Descending On France 1780
Chapter 42 - 42 I am a noble a Corsican noble

42: I am a noble, a Corsican noble 42: I am a noble, a Corsican noble After settling down, Anning and Vanni took a stroll along the streets of Briena.

Briena, even when walking on its main roads, one could feel the bucolic scenery.

It was a bit like Anning’s past life as a child, living at the rural-urban fringe of a small city.

When Anning was young, after school was let out, many farmers would carry their baskets selling homemade pickles at the school gates, twenty cents for a dish, sprinkled with chili sauce one could happily eat for several minutes.

After putting down the dish and walking a few steps, you could see farmland right beside the asphalt road, sometimes even water buffalos plowing the fields.

This kind of scene wasn’t seen much once Anning reached middle school, and later in life, experiencing the same atmosphere required playing games like “My Summer Vacation”.

Now, Briena gives Anning a feeling of déjà vu.

Briena has yet no asphalt roads, a bit more pastoral and idyllic.

Anning could even smell the scent of manure while walking on the main road, too bucolic.

Vanni: “Master, you seem to be quite mindful of the smells around you?”

Anning: “Is that so?

You can tell?”

“I am a Maid, observing my master’s expressions is my duty.”

This isn’t merely observing expressions anymore, right?

Anning thought, without showing any particular reaction to the air’s scent, but Vanni still noticed.

Could Vanni’s character be that of the perfect, effortless Maid?

That kind of Maid would need the power to stop time.

As Anning silently criticized, she saw a bakery sign up ahead, a woman emerging from it with a bag of bread.

The bread in the woman’s arms, all looked like the tough baguettes that can be used as weapons.

Anning couldn’t help but ask Vanni: “That…

are all French breads that weapon-like baguette?

Isn’t there softer bread one can eat?”

Anning had been in Paris for a few months, eating bread that was all tough, even the bread basket on the Duke’s dining table contained bread as hard as sawdust.

Unexpectedly in another place, she still saw the hard baguettes.

Vanni looked at Anning with confusion: “Soft bread?

Do you mean cake?”

——Damn, does soft bread truly not exist in this world?

Wait, Anning suddenly remembered: Although Europe knew how to ferment, it was only used for making cheese and wine, and not for fermenting the dough for baking bread.

Unfermented dough would indeed produce bread hard as wood when baked.

Damn it, I thought crossing to France would at least mean not suffering from food, but I was careless.

Vanni watched Anning’s changing expressions, puzzled: “What are you thinking?

Have I done something to make you show such a rich array of expressions?”

Anning: “No, you didn’t do anything.

How much further to the Briena military academy?”

“Not very far, after all, this city isn’t that big.

Just around that corner ahead is the main shopping street of this city, with tailor shops and others, walk to the end and turn, and you’ll be on the main road leading to the military academy.”

Having said that Anning just turned the corner, so a street less full of bucolic sensation extended out in front of her.

This street was laid with big paving bricks, clearly flatter than the road Anning had just walked on, and the sound of horse hooves on the street was crisper than before.

Both sides of the road were filled with shops, and there were more pedestrians on the street.

Anning even saw a bookstore on the street, with a stand outside selling newspapers.

Anning walked over to take a look and found that the newspapers on the stand were from Paris, several days old, even a week’s old.

The newspaper vendor, seeing Anning’s interest, leaned in mysteriously and said: “The latest newspapers!

They even include the latest affair of the Queen!

It’s said that the Queen has hooked up with a commoner recently, who won three duels, killing an Earl, Marquis, and Duke each, so fierce!”

Vanni: “Pfft.”

Anning: “What’s so funny?”

“I didn’t laugh, it’s your imagination.”

Seeing Anning uninterested, the vendor added: “How about this, Paris’s latest political commentary!

It calls for establishing a Parliament like the UK, where Your Majesty’s words won’t count unless approved by Parliament!

The gentlemen in Paris say this is called…

what’s it called…”

Anning: “Constitutional Monarchy.”

“Ah, right!

Constitutional Monarchy!

It’s sensational!

Want to take a look?

This is tantamount to rebelling against the King!”

Anning thought to herself that this was hardly sensational, as in a few years the people of Paris would give the King an even more sensational surprise.

Anning: “Give me a copy of the Queen’s love history, I want to read about her and the commoner who won three duels.”

“Alright!” The vendor immediately handed Anning something, “This is the last one!”

Anning was about to pay when Vanni stepped forward first and put a five-sous copper coin on the stall.

Vanni: “It seems like everyone wants to read about the Queen’s love history, huh?”

The vendor laughed: “Of course, after all, she’s a woman from the Habsburg family.

It’s said that she’s very beautiful, and just by thinking of the Queen’s name, men can…

uh, relieve themselves.”

Vanni glanced sideways at Anning: “Is that so?”

Anning: “I’m just curious about what mischief Mirabeau is up to this time.”

“Apart from Mr.

Mirabeau, there are many others in Paris writing about the Queen’s erotic history.”

As Anning was responding to the maid, suddenly the door of the nearby bookshop was opened, and a clerk threw out a child in ill-fitting military attire: “Off you go!

I still need to sell my books, not for you to stand here reading them!”

The child who was thrown out looked to be around nine to ten years old, not even as tall as Anning’s waist, and the military uniform on him looked at least a size too large, giving him the appearance of a clothes rack.

He had a head of brown curly hair and his eyes were bright and clever-looking.

He swore as he got up from the ground and picked up his fallen military cap.

Anning noticed that the kid was left-handed.

At that moment, a few passing military school cadets pointed and laughed at the thrown-out child: “Look!

The Corsican has been tossed out again!”

“Corsican pauper!

Bookshops should ban him from entering!”

Anning was shocked: Corsican, left-handed!

Isn’t this him?

So she stepped forward and asked with concern: “Are you alright?”

“Sir!

You’d better stay away from that Corsican runt, he’ll bring you bad luck!” some kids advised from a distance, “Any respectable gentleman wouldn’t want to associate with that Corsican misfortunado!”

Anning took out a handkerchief and handed it to the “Corsican misfortunado”: “Wipe your face, you’ve just touched the ground with your hands and immediately your face, leaving behind grey marks.”

The Corsican kid stuffed the handkerchief back into Anning’s hands, then took out his own handkerchief: “I have one, but thank you all the same.”

Anning stood up straight and said to the kids who were mocking the other child: “A true gentleman should be kind and help someone who has fallen rather than mock them.”

The kids looked at each other, then, feeling embarrassed, ran off.

Then Anning extended her hand to the child she helped: “Hello, my name is Andy Frost, the son of a Leatherworker, starting school at Briena Military Academy this year.”

The child hesitated a bit before reluctantly speaking: “Napoleon Bonaparte, also starting at Briena Military Academy this year.”

The child spoke with a very heavy accent and somewhat haltingly, obviously still not very comfortable with French.

Then he stressed in his awkward French: “I am a noble, a Corsican noble!”