All language subtitles for Nicolas.Le.Floch.S05E02.Murder.at.the.hotel.Saint-Florentin.Part.2.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DD+2.0.H.264-playWEB

NICOLAS LE FLOCH

BLOOD IN THE FLOUR

Stop!

Give it up, sir,
enough frolicking with my men.

Whoever you are,
you will pay for this.

It will cost me less than you,

as it will cost you your life.

Where are the King's documents?

Come, we will know
where to look ourselves.

In your saddle bags,
or on your dead body.

May I at least know
at whose hands I die at?

No, sir, you may not!

They said
not to give you that pleasure.

You have been a thorn in their side
for quite some time.

Goodbye, sir.

Well, we seem to have got you
out of a tough spot!

Such warm acknowledgment!
Such overwhelming gratitude!

Such intense thanks!

It's like an almost unbearable
burden on my shoulders!

It's just that your sudden rescue

intrigues me just as much
as that sudden attack, sir.

Those are strange words,
coming from a trespasser.

Do you have any idea
as to the motives behind this?

Not in the slightest.

Who are you
and who do you work for?

Those two questions
are not important right now.

I'm a non-entity, sir,
and I work for nobody.

I do have a mission, however.

To get you safely to Versailles,

where the Foreign Affairs Minister,
Mr Vergennes,

awaits with great impatience
your news from Vienna.

They're hoping for good news,
as here, alas...

This upheaval
doesn't seem worth it to me.

Has it gone on for long?

For too long, truth be told.

Our Majesty is reluctant
to see bloodshed,

and he refuses to send in troops,
which, moreover, is unsafe.

They say that in order
to protect their own interests,

some higher-ups are fuelling
these agitations behind the scenes,

and that some of them
are paying off military leaders.

Bloody hell!

My mission ends where that
of the King's household begins.

But who are you, sir?

Nobody, sir! Nobody!

Till next time!

We want to see the King!

Well, Marquis,
what news from Austria?

Nothing that any other messenger

couldn't have delivered
in my place.

I understand, my friend,

but his Majesty
requested you personally.

Hand it over, Marquis.

Impossible, Mr Secretary of State.

Impossible?

As I feared an ambush,
I memorised it by heart,

thus making
one sole message and messenger.

Immediately send for
a minister who can take dictation.

It's the same, worn-out story,

the Famine Pact.

The King, by his own edicts,
out of his own interests,

is desperately trying
to starve the people.

That pact did much damage
at the end of Louis XV's reign.

And here it is, reappearing again,

at the time
of Turgot's furious reformations.

As if the kingdom
needed such agitation,

when there is no firm hand
to take hold of the reins.

What about his Majesty?

His Majesty, alas,
has fewer friends than enemies,

among whom is his own cousin,
the Prince of Conti.

And the worst of his enemies
is he himself.

Perhaps we should sit,
this could take a long time.

Oh, Nicolas!

These past two months
felt like a century to me!

Well, you're back now, my dear!

How I missed the city!

The city has properly stunk
since you left.

The kingdom, too.

Enough about that!

I know a certain somebody
who needs a bath!

Heat the water then!
Go heat the water!

Nicolas...

What is it, my friend?

A strange event
took place last night.

What event, sir?

You know that I rent out
part of my services quarters

to a certain Mourut,
a master baker by trade.

The man is prominent in his guild
and he receives much custom.

Tell the Commissioner
what you told me.

Our master
left the house last night,

dressed in his finest clothes.

Last night, we heard him
return to the bakery...

and this morning,
he didn't come out.

As it's Sunday today,
it didn't seem suspicious...

But you're worried for him.

Yes, of course.

Even his wife
didn't see him come back.

Mr Mourut?

Mr Mourut?

Mr Mourut?

Mr Mourut?

Come here,
tell me if this is your master.

There is no doubt, Nicolas,

that is indeed Mr Mourut.

Go wait outside, lads.

Well, what is the opinion
of Châtelet's best man?

You don't seem at all shocked
by his demise.

After hearing
you were at Versailles,

I preferred to await your return
rather than unleash the hounds.

But as soon
as the two lads told me,

I felt a sense of foreboding.

Look at this.

The grain market
only takes place twice per week,

on Wednesdays and Saturdays,

but Mourut
was receiving more of it.

The flour
arrived secretly at night,

via tarpaulin-covered carts.

Some sort of trafficking?

Would that be a motive for murder?

I don't want to get involved...

Would you give me a hand,
just until Bourdeau gets here?

Gladly, Nicolas.

This reminds me
of not too long ago,

when I myself was in the police,

if you take "not too long ago"
to mean centuries ago.

- Got him?
- Yes, just a second...

Put him back down.

"Eulalie, 'G' House,
rue des Deux Portes Saint Sauveur."

Does that mean anything to you,
your Honour?

Unless it's one "La Gourdan",
a so-called Duchess

who has not long lived
at that address,

and who is most discreet,

then I don't know.

This kind of note
is used to allow for entry.

Most discreet...

Would you happen to go there, sir?

Everyone worth a damn goes there!

Would it be best to pardon men

for their weaknesses
as well as their strengths?

Mourut had his fair share.

Do they need to be made public,
now he has passed?

Should one see, in your condolence,
the curious effect

of a sort of solidarity
between sinners?

Think what you like, Nicolas!

Come on, turn over
so I can wash your front.

I've a message for you, Nicolas!

Miss Catherine!

"Who do you think
you are mocking, sir?

I should really be
quite solicitous..."

Suspicious...

"I should really be
quite suspicious,

since you assured me
of your fidelity.

Two months
will have already gone by

since your departure.

