I'm the Dauphin in France

Chapter 1007 The Crown Princess' Bakery (Two Chapters in One)

Walsh frowned when he heard this: "If I understand correctly, you are going to let people burn coal at home?"

"It's coal processed into a special style."

"God, the smoke would choke you."

Rochefoucauld smiled and said, "That's true of French coal, but I'm talking about hard coal from the Rhineland."

Walsh is very familiar with hard coal, because Britain is currently the largest hard coal producer in Europe, and his family used to burn coal for heating when he was a child. This is also one of the important reasons why the Industrial Revolution first appeared in Britain.

However, he still shook his head: "The shipping cost to Paris from such a far place would probably be very high."

"There is a government subsidy." The fat man said immediately, "All coal shipped to Paris can receive a freight subsidy of 6 francs per ton."

Walsh's business required shipping wool from England to Lyon, so he was familiar with the transportation costs, and finally smiled - the cost of shipping wool from the Rhineland to Paris by water was about 20 francs per ton. The French government subsidized nearly one-third of this, so the price of hard coal in Paris was very close to that in London.

Judging from the coal sales in London, this business is barely doable.

Rochefoucauld continued: “Moreover, once the coal is shipped to Paris, it is mixed with 30% clay before it can be sold.”

Walsh's eyes lit up immediately. This was a huge profit.

When the fat man introduced the information about honeycomb coal in detail, Walsh nodded repeatedly: "This is really a great invention. The burning speed can be adjusted at will, and it can also be used for cooking.

"Now, please tell me how much you invested in the shares, and how much sales you get each month?"

The fat man said excitedly: “You only need to invest 5 francs, and we will each own half of the shares.

"As for sales, I've roughly calculated that if only one-fifth of the households in Saint-Antoine use honeycomb briquettes, we can sell more than 15 francs a month, with a profit of more than %!"

Walsh suddenly lost interest and waved his hand, saying, "The profit is good, but with all due respect, I don't want to waste my energy on such a small business.

"If you can get the briquettes agency for the whole of Paris, we can continue the discussion."

"This..." Rochefoucauld was stunned. He never expected that what he regarded as a great life opportunity was just a one-denier coin thrown on the roadside in the eyes of others.

His mind raced, and just as Walsh was about to end the conversation, he suddenly smiled:

"If you want to do big business, we can start from the source."

"Oh? Please tell me more about this."

"One ton of hard coal from the Rhineland costs only 1 francs and 5 sous. If we transport it ourselves, our profit can be increased by more than 3%."

"It's only 4800 francs a year. And I have to invest a lot in shipping." Walsh muttered. His wool business brought in at least 1 francs a year.

"More than that." Rochefoucauld stood up and spread his arms. "If we have our own transportation channels, we can sell honeycomb coal to remote towns without agents - at most we just have to pay some patent fees.

"This will also allow us to significantly increase our purchase volume, which will give us the right to negotiate with coal mining plants, and our costs will be further reduced. If we manage it well, I think our profits can at least double or triple."

Walsh's eyes gradually changed as he looked at the fat boy.

He took out a pen and paper, wrote down an address, and handed it over: "Please prepare the relevant information and come to my office tomorrow morning, and we will discuss it in detail."

Rochefoucauld tapped his head and said, "Now, Mr. Walsh, the information is all here."

……

New district of Paris.

At a cocktail party at Madame Tremouille's house, Portier lazily held his wine glass, but his little eyes were always staring out the window.

When he saw a servant in black enter the villa, he immediately went to the door to greet him.

The latter whispered to him: "He has gone out, sir."

"Now I will go to Baron Prilesi's house to guard it."

Portier gave an order, then turned and called a servant, pointed to the room on the west side of the house, and whispered, "Mrs. Lavisia asked me to get her a glass of gin. Please send it to her immediately."

Then he quickly went downstairs and snapped his fingers to the coachman waiting outside the house.

Mrs. Lavisia, who was having fun with her lover, heard the gin signal and immediately said that she remembered some urgent matters. She quickly put on her dress and asked the maid to leave the villa.

The carriage was ready, and Portier opened the door for her, smiling, “Viscount Lavisia left 20 minutes ago and may be here in 10 minutes.

