“Boy! Take this to Mademoiselle in Rue Jean Moulins.”
“Do you understand?” I nodded slightly, before he cuffed my filthy neck.
Safer they believe I was deaf & dumb. A few boxed ears as a dullard? Preferable to the guillotine if they ever suspected I was the tile makers son.
Up the street, handing the list of those to be executed to my co-conspirator. On it, my father’s name.
In exchange for misleading love letters to pass on. Not only would the Family of Charles-Alexandre de Calonne not learn of the ruse until much too late, their willingness to cover an assumed further scandal would play well into our reform demands.
In exchange, the information we’d gathered prepared us for Revolution .
Decades of exploitation. The backs of the people broken.
The air electrified with heat and anticipation. July 13, 1787.
“Let them eat cake”? she’d said. So be it.
Photo prompt: by Sandra Crook
Genre: Historical FIction
Word Count: 150
French Revolution | 1787-1799 |
About Dijon France: The city has retained varied architectural styles from many of the main periods of the past millennium, including Capetian, Gothicand Renaissance. Many still-inhabited town houses in the city’s central district date from the 18th century and earlier. Dijon architecture is distinguished by, among other things, toits bourguignons (Burgundian polychrome roofs) made of tiles glazed interracotta, green, yellow and black and arranged in geometric patterns.
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