Who is holding you back in Vienna?

Who will hold me back
at Versailles?"

Aimée of Arranette!

Arranet...

She's a fiery one,
she won't be fooled easily.

I hate her already, the little...

I understand your helplessness.

However, this letter
was only written three days ago.

Perhaps
you'll still have time tomorrow.

Tomorrow? You don't know her.

I do know her,

just not as intimately as you!

Thank you.

Have you finished
noting your findings?

Yes, and I have the floor plans.

I also gave instructions
to transport the body

to the prison morgue.

Has the deceased
left any next-of-kin?

A young widow,
whom, in her shop front,

many think to be quite the looker,

but who did not supply him
with any offspring.

Also, a baker boy who lodged there
with his own money.

And then the two lads we saw.

Make sure to question all of them,

with guards present, at the scene,

but wait till tomorrow.

Tomorrow?
But wouldn't it be best...

Tomorrow.

I am going to once again
plead a case that is dear to me.

My own.

That's love, my friend!

That's love!

What do you know of love?

Not much, I'm a married man!

You're finally here, Marquis.

We were waiting so long,
we were about to give up.

My time belongs to the King,
of whom I am not the master.

I doubt the Countess
will stand for such nonsense...

Can you announce my arrival,
Tribord?

No need, Tribord.

I heard his horse galloping
on the courtyard gravel.

I recognised the impetuousness
of the man who was arriving.

I was about to say my prayers
and go to bed...

Such haste!

Such eagerness, such ardour!

You're nothing but a charmer!

However,

before you accomplish your ends,

I intend to make you apologise
for a long, long time.

It was about time you reappeared.

Your absence was pressuring me
into being unfaithful...

A handsome officer,
a Navy gunner...

Big, and most handsome,

with very somber eyes...

who takes without asking.

Big hands,

and a rigid, inflexible manner.

A look that goes right through you,
as if he didn't see you.

A man who you can immediately tell

has already lived
a thousand deaths.

Nicolas...

So, my dearest friend...

have I convinced you?

Convinced me of what?

Of your constancy,
as much as your fidelity?

"Eulalie, 'G' House,
rue des Deux Portes Saint Sauveur?"

Right...

And where did you find that?

Where it was found,
in one of your pockets!

So, did you get a thrill,
going through my pockets?

Do you frequent brothels now?

Give it here.

I was an idiot to trust you.

- Give it here!
- Take it!

I never want to see you again!

I hate you, Marquis.

I hate you
and I never want to see you again!

I don't want to see you either!

The King stole her bread!

You harbour an upset air, Nicolas.

Did your lady friend
leave you in the lurch?

I had to make many detours
in order to safely reach Paris.

Discontent rises
as the rumours swell.

Well, here's our agenda.

Sanson, the executioner,
has informed us

that he is ready to perform,
without delay, Mr Mourut's autopsy.

Good.

He fears the victim's stout build
will only hasten the decomposition.

He wishes our friend Semacgus
assist in the operation.

Also, Mourut's widow
and the two young baker's boys

are still being kept at the house,

but the third baker's boy,
Mr Denis Caminet, remains unfound.

Why, may I ask?

He hasn't returned to the house,

but we're continuing
to look for him.

And finally,
the Police Lieutenant-General

wants to talk to you right away.

You finally returned, Commissioner.

I must admit that
these foreign missions,

though done at the King's request,
do not thrill me at all.

Me neither, rest assured,
but those are the King's wishes.

Wishes? Whims, more like.

Well, what does it matter,
you're back now.

Take a seat, Commissioner,
you're making me feel dizzy.

This Mr Mourut,
are we dealing with a murder?

As far as proceedings go,
it's too early to say, sir.

I understand this took place
in the house next door

to Noblecourt House,
where you reside.

Yes, but that is merely incidental,
it has nothing to do with it.

Nothing to do with it?
How certain are you of that?

Not very.

The man was found dead
in his bakery.

The aforementioned room
was double-locked from the inside,

with the key in the lock.

Presuming this could be a crime,
the body was taken to the morgue

in order to proceed
with an autopsy.

With our findings noted down

and the witnesses
kept under house arrest,

we can later move on
to interrogate them...

Later? Now we've come
to the heart of the matter!

Presuming this to be a crime,

isn't it strange
we don't question them now?

What pressing considerations
will postpone the executions?

Considerations
of pure commodity, sir.

I guess nature has its reasons
that reason doesn't know.

The affair comes at a bad time,
however.

We could consider
Mourut's disappearance

as a minor event
of little significance,

but we need to quell any rumours.

The masses have been murmuring

since Turgot's ideas
were published.

I saw that as I came in, in fact.

The people
are rallying and protesting.

Yes, but I see something else.

"People" are insinuating
the masses are facing a famine,

and that the government
is speculating with grain

in order to clear the King's debts.

- Who are these "people"?
- I don't know, I'm afraid.

What we do know,
from what we've been told,

is that these people,
unknown to all,

are working to sow discord

by using
emotionally-charged rhetoric

to stir up the least well-informed,
those most ready to explode.

What would you have me do?

I want you to get
the upper hand in this affair.

There are shadows
which threaten the King's safety.

Investigate everywhere
and by any means,

in order to foil this plot.

- Is that true?
- There really is a plot.

You are aware of parliament's war
against the King?

They say, behind the scenes,

this is to force the King
to reunite the Estates-General.

We are sailing
into troubled waters...

This man is robust
with a heavy complexion.

The preliminary examination
did not reveal

any lesions or suspicious marks.

Allow me, however, to moderate
my approval of your proposition.

