Post by vinlander on Jan 18, 2020 17:48:21 GMT
Jean Bonbeur dismounted on his arrival in Paris and scraped the dust and mud of Normandy from his elegant, but well-worn, clothes. Somewhere lay his fortune, but where?
His mother told him, as she was mopping the tavern floor, there was no future for him unless he left the little village where he grew up. His father, the Comte de la Fere, reluctantly agreed to help, not so much because he liked Jean but rather because he still loved Jean's mother. If only her father had not been a peasant . . . .
Paris was warmer than the coast of La Manche anyway. He checked his pistol, loosened his cloak, and walked down a narrow street to find accommodation. As he did so, he smiled. It was just going to be a matter of time.
His mother told him, as she was mopping the tavern floor, there was no future for him unless he left the little village where he grew up. His father, the Comte de la Fere, reluctantly agreed to help, not so much because he liked Jean but rather because he still loved Jean's mother. If only her father had not been a peasant . . . .
Paris was warmer than the coast of La Manche anyway. He checked his pistol, loosened his cloak, and walked down a narrow street to find accommodation. As he did so, he smiled. It was just going to be a matter of time.