“Half an hour later is the time you and Baron Prilesi agreed upon.

"I'll take care of this. Have fun.

"Oh, remember to go home immediately when you hear the voice selling newspapers."

"Very well," said Lady Lavisia, hugging him. "I should be like a sailor without his compass without you. See you tomorrow, sir."

As the carriage drove away, Portier smiled and prepared to return upstairs to enjoy a few more glasses of wine - Madame Tremouille was very generous and only brought out good wine.

As soon as he stepped onto the stairs, he saw two people, one tall and one short, walking down towards him.

The tall man wearing an exquisite wig said impatiently: "I told you that it's not just about paying the fees, you also have to prepare something to present to His Highness, otherwise I will be reprimanded by Lord Baronden."

Baudelaire knew him—the Baron de Motte, a clerk at the Palace of Versailles.

The man, who was shorter in stature but had sharp eyes, said in unstandard French: "I really can't afford more money. Please believe me, when you meet His Royal Highness the Crown Prince, he will definitely reward you."

"So, what do you want?"

"No...nothing..."

Porter watched the two men pass by him, shrugged indifferently, and was about to continue going upstairs, but suddenly turned to look at the short man.

He couldn't explain why, but he just felt that there was something wrong with that person.

He picked up two glasses of wine and quickly followed.

When Baron Mott returned, he pretended to meet him by chance, handed him a glass of wine, and asked casually, "Is that your new friend?"

"Selena, a Dutchman," the latter took a sip of wine, "said he admires His Royal Highness the Crown Prince very much and wants a chance to meet him."

Portier curled his lips: "Why would His Highness summon a foreigner so casually?"

"Yes, and he only wanted 150 francs."

"Oh, what a poor fellow. Do you know where he lives?"

"In the inn in the Via Poreče. Why, do you want to help him?"

"Oh, of course not. I was just asking."

At 6 o'clock in the afternoon, Portier looked outside the hotel on Polecchie Street for a long time, and finally walked in for some unknown reason.

He used 1 sou to get Selena's room number from the butler - Room 203, and then walked towards there.

As soon as Portier turned around the corridor, he saw Celina pushing the door open and muttering something. He heard it was in English, "We really need some funding...", "Damn, everything in France costs money..."

This guy is not Dutch? Porter frowned. His intuition was right. There was indeed something wrong with him.

He waited for Selena to leave, checked into the room next door, and climbed into Room 203 through the window.

He quickly searched through the luggage in the room and found, besides clothes, only a dagger and an unfinished letter.

The letter was also written in English, and its content roughly asked Mr. Sean to send a sum of money immediately, otherwise the mission would fail. The recipient's address was Wexford.

It was an Irish city.

Porter narrowed his eyes immediately. It seemed that this guy was a spy.

The door lock suddenly rang, and Celaena came into the room holding a loaf of black bread - he was so poor that he couldn't even afford the hotel's set meal.

In a hurry, Porter grabbed the dagger and dodged, and put the sharp blade on his neck the moment he turned around to close the door: "Hey, Mr. Spy, I'm Ene, the captain of the Intelligence Bureau's operations team, please be honest."

Celaena was shocked and raised her hands, and the black bread fell to the ground.

15 minute later.

Porter looked at the certificate in his hand and said to the Irishman sitting in front of him: "So, Mr. McCracken, you are sent by the 'United Irish Association'?"

The latter nodded with a bitter face: "Yes, sir. I swear, I am not a spy. Please don't arrest me."

This poor senior member of the Irish independence movement organization had just heard the "Chief of Intelligence" say that he would be thrown into prison, so he had no choice but to tell the truth.

Portier asked warily, "Why are you approaching His Royal Highness the Crown Prince? Do you want to assassinate him?"

"No, no," McCracken shook his head vigorously, "I came to seek cooperation from Your Highness. You know, we have the same position in fighting the British."

"Oh, cooperation? I think you should go to the interrogation room and talk slowly."

"Wait!" McCracken slowly took out a letter from his clothes. "This is a letter from Mr. Thorne to His Royal Highness the Crown Prince."