There is a strange, necrotic wound
on the right hand.

It could be an unattended graze,
a minor laceration,

some swelling
with a slight effusion...

I'd say this body
has lived a life of hard graft.

You are undoubtedly right.

However, let us note the facts.

He didn't die from suffocation,

but the face shows signs
of a violent asphyxiation.

Actually, it would be fanciful
to determine the exact causes,

and as a consequence,

to confirm or deny
whether this was a murder.

It's an almost impossible effort,
I regret to say.

Almost impossible?

Define "almost".

The heart and blood vessels
are damaged,

the lungs show
there was a sudden event

which caused the asphyxia,
which stopped the heart,

or both things could have happened.

The cause of this, alas, eludes us.

Could it be poison?

Nothing in the stomach
seems to indicate this.

What right does this copper have
to say who comes and goes?

That goes for both me and my Lady!

Take us to her,
your feigned anger is unbecoming.

You! I know
you often visit Mr Noblecourt.

Yes...

Is it true that
our master has passed on?

Take me to your Lady, please.

So, Mourut is dead...

One cannot begin to imagine
the pain you must feel.

If there's one thing
I hate more than lies...

it's deceit.

Do you deny the effect
I'm having on you?

Not at all, Madam.

That's not the question.

But it is, actually.

I believe you have seen
Mr Mourut's body?

You suspect my own...

Our union was one
of pure indulgence.

Mourut got what he wanted,
and so did I.

If he's dead, too bad.

Though, through this outcome,
perhaps I also got what I wanted.

Were you already aware...

of the status of his will?

I tried many times
to enquire after it.

Alas, just like his notary,

Mr Mourut was always
as silent as the grave...

with regards
to the contents of his will.

Will that be all, Commissioner?

Not at all.

Did you know...

Mr Mourut trafficked grain?

I did not.

I also had no reason to know.

My job
was just to work the shop front.

This role for me suited him,

as I did it very well.

I can imagine, Madam.

Mr Mourut had three baker's boys.

Two of them
were kept in the basement,

and the third one,

he was allowed to stay
in your own home,

one Denis Caminet.

How do you justify such...

I have nothing to justify, sir.

Those were steps
taken by my husband.

Perhaps it would be best
to pose that question to him...

although I imagine
he wouldn't be in the mood to talk.

Where is the young Caminet, Madam?

I have no idea, sir.
Why do you ask?

Do you miss him?

You will remain under house arrest.

You are forbidden
from coming and going

outside of your own home.

Good day.

How the mighty have fallen!

She had a good thing going,
with her fur coats and carriages!

I sense she's a lively one,
Nicolas.

You don't seem to like her.

She's an arrogant wretch.

The way she carries on
with that apprentice...

The apprentice? Caminet?

Yes.

Nothing seems to get by you
in this house.

I know more secrets
than a dog in a brothel!

But to get me to talk,

I need a big, juicy bone.

What do you want to know
that's worth so much?

What kind of man was your master?

He worked hard
to make himself poor,

he had a knack
for increasing his debts

and was ferocious
in recovering in assets.

And the two baker's boys?

Tongues wag about those two,

some complain about them,
others revile them.

People gossip about them,
and deplore their camaraderie.

The oldest is too attentive
of the younger one.

It wouldn't take much,
a few words or a denouncement,

then they'd be in trouble.

And you, have you ever...

Denounced them? No, sir.

Visit them yourselves,

in the hole
that serves as their cell.

Undoubtedly,
you will think as I do,

if there's a shred of humanity
in you.

I beseech you, Commissioner,

Alain and I aren't
what they say we are!

Well, even if you were...

Is this where
your master lodged you?

What can you tell me
about the death of your master?

Saturday night, he came back...

Okay...

We heard the lock being opened...

then after that,
the door was closed.

And then, the sound
of horses and a carriage leaving.

It was like a horse-drawn hearse.

How old are you, my boy?

Nearly 14 years old, sir.

Have them taken to Châtelet...

Wait! Wait!

Please!

Take me, but leave my friend.

Take it.

- It's all we have.
- Are you joking!

You have nothing to fear from me,
as long as you tell the truth.

The truth...

This is unjust!

- I'll see you later.
- Yes, sir.

Turn around slowly, Monk.

Hurry up!

Take off your hood.

Slowly, or I'll run you through!

You wouldn't do
anything of the sort, sir.

You're not the kind of animal
to kill in cold blood.

So it would seem, sir.

I order you to tell me
who you are and who you work for.

I believe I have already told you
I have been sworn to secrecy.

Only my master
can reveal this to you.

Take me to him.

What right do you have
to assign me a shadow?

Who do you want to protect me from?

As he neared Versailles,
a gang tried to put an end to him.

It was us who put an end to them.

- Any idea who the attackers were?
- No, none.

You'd be chatting with Saint Peter

if it weren't for
the Chevalier's help.

Even his Majesty
has no need for bodyguards.

Quite right, Nicolas, quite right.

The Monarch's security
preoccupies me first and foremost.

I'm at the Naval Ministry,
of course,

but nothing involving
the King's security

is unknown to me.

Following the example
of our English friends,

I want to create
a squad of Navy gunners,

who will fight, at sea or on land,
France's enemies.

The main role of this unit,

who would be
specially trained and equipped,

would be to assure the security
of the King and those close to him.

I see dark days ahead.

No need for prophecies,
the rumours are enough to go by.

And no orders have been given
to silence the ringleaders.

The King is in grave danger.

Even you, Commissioner.

Even you are in particular peril.

Behind your back,
and against your wishes,

I decided to have you protected.

By this soldier,
about whom I know nothing?

