Chapter 430: Putting Away the Strays
The French delegation had somehow managed to worm their way into the Arena of Victory, now watching from afar in a VIP booth where delegates of each major nation sat, admiring the processions following the opening ceremony.
But during this time, they had been isolated. Everyone knew they held no legitimacy. No authority. They flew the banner of a dead republic while hiding in its more stable colonies—masquerading as the governing body of a nation in total anarchy. Existing in name only, and as an ideal. That was all.
So when they found no one approached them—no respect given, no deference paid—they turned to the bountiful free food and wine, engorging themselves beyond the point of intoxication. And as the wine flowed, so too did the complaints. They began to whine, sneer, and speak loudly of their supposed superiority over Germany.
Twice in fifty years France had fallen to its eastern neighbor. Both times utterly humiliated. Dominated by a people they had long believed themselves superior to. But this defeat—this modern collapse—was unforgivable. The annexation of Elsass-Lothringen was permanent now. The lands once stolen by France had returned to German hands, and that could not be undone.
Bitterness consumed them.
Their words, vulgar and petulant, drew no attention from others. At least not most. One young girl, not even legally an adult, gave them a sidelong glance—clearly understanding some French. But she said nothing.
Until her father turned.
A man with sharp features and ice-blue eyes. A man who calmly faced them and spoke in French so flawless, so Parisian in tone, that they felt ashamed of their own heritage upon hearing it.
And what he said was true.
He had spared Paris. The outskirts had burned, yes—but only those districts of little cultural or historical value. The heart of the city had remained intact.