Red wins. Captain Perrier is awarded 20,000 rubles.”

“Ohh…”

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The spectators sighed at the dealer’s announcement. Some laughed as if they had won money themselves. The captain, with little emotion, signed the documents to deduct his losses from that day, leaving him with 5,000 rubles.

“What time is it?”

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“A little past nine o’clock.”

At Claude’s answer, Yves sighed.

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Another day with no luck.

He had bet a large sum, hoping to set the stage for gossip by losing big. Today, he managed to recover some of his previous losses, but the faces watching him with envious eyes were all familiar. He had already spoken with them once, and nothing noteworthy would come from them. As Yves was about to get up, a young woman approached.

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“You’ve won quite a bit, yet you don’t seem very happy about it.”

She held a champagne glass and sat beside Yves. She wore a wide-brimmed hat with large feathers and a silk robe over a dress with a cinched waist, looking quite sophisticated.

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“I’ll lose it again soon. Would you like to join in?”

“No, I know a bit about card games, but I have no talent for games where such large amounts are at stake.”

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She laughed, tapping her cheek with her fan. She was a beauty with fair skin, even teeth, and a straight nose, a face Yves had never seen before.

“You’re not a familiar face.”

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“Apologies, Captain. I am Marie de Chalrette. I’m just a country opera singer from Auxerre, so it’s natural you wouldn’t know me.”

“I see. My apologies. I haven’t been to the theater much lately.”

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“I’m not that famous. I only manage to perform once a month thanks to my patron, Baron Maurice.”

Hearing the name he had been waiting for, Yves’s eyes quietly sparkled.

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“Oh, if you’re under Baron Maurice’s patronage, then my ignorance is a greater fault. If you’d honor me with the date of your next performance, I’ll definitely attend. It would be even better if I could see you before then, but of course, I mean in the company of your patron, so there’s no misunderstanding.”

Yves was speaking at length for the first time that day, his usually unenthused voice now full of interest.

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“Hehehe. Coincidentally, the Baron was curious about you. You’re quite famous in social circles these days.”

“I’ve become renowned for my debauchery.”

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“Pffft. Actually, I prefer someone like that.”

Her eyes narrowed with laughter. Then, lowering her voice, she spoke to Yves:

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“There’s a secret gathering where only like-minded people are invited. It’s hosted by Baron Maurice, and he would like you to come. There’s always something interesting happening there. I’ll send you an invitation.”

For Yves, this was the moment he had been waiting for. He had been waiting for them to approach first to avoid suspicion.

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“Sounds intriguing.”

“But you must leave your dog at home.”

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‘Canis‘ meant ‘dog’ in Latin. She glanced backward and hid her face with her fan, chuckling.

Yves understood who she meant. As she stood up with a smile, she glanced at Claude before leaving.

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Yves rested his chin on his hand, turning his head. About five steps from the roulette table stood his loyal black ‘Canis‘. His expression hadn’t changed much throughout.

Did he hear what she said? But even if he did, what difference would it make?

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Yves beckoned him with a flick of his finger. Claude walked over without delay and stood before him.

“Choose one. Red? Black? I’ll bet all the remaining money on whatever you choose.”

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Claude frowned at Yves’s sudden statement, his expression asking if he should really make such an important decision.

“It doesn’t matter, so pick your favorite color.”

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Yves urged him again. Reluctantly, Claude chose.

“Let’s go with black.”

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Without hesitation, Yves bet 5,000 rubles on black. The wheel spun, the ball rolled, but unfortunately, it landed on red.

“Red wins. No one wins.”

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The dealer collected all five chips Yves had bet. Claude’s expression was complex as he watched.

“Don’t worry about it. It means nothing to me.”

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I just wanted to test our luck, yours and mine. Unfortunately, it’s best not to have high expectations.

“Let’s go back.”

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Yves turned away without regret.

✧ ✧ ✧

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It was deep in the night. Claude was dreaming of the night he had taken a prostitute from Saint-Jean-de-Monts. In the dream, he was walking into a garden as if enchanted. He knew this wasn’t reality, but not knowing how to wake up, he walked on.

There, he felt no gravity. His body weight seemed to have evaporated, no sensation of touching the ground. Dream Claude continued into denser foliage, where nettles and brambles scratched his hands, leaving blood marks but no pain.

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From somewhere, the sound of water and a familiar landscape caught his eye. The garden reconstructed by memory looked strangely twisted. The night sky was red, and the wind came from the south. The ghost of his father, who had pushed him, was nowhere to be seen. He thought about leaving, but his dream self wouldn’t listen.