I met Chevalier Lastire

during a dinner

held by
Fleet Admiral François de Berteuil,

the Count of Arranet,

father to young Aimée of Arranet.

This soldier, as you called him...

was recommended
to the Naval Ministry,

that being me,

by your future father-in-law,
of sorts.

His Majesty the King
is awaiting you at Versailles.

Chevalier, accompany him.

Mr Sartine, let it be known
that I am much obliged to you.

I did not note,
at the Admiral's dinner,

your pipe smoke,

nor the constant, repugnant mania

you have for scratching your ankle.

Now, the presumptuousness

to extend a gloved hand
when addressing a minister?

Sir Chevalier...

Are you a chevalier in title alone?

I did not know you had dealings
with Admiral Arranet.

If you didn't know,

you shouldn't have it
held against you.

I fear I had the young lady
on my knee well before you did.

She was five years old,

I was a very young officer,

deployed to the Count's household
by my father.

After her mother died,
she took a particular shine to me.

It was I who taught the young lady
how to ride a horse.

As it's on the way,

what do you say we stop off
at Arranet House?

I say, Quarter-Master,
are the winds picking up?

A mill was raided on this land,
the miller was brutalised.

Gangs roam the countryside.

The Count is away,
visiting the ports of Brittany.

As she's alone, the Lady wishes
to move to her Saumur house.

Where is she?
I want to see her right now.

Where?

In her room!

Miss!

The little Marquis...

If you're not here to make amends,

your presence here is not required.

Now is not the time for tall tales,
they say you're going to Saumur!

Bloody hell!

You too, my old friend!

The man you've become
pleases me greatly.

You know
you're always welcome here.

That's enough, Madam.

Two men.

Two men who both long for you.

One with ardour and experience...

the other
with impetuousness and force.

Should I be fulfilled
as well as delighted?

I will not allow you to travel
the countryside with so few men.

And by what right?

By right of loving you.

If you love me,
why don't you accompany me?

You and Chevalier Lastire?

Between you two,
what would I have to fear?

I can't, his Majesty
sent for me at Versailles.

Well,
if his Majesty sent for you...

And you, Lastire?

Who has sent for you?

Escort her, Chevalier.

You're of no use to me,
you just have to...

make sure
your master doesn't find out.

Upon reflection,

this doesn't seem to be
a contradiction of my duties.

I have bad news, Marquis.

The gangs have blocked off
the roads leading to Versailles.

They have sticks and stones
for weapons,

some even have
a few nasty-looking muskets.

You won't get through,

unless you want to run
a terrible risk.

See, when you have nothing,
only bread will save you.

Otherwise, you die,
or it's the poorhouse.

It mustn't go up in price.

Two sous per pound
is already too much.

And for that price,

you only get brown bread
mixed with bran.

In Paris,
that's not enough to eat your fill.

It takes sweat, toil and suffering

to earn this bad bread
which gives us no sustenance.

If they rip out our throats...

And you, friend, what do you do?

I work for a printer's.

They want to poison us!

They want to poison us!

They've poisoned the bread!

See how they want to poison us!

Look at this mouldy bread!

Look at it!
Come closer and take a look!

Look at this bread
that they sell for two sous!

They starve and poison us!

Look at this bread!
Look at the mould!

They mean to starve us!

They want to poison us!

Look at this! Look at it!

They want to poison us! Look...

Catch him!

Catch him!
He's a spy! Catch him!

Catch him! Catch him!

Quick! Take me swiftly to the King!

- Dressed like that?
- Quickly, I say!

- Do you think that wise?
- Quickly!

Enough.

Follow me.

Well, Marquis...

Your speed does you justice.

What news do you bring
from the capital?

They want to make the people think
they're being poisoned.

This bread, it isn't mouldy.

It is merely coated
with greasy, green paint.

Those who spread this news

do not belong to the popular order.

Is this some kind of plot?

That is certain, your Majesty.

Somebody in the kingdom

has taken an interest
in reviving that damn Famine Pact.

Last night,

the Captain of the Guard,
the Prince of Beauvau,

committed a blunder,
which must quickly be corrected.

When pressed, he announced
bread prices had gone up

by two sous per pound.

This approach is silly, I agree.

but Beauvau told me
there was no middle ground

between fixing bread
at the prices they're asking for,

and using the bayonets.

However, for me,

it is a question
of restoring civil peace

with explicit orders

for my soldiers
not to use their guns.

Does this damsel
appear to your liking, Chevalier?

Quite so, Miss.

Quite so.

And the little Marquis...

The young Marquis...

it matters little if I reject him.

He is a stubborn breed,

he'll soon return
with his tail between his legs.

Stop!

Let go of me!

Let me go!

Get off me!

Carry on, Chevalier,
and I'll slit your throat.

You may have won the battle,
Miss...

but know this,

you will not win the war!

Ah, Nicolas...

Rabouine and Semacgus await us
at "The Mother Morel",

where they are serving
beef marrow with mashed chard,

with profiteroles
and candied prunes for dessert.

- What do you think?
- That's perfect.

Where did you get this from?

From Versailles,
from where I have returned.

- Do you know anything about it?
- Quite a bit.

I can even tell you
where it comes from.

Rabouine saw them loading
an entire cartful of the stuff.

You'll want him to tell you
the location himself.

Come.

Go ahead, I'll catch up to you.

From inside a church, you say?

In the fiefdom of Prince Conti?

Conti's fiefdom, that's right.

Two full cartloads.

A roll of bread dropped out,
his men hid it away in a hurry.

Conti is a nasty fellow
who can only be kept at bay,

as he can't be eliminated.

