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THE BLANCS-MANTEAUX ENIGMA

Part Two

You had a close call.

Your head was on the pavement.

Had you not been wearing your three-cornered hat,

your equally thick Breton skull would have been split open.

By Jove, I must be seriously hurt

if you have come to my bedside.

It is an annoyance, Nicolas,

particularly as my insincerity is partly to blame.

Yet you have less to fear than the king.

At last!

You have agreed at last to enlighten me.

Commissaire Lardin pressured me.

I shall spare you the details and get to the heart of the matter.

Upon the death of a foreign dignitary,

an inventory of his belongings was made.

I shall tell you neither who nor what.

However, during the inventory, which took place in his jurisdiction,

Commissaire Lardin intercepted several letters.

They are extremely compromising for the king

and could be harmful to the security of the kingdom.

That is why you promoted him as chief of the gambling police.

A fox minding geese...

It hardly kept Lardin from ruin.

Make no mistake, Nicolas.

Whatever he would lose, he'd gain elsewhere.

He ran a rigged faro table at the Dauphin Couronné.

- Yet you stood idly by? - He held me and the king in a vice!

He didn't lose,

and yet his house is empty,

run by but a few servants.

Where did his winnings go, then?

Now that Lardin has vanished, who has a grip on you now?

To my knowledge, no one has come forward yet.

Lardin might have taken certain precautions.

The idea of these letters falling into enemy hands worries me greatly.

This is why I am ordering you

to seize them,

by any means available and with all haste.

Does your head still ache?

Perfect.

You can easily imagine the anguish I feel

at the thought of the king's peril.

Glad to see you alive, sir.

Lardin has a strange house with odd comings and goings.

His wife went out and came back several times.

A ruffian left twice, though he'd not been seen entering.

Two other men, too, from out of nowhere.

What did they look like?

One is a great gangling fellow, scary looking.

Like a German mercenary.

The other one was stocky and wrapped himself in a dark cloak.

But nothing can hide his wooden leg.

A wooden leg?

My God, my friend! Your face is as pale as Death's.

What sort of trouble are you in?

It is less worrisome than yours, Scemacgus.

I have no reason to complain.

My accommodations are more pleasant than others' here.

I've warm clothes. The food is good. Drink is plenty.

In résumé, I only lack freedom.

Would you be my guest, my friend?

What do you know of the Lardin case?

Nothing to interest justice.

What can you say of Saint-Louis, your driver?

Nothing, alas. There is my main worry.

To tell you the truth, I fear the worst.

You should fear for yourself, Scemacgus.

You are suspected of murdering Commissaire Lardin.

On what grounds?

Your carnal relations with Lady Lardin.

- Ridiculous! - For the same reason,

along with others which made you find him hateful,

you are suspected of murdering Dr Descare.

Equally ridiculous!

Descare! Who would have thought of putting an end to such a life?

In either case, you might have had help

from hands as powerful as your own,

by a man able to help you accomplish your dreadful task.

Saint-Louis, right?

Your coachman and your cabriolet vanished shortly before Lardin did.

You reappeared quite late the following day.

I was at the Basse-Geôle! You saw me there.

A judge might see this as a clever criminal's attempt

to build an alibi on the testimony of the investigator.

Nicolas, do you believe me capable of such knavery?

I am not asked to think but to prove.

My friend, this case goes beyond what either of us can imagine.

My friend, I beg you, allow me to save you.

Tell me what you insist on hiding with such foolish obstinacy!

I have nothing to say.

As I've told you, I took no part in these crimes

and have no idea who committed them.

In that case, sir,

I cannot envy you your fate.

Commissaire Lardin used your home

for his rigged gaming table, unbeknownst to me.

Commissaire Lardin had the backing of Mr de Sartine.

In secret, he showed me orders from the Lt. General of the police

naming him as gaming police chief. I couldn't oppose him.

Did that then include allowing him to run a rigged table?

This note you penned...

shows you invited Lardin to a midnight repast during Carnaval.

Don't deny it. I found it in his doublet.

You might be charged as an accomplice to murder.

It was in your home, your invitation, that he met his murderer.

Who had you write this note, madame?

Commissaire Lardin did.

He also enjoined me to write two others.

One to Dr Descare

and the other to your dear friend Scemacgus.

Furthermore, Commissaire Lardin ordered

the capes and masks

designed to conceal his and his guests' identity.

The capes, as is the case with your suit,

were made by Vachon.

My gruel will be light fare, Nicolas.

But I hope the sight of your appetite

will satisfy my own vain expectations.

So, how is your friend Scemacgus?

Is he being held on the order of Mr de Sartine?

Fine for a man about to be put to the question for refusing to talk.

Put to the question?

If he remains mute, he most certainly will be.

The famous letters reportedly held by Commissaire Lardin...

The consternation of the king

is fueling his dark melancoly

and his thorough disgust with mankind.

I find something curious.

You are a man who is aware

of all things in the court and the city.

Why would you impute the late Dr Descare with Jansenism?

That faithless, lawless charlatan! What makes you think that?

His credenza has an incongruous addition: a Christ.

In that case, Nicolas