Then, from beyond the sound of water, a voice came:

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“Haah, Yves…”

The moan of a man drowned in pleasure made the real Claude hesitate. Suddenly, he felt thirsty, his stomach hot. Who was this man calling Yves’s name in such a vulgar voice? And why was he having this dream?

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His subconscious resisted, but his body in the dream was beyond control.

Please, let’s go back. We shouldn’t see what’s beyond.

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Yet, curiosity flared up like a blazing fire.

“Ahh…!”

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The moan grew rough. Then, anger opened his eyes. Simultaneously, his dream body moved forward on its own.

Yes, this is just a dream. No matter what scene he witnesses, it’s not reality.

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Claude walked through the bushes and finally faced his fear.

There, a huge moon hung low. Under a fountain endlessly spewing water, narcissus flowers bloomed lavishly. And two men, with their backs to the moon, were having passionate intercourse on what looked like an altar of marble.

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The face of the one underneath was hidden. He was moaning in the dark, experiencing pleasure as if his breath would stop. But Yves’s face, who was holding the man’s head and thrusting violently, was clearly visible.

The naked body he had seen a few days ago was reenacted, shining in the moonlight. His penis, out from his undone trousers, boldly moved between the buttocks of the man below. Only then did Claude realize. This was Yves taking another man. And he was spying on this scene.

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Their intercourse was both lewd and violent. Yves handled the man with an expressionless face, mercilessly. The man underneath suffered, rejoiced, and hurt all at once, crying out as if life was draining from him. Yet, Yves never once called his name.

Claude knew who this dying man was. He had never seen his face or heard his voice, but his subconscious had somehow managed to paint this picture.

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Joseph de Pereng, who had planted over a thousand narcissus flowers for Yves, let out a great moan and then collapsed, as if dead.

Yves, not having climaxed, began masturbating. A low moan escaped from his slightly parted lips, a brief ecstasy passing over his furrowed brow. Unconsciously, Claude ripped off a nettle he was holding. At that moment, Yves turned his head, sensing the movement.

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Their eyes met; Claude’s heart froze like ice. Yves’s eyes, dripping with sticky fluid at the peak of pleasure, approached him. The dream shattered, and Claude was jolted awake, feeling the weight of his body.

When he opened his eyes, it was still the middle of the night. It was raining outside, and Claude was drenched in sweat, breathing heavily.

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“Haah…”

He clutched his head in agony. He knew well the cause of this pain that had been tormenting him for days. This was a curse for having entered Yves’s bedroom on a whim. Since seeing him naked, Claude’s mind was filled with chaotic and lascivious thoughts.

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The emotion that started with curiosity was swelling, ready to burst. The joy of knowing Yves couldn’t embrace women turned into anger upon realizing he could take other men. He knew his feelings had already surpassed loyalty.

When had this started?

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He searched his memory but found no suspicious point. If merely seeing a man’s naked body could change one’s preference, Claude should have fallen in love with all the soldiers under his command.

Love? He mocked himself at the thought. No, he was just a dog in heat, obsessed with something shiny he hadn’t been able to get close to before.

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This was due to accumulated lust. Or perhaps a primal competitive drive to dominate someone who takes men. Claude looked down at his swollen crotch with bitter self-mockery.

How far do you plan to fall?

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He was ashamed of himself for having once called a customer who bought a male escort at an inn disgusting. He deserved more scorn than that man. Claude felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, endlessly falling.

The rain that beat against Claude’s window was falling all over Paris. In the parade ground of the Mars Barracks and the courtyard of the Tuileries Palace, mud puddles formed from the downpour.

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On rainy days, bodies often float up in the Barrière des Vaux sewers. Swollen, unrecognizable, half-eaten by rats, they announce their presence.

At the same time, new bodies are thrown into the sewers. On such nights, street lamps go out, and people go missing. So one should not take a shared carriage, let horses rest, or open the door to anyone knocking.

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However, there was one exception that day. At Baron Maurice’s mansion on Rue de Mont, despite the torrential rain, a banquet was taking place.

In the brightly lit ballroom with hundreds of candles, people danced, drank, and laughed. Women wore high pompadours and powdered their faces white, while men wore culottes and wigs, dancing minuet with the ladies.

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The sound of the rain against the windows contrasted with the lively, joyful Bach melodies, filling the banquet hall. It was a scene reminiscent of Versailles 50 years ago. In this world, there had been no revolution, no republic.

They perfectly reenacted the glory of 18th-century French nobility. On one side, they danced elegantly, while on the other, they played tag or lifted ladies’ skirts in fun.

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