Come, you're exaggerating!

It is a fact that the Prince,
like many of his peers,

attracts little compassion!

They might be doing it
to supress the people!

The people?

The ones complaining outside,
and rightly so!

That's enough!

Tell him about your finding.

Oh, yes...

Glass, Nicolas.

Small, like Bohemia crystal.

It's some sort of vial,
I found bits in the necrotic wound,

on the baker's right-hand palm.

Remarkable, isn't it?

- A bit green, but still...
- So what is it?

They inoculated Mourut
with some nasty venom.

Inoculated? How did they do that?

Like that.

The Borgia would wear thick gloves
armed with poisoned blades.

The slightest bit of pressure
would have sufficed.

So we're dealing with a murder?

Beyond any doubt, my friend.

Wait, sit down.

Be diligent,
my happiness depends on this.

Your happiness, Nicolas?

Yes.

If Lady Arranet accepts...

you'll all be my best men!

She'll be
the Marchioness of Ranreuil!

Nicolas!

Go, quickly!

No! No! No!

Why?

It's no use screaming, Miss.

- Nobody can hear you.
- But why?

Have you lost your mind?

That's enough!

You'll end your days here...

in this storehouse,

where nobody would think
to look for you.

Forgotten by everybody...

your remains
will be devoured by the rats.

That's it, sir.

Off you go.

Go back home.

I do not understand
your reluctance,

and I do not share it.

Oh, it's you, Commissioner!

My Lady will be delighted!

And you too, Inspector.

Oh, no, I'm a married man,
my place remains outside.

You may as well be blind!

I may as well just wait outside.

Well...

La Gourdan?
Rue des Deux Ponts Saint Sauveur?

You're asking me if I know her?

That harlot!

That infamous sow!

That snake,
whom I once held so dearly?

That vulture!

That marauder
runs an usury office,

she sells
at 100% loss for the seller.

She poaches married woman
from their husbands

and offers them young stallions

more suited
to sate their appetites!

She traffics virgins and orphans!

You seem to hold her in low esteem.

It gets worse.

There's a girl I trained,
she told me all about her place.

La Gourdan also plays at politics.

Politics?

Her house is a meeting place.

Gallant encounters?

No, not at all, blockhead!

People come here
for gallant encounters,

within these walls.

Traders, financial clerks,

high-flying merchants,

those people
who we hold to account nowadays,

who sell grain and flour.

Those beggars in new clothes
who monopolise and stockpile goods.

Go on, you're interesting me.

As are you!

Their last meeting
took place two nights ago.

- Saturday evening?
- Yes.

People think they have orgies,
but no.

They discuss their trafficking.

La Gourdan's house
is full of secrets.

They secretly enter the house

through the door
reserved for rowdy priests.

I'm about to take a wife,
my friend.

I've heard better excuses...

What does it matter?
I'm not jealous.

Here's some advice.

Ask for Inspector Marais,

he investigates the whorehouses.

He has a long memory, my friend,

a very long one!

Have you received any information
on this Inspector Marais?

Yes, Nicolas.

When La Gourdan's name turned up,
I met up with some old friends,

one of Rabouine's girls...

Avenante?

We have one of the letters
from Marais to La Gourdan.

"Their goose is cooked",
if you'll pardon the expression.

I do know La Gourdan, yes.

She has people call her "Duchess"
for some reason.

Her house is no better nor worse
than any of the others.

Your grievances against her
seem to be, in my opinion...

greatly exaggerated.

So, to the best of your knowledge,
you deny them?

These are trifling matters.

There's no point
shaking up the daily routine.

And, this...

you wrote this yourself.

It warns her that
you had dirt against her.

It indicates
the time and place of a meeting,

during which
she would pay for your silence

with 25 Louis gold coins.

I know who you are, Commissioner.

I know you work for Sartine...

and that you meet
with the young King,

as you did with the last one.

I want neither
to insult your talents

nor look down upon your manner,

however...

Quite often, at La Gourdan's house,

and not always
via the priest's door,

people of high standing
frequent this place...

among which include
the Dukes of Chartes and Lauzun,

a certain Count of Saint-Florentin,

and his Excellency Prince Conti.

There, they debate
important issues, like resources,

as well as government matters,

and the state of the kingdom.

You can take me in for questioning
or swear me to secrecy,

though the secret, as we know,
shouldn't be taken lightly.

Investigate La Gourdan
as you please,

I strongly doubt
they'll let you snoop for long,

and nor will your petty exploits
protect you from a fate

that is as prompt
as it is disgraceful.

- Marais feels he's protected.
- He is, don't doubt that.

This couldn't be more annoying.

I don't care.

- Arrest him.
- Now?

Now.

So, you say
Inspector Marais is in jail?

Don't you want to know the reason?

I'm in no doubt that
there are many reasons.

Doesn't Inspector Marais
live the high life through random?

As do you, for that matter.

Quite right.

You don't run a house like mine

without taking some money.

Money, Commissioner.

Money turns into more money,
and the rest is but an act.

What can you tell me
about a certain Mr Mourut?

A master baker by trade.

He didn't come here regularly.

Saturday night,
he came here dressed like a lord,

in the Sunday best
of a rich bourgeois.

He had a ticket on him,
on it was the name "Eulalie".

There is no Eulalie here.

Saturday was Saint Eulalie's Day.

We wanted to suggest a date,
not a person.

So, with whom
did he have a meeting?

I don't know.

And even if I did know,

I'd prefer jail over the torment
that would befall me

if I obliged you in any way.

Help!

Help!

Do you hold Marais
in such high regard

that you want to join him
in Châtelet?

It's well known that at the time
of the notorious Famine Pact,

he had a bone to pick
with one of his companions,

a man named Hénéfiance...

a master baker,
who lived on rue du Poirier.

- Good day.
- Good day.

This is a quiet street.

There's nothing to be gained
from poor rue du Poirier.

Have you been set up here for long?

Since I returned
from the siege of Prague,

with Mr Chevert.

A great man,
and a great soldier.

My father knew him well
in his youth.

The other boot...

I owe him his savings,

with which I was able
to open this shop.

I live, sleep and work here.

Rue Montmartre,
third house after the cul-de-sac.

Ask for Catherine, from Nicolas.

There will always be
soup, bread and meat for you.

It's not every day
old soldiers get to chat!

Would you happen to know
a man named Hénéfiance around here?

He's a grain merchant.

That nasty tale goes back a while.

Hénéfiance Senior
was a very rich man,

who was portrayed
as one of those leeches

who sucks the blood of the people

and traffics grain
with unscrupulous folk.

Do you doubt he was such a leech?

I have no idea, sir.

One day,
proof arrived in large quantities,

and with the judges,
they took all he had.

Hénéfiance Senior died in prison.

They say
he was treated very poorly.

And the son
was sent to the galleys,

and was taken in shackles to Brest.

Son? What son?

Oh, he was a most handsome
and most courteous young man,

who his father cherished dearly,

and whom he also cherished.

Rumour was he got away
on the galleys at Brest.

But nobody gets away
on the galleys at Brest.

Since then,
the bakery has been abandoned.

Nothing stirs within.

Where is this bakery?

Bit further on,
behind the ruins of the old wall.

You can't miss it.

On the front, you can still read
"The Cèrés Arms".

Is somebody there?

Is somebody there?

Now cabbage grows there, you say?

It's not in season,
so it's an expensive legume.

Chicks and cabbages...

And a panelled room,

fitted with a fireplace,

but a brazier was there,
which was used not long before.

It was empty and seemed abandoned,

and it overlooked two streets.

Chicks and cabbage!

While you were frolicking
in gardens and backyards,

I was consulting
the police archives.

I have two leads
which will greatly surprise you.

First, everything concerning
the Hénéfiance affair

has been removed from the dossiers.

I only found a very tenuous link
in the father's death certificate

and the son's conviction notice.

The effects, without the causes.

This kind of thing, alas,
is not uncommon in state affairs.

Yes...

Both documents
were signed by the same person,

one Police Lieutenant-General
Antoine de Sartine.

Secondly...

Mr Denis Caminet,

the supposed apprentice baker's boy
at the Mourut bakery,

is in fact
the sole and principal inheritor,

given that he is
Mr Mourut's biological son.

Mourut's son?

What are you saying?

A notarial act proves this.

- You didn't know?
- I did not!

Don't believe me if you want.

That dandy, as you call him,
undoubtedly didn't know either.

Had he known,
would that have stayed his hand?

What do you know
about your husband's death,

that you have neglected to tell me?

Nothing.

There's a high price to pay
for patricide.

That goes for complicity too.

Caminet had, on numerous occasions,
wished for his master's death.

He hasn't been seen since.

I owe you part of the truth,
Commissioner.

Is that all?

Mr Mourut didn't not frequent
La Gourdan at all.

It was I who would go there.

Caminet often took me there
for parties with rich merchants.

On the night in question,
we met him there.

Did you put a price on your charms?

Not at all, sir.

My husband didn't neglect
to give me money.

I did it out of appetite...

because I wanted to feel something.

This, in your eyes,
can't be much better.

What do you know?

What happened?

We were all very thirsty.

Caminet went downstairs
to fetch some refreshments.

He came back upstairs,
trembling, as white as a sheet.

He had just crossed a man
in his Sunday best,

whom he thought was his master.

He feared that upon his return,
he would recognise him.

And then?

We both fled
out of the priest's door.

I returned home immediately,

whereas Caminet went back.

Went back where?

How should I know?
To La Gourdan, undoubtedly.

He wanted to make sure
he wasn't mistaken.

In any event,
he didn't come back.

Now I've told you this
in good faith,

are you likely to let me off,
Commissioner?

I don't know, Madam.

I don't know.

The little commissioner
is stirring things up.

He might end up causing us trouble.

He's reputed
to have the flair of a spaniel,

the swiftness of a greyhound
and the stubbornness of a mastiff.

This chap is dangerous.

Well, Chevalier, what say you?

Eliminating him
presents no difficulty.

- But there's no rush.
- No rush?

Is that for you to decide?

You seem to be a poor strategist.

Your last flight of fancy
cost us several men.

Since when did you care
about the men, your Excellency?

They say you're most wasteful,
on the battlefield.

I needed that ambush
for Sartine to trust me fully.

What does Sartine matter?
I need Le Floch to die!

Stop doing that!

What vileness afflicts you?
It would most likely sicken us!

From what whorehouse
did you pick up this chevalier?

You need me
more than I need you, Conti.

As for the Marquis, right now,
he is more useful alive than dead.

I have come to doubt
your loyalty to me.

Doubt away, Prince, as you like.

Don't they say that doubt
often shows a man's intelligence?

For me, all that matters
is Turgot's downfall.

His activism threatens parliament.

But what about you, Mr Lastire?

What designs are you chasing?

- What strange compulsion...
- Please...

your Excellency...

Checkmate.

Mourut's wife is most strange.

Do you believe her to be
guilty of anything?

Guilty, I don't know,
but complicit, perhaps.

However,
I did make her drop her guard,

hoping she would lead me
to her dandy.