Portier's eyes quickly swept over the letter and his heart began to beat wildly.

He was a smart man and immediately realized that this was a major event that could change the political landscape of Europe.

He looked at the Irishman. "Why don't you just give it to your Highness?"

"I tried," the latter said aggrievedly, "The closest I was to him was more than 200 steps away."

As a foreigner without noble status, it was impossible for him to get close to the French Prince.

"Besides, there are British spies everywhere. I'm afraid I'll be assassinated if I make a sound." The Irishman suddenly thought of something and said excitedly, "Oh, by the way, you are the head of the Intelligence Bureau. You can definitely take me to see His Royal Highness the Crown Prince!"

"I... ahem," Porter looked very embarrassed, "I was just joking..."

into the night.

Portier frowned. "I can find a chance to tell the palace officials about this and have them report it..."

Yes, with his status, he had no chance to meet the Crown Prince.

McCracken immediately shook his head in annoyance: "No, the British spies have many eyes and ears. They may know it before I report it."

Porter sighed. The Irish had already pinned down the only person who knew the truth.

Just when he was at a loss of what to do, he suddenly heard the laughter of children outside the house. "Haha, father finally agreed to buy us some bread! Brother, I'll go with you tomorrow morning."

"It's too late, idiot. Tomorrow is the day of the Dauphin's lottery. The line will be full before daybreak. If you want to go, you'll have to get up at 4."

"So early? Well, if you want to call me..."

Porter's eyes suddenly lit up: "I have a way to let you meet His Royal Highness the Crown Prince."

3 o'clock in the morning the next day.

Porter and McCracken faced the chilly autumn wind and looked helplessly at the long line of three or four hundred people in front of them.

The sign hanging on the shop at the front of the line reads "Alexandra Bakery".

Yes, this is the shop Alexandra opened.

One of the important tasks of every French Dauphin is to serve as a people-friendly ambassador of the royal family and interact with the citizens of Paris.

In the past, most crown princesses spent money on the streets, but Alexandra, at Joseph's suggestion, opened a bakery on this not-so-bustling street.

All Parisians can buy bread here every day at a 1% discount on the market price, and the quality is better than that of ordinary bakeries. Of course, each person can only buy pound with an ID card.

Well, they also sell a kind of high-end Russian bread mixed with raisins - Royal Leba. But the price is a bit expensive.

On every "football day", which is the weekend holiday, Alexandra would personally draw 20 lucky people from the ID numbers of all those who bought bread last week and give them 6 pounds of bread and half a pound of butter for free.

Every time this time comes, the bakery is packed with people, and everyone excitedly shouts "God bless the Crown Princess".

At daybreak, the door of the bakery opened and the queue of people immediately poured in.

Portier and his companion waited for more than an hour before they finally arrived in front of the bakery. When they looked up, they saw the beautiful Crown Princess in a simple white dress taking out a number from a pile of small balls at the counter in front.

The maid next to her immediately wrote "7" on the wooden board. It was an ID number, missing the last two digits.

Portier took a deep breath, left the crowd, and strode towards the Crown Princess.

Immediately, several guards flashed out, drew their swords and held him in the middle: "Stop!"

"What are you going to do?!"

Portier hurriedly knelt on one knee: "Your Highness, the Dauphin, I am Pierre Jarnot de Portier, son of Baron Portier. I have something important to report to you that could affect our country's diplomacy."

Alexandra only looked at him for a second, then nodded to the captain of the guard: "Please take this gentleman to the inner room to wait for me."

……

Vienna.

In a carriage escorted by more than a dozen cavalrymen, the Austrian "famous general" Marshal Leaud smiled and signaled to Talleyrand who was sitting opposite him: "As soon as I received your letter, I rushed back immediately."

The latter bowed slightly and said: "Vienna urgently needs you to stabilize the situation now."

Leo nodded: "Are you talking about Silesia?"

"Yes, there is a group of people in Vienna who want to bow to the Prussians and sell out Silesia in exchange for temporary comfort.

"Your Highness the Crown Prince fought there with you and won the victory with blood. Your Highness would never want it to fall into Prussian hands."

(End of this chapter)