Well, Nicolas,

our friend Bourdeau told me
you were getting into farming!

Chicks and cabbage!

Yes! The chicks were so tiny!

I found this in the process.

Take a look.

It was on the ground.

Where did you find this?

In an old grain storehouse,
rue du Poirier.

Once home to one Hénéfiance.

Hénéfiance, you say?

Yes, Hénéfiance.

Does the name ring any bells?

That is a chapter of my life
I do not wish to return to.

Hénéfiance was no better
than his companions,

but he was also far from the worst.

Like now,
people spoke of the Famine Pact,

and the masses were stirring.

It was in order, we believed,
to save the former King.

Somebody had to pay for all this.

When he was denounced,

Hénéfiance
was viewed as a conspirator.

Who denounced him?

Mr Mourut,
who was already out on bail.

I had no reason to doubt him
or his righteousness.

Was this revenge, then?

I thought the little guy
was still sleeping,

since he hadn't touched his food
at all.

Then, I saw the blood.

Your witness is fine, Nicolas.

although very weak.

Did he try to kill himself?

No.

But there is some surprising news.

Your baker's boy,
what was his name?

Friope, Alain Friope.

Well, Alain, your baker's boy,

is not a boy, but a girl,
and a strong one at that.

She's had a miscarriage,
from which I hope she'll recover,

despite the blood loss.

Bring towels and clean water!

Well then,
what else are you hiding?

It was Caminet...

he found out
what Friope really was.

He threatened us.

Either he'd tell on her
and get us kicked out...

or...

Or?

Or,
she'd have to give herself to him.

Last Saturday...

he gave us a deadline
to make our decision.

So I followed him,

after he had done accompanying
the master's wife.

And what did you see?

The master was leaving a house
when Caminet arrived.

Then a violent dispute broke out.

The master wanted
to take him away...

but during the squabble...

Caminet fell over.

His head hit a bollard.

I didn't see him get up.

And then?

Then, the master stood
with his head in his hands,

and another man
came out of the house.

Would you recognise this man?

It was dark.

If you're lying, boy...

Any guard reports?

The guards found a man
who was as dead as he was naked,

near Pont Sainte Marie.

This man was around 20 years old,

more certainly bourgeois
than a man for hire.

Come now, my boy.

Is this him?

Denis Caminet?

- Are you sure?
- It's him.

Nicolas,
your baker's girl will live.

Now, from the cells of Venus,
I'm off to "The Cèrés Arms".

The Lady isn't there.

Who isn't where?

The Countess didn't get to Saumur.

I went back to Versailles,

a man who seemed
to watch the grounds

told me
she hadn't been there either,

not since she was sent there
by your orders

with some chevalier.

- Lastire?
- Lastire, yes.

Find her for me.

Move Heaven and Earth!

Find her for me!

Sir!

Have you lost your mind,
Commissioner?

I will hold you
personally responsible

if anything happens
to the Countess of Arranet!

And how does this concern me?

As a riot was starting up,
I trusted her to your man Lastire!

What!

That wasn't his job!

It doesn't matter! He's gone!

And the Countess
didn't arrive at her destination!

What do you know of him?

He performed admirably
at the siege of Pondichéry,

and the father of your countess

personally recommended him to me!

Nothing more than that?

Nothing more
than what interests me.

May I consult
your ministry archives?

Would forbidding you
stop you from doing so?

Certainly not, sir.

I'm looking for Chevalier Lastire,

a Navy gunner who took part
in the siege of Pondichéry.

How strange, not long ago,
another man made the same enquiry.

What was that man's name?

Arnaud Pierre de Cérès.

Arnaud Pierre de Cérès?

What did he want?

He was looking for his cousin,
Lastire.

I don't know what he found,
but there's a missing page.

However, we do have something.

The crew roster,
archived in another book,

where all changes were noted.

- Pondichéry, you say?
- Yes, Pondichéry, Lastire.

Chevalier Lastire...

Chevalier Lastire!

Commander André Blanchard,
commander of the schooner Ulysse,

reports the burial at sea

of the body of Chevalier
Antoine Lucien de Lastire,

officer of the King's Navy.

Died after being suddenly hit

with a violent,
unforeseeable apoplexy.

And one Arnaud Pierre de Cérès
was also a crew member.

Would you describe the man
who came here?

A big, handsome man,
tanned with sombre eyes.

He had a stiff tone,
like any officer.

A thousand pardons, sir,

I failed in finding the girl.

Lastire is not Lastire.

Hénéfiance and Lastire
are one and the same.

That's why Lastire remains elusive!

This explains nothing,
especially not that.

You! Keep looking! Go!

Tell me, Nicolas.

Hénéfiance escaped the galleys,

then he joined the Navy

under the name
Arnaud Pierre de Cèrés.

Then...

he stole the identity
of one Chevalier Lastire.

The young Lastire, in his youth,
served the Admiral of Arranet.

The fake had no problem
getting close to him...

and his daughter...

To what end?

I don't know.

Commissioner?

Mr Le Noir wishes to see you
right away.

Disgraced, my friend.

A large police operation
took place without my knowledge.

A vast operation
which attacked the people,

and not the monopolists.

Men died.

The Monarchy also suffered
its own losses.

Now, I've received a message
from the King,

letting me know that his Majesty
will accept my resignation.

This must
be the vengeful hand of Turgot.

He triumphs, I'm sent packing.

What does it matter?

One disgrace follows another.

My successor hasn't yet been named,

the interim
will be overseen by Sartine.

I tried to carry out my duties
in all fairness,

with firmness, and, dare I say,

with the humanity
that the rays of reason allow,

and the provisions
of a free and moral spirit.

By way of recognition...

here's an important clue

which is lacking
from your current investigation.

The Provost-Marshal of Beaumont.

So widespread was his venom
towards the King and his peers,

they locked him up for it.

This letter will open the doors,
go and question him.

Seven years, sir.

For seven years,
I have been imprisoned, in secret.

Subjected to the worse torments...

This is my kingdom, sir.

Consider, the monstrous abuse
of an arrest without cause.

The reason
must have been compelling, sir.

The Famine Pact.

It revolved around
giving control of grain provisions

to four millionaires.

To them,
methodically setting up shortages,

constant high prices,

and during the years
of poor harvests,

widespread famine
throughout the entire kingdom!

To what end, may I ask?

In order to raise the prices...

by cornering the market

on an exclusive monopoly
of grain and flour!

The King found this
to his advantage,

as did his mistress, Pompadour!

And where, in all this...

does one Hénéfiance fit in?

Although he was in
on the whole thing,

they say
he still had some scruples...

or maybe his cut
just wasn't big enough!

He went and told the whole story

to the Police Lieutenant-General
at the time,

who immediately
had him imprisoned!

What Police Lieutenant-General?

The infamous, the abominable,

Antoine de Sartine!

He continued to hate him!

Him and his progeny!

The monster
who had planned his downfall,

as well as my own!

Why?

Because it was him!

Sartine was the Pact!

Sartine was the Pact!

Sartine!

Sartine!

Sartine!

By using fine plaster
and a damp cloth to pick it up,

I recovered this sinuous print
from the chick pen.

Which is found here on the plans
of Hénéfiance's old bakery!

Let's add to that, this skin,

which was lifted from the ground.

There...

And to finish,
thanks to Mr Linné's research,

your killer
is a cold-blooded animal.

However,
I couldn't find the animal itself.

Quick! We need to get to Sartine!

- Sorry?
- Hénéfiance is after Sartine!

Quick!
Protect him whatever he tells you!

I've your killer, Nicolas.

Quite a large mamba,

with a deadly, venomous bite.

Your baker
must have perished in agony.

Nicolas!

Just one bite, and you're dead!

Damn!

My Lady!

You're safe now...

Don't shoot, Bourdeau!

I forbid you to shoot!

Listen to him, Bourdeau.

Let us leave.

Mr Le Floch...

I fear we've come to an impasse.

You have your gun pointed at me,

I have mine pointed at your master.

So that this doesn't drag on,
I suggest you let me leave.

I have a secret weapon
to use against you.

You did have one,
but now you'll pay for it,

Hénéfiance!

The Countess of Arranet is safe.

What do you mean, Hénéfiance?
I don't understand!

I'm Hénéfiance Junior, Mr Sartine.

Revenge, is there
any more ruthless form of justice?

The baker, Mourut, who said
he was good friends with my father,

he was the first to pay.

It's your turn now.

I'm going to send you to hell,

far from here,

far from these gentlemen.

- Drop your weapons.
- Could you not squeeze so hard...

Drop your weapons!

Not so hard, please!

Not on the table!
There! Further away!

Further away!

Kill him.

Kill him!

Now!

Nicolas!

Nicolas, it's over.

It's over, Nicolas!

You wanted to get me killed,
Nicolas?

You're going to die anyway!

I'd like to add that even without
the Minister's unwillingness,

I was going to protect him
without your help, Nicolas.

I could not have overcome Lastire
without you, Bourdeau.

Search him!

Those marks
were caused by shackles!

So that was the cause
of his incessant scratching!

One last thing, sir.

And you owe me an answer!

What is the truth
behind this shameful Famine Pact?

In his generosity,
and for the greater good,

the late King tried
to regulate grain,

prevent speculation,

and build up reserves to safeguard
against shortages and famines.

In short, to act
as a good father to the people!

I see nothing shameful in that.

The shame
did not emanate from him,

but from those whom he delegated
to organise this arrangement.

Without noticing...

he gave,
to those richest in the kingdom,

the very tools
to plan his execution.

It was, to put it one way,

like giving the foxes
the keys to the henhouse.

This was a well-known fact.

Some seized this opportunity
mount a conspiracy against the King

and accuse him
of speculating on grain...

in order to pay off
his mistress' debts.

Though it was all lies...

the insatiable ingenuity
of those gossip-mongers

came up with the devastating name
of the "Famine Pact".

Tempers soon reached fever-pitch.

And what was your role
in the Hénéfiance affair?

The truth, if you please.

The truth?

Which one?

Who should I believe?
You or Marshal Beaumont?

Beaumont is a just man.

His only mistake
was being mistaken.

The country needed defending.

The state need defending!
The King needed defending!

I did that,
and I regret nothing!

The rest...

the truth...

Don't you know, Commissioner...

that the truth
is both flexible and ever-changing?

My love...

Your prose,
though a little stiff...

it warms my heart.

You can really see the influence
of your Jesuit education...

as well as a few flurries of style
favoured by law clerks...

That's a bit harsh!

It's not that
there aren't any good bits

here and there...

it's this one bit,
which is very moving,

where you ask me to be your wife.

I love you, you love me,
isn't that natural?

It is, Nicolas.

Of course it's natural.

Do you remember what the late Queen
always used to say?

Marriage is all about having sex,
being fat and giving birth!

I owe you my, so-far, short life.

Do you really want
to claim it already?

My lover, as long as you want it,

and for much longer than that,
if needs be.

Married!

Let's just wait
until we're very old!

SUBTITLES: RED BEE MEDIA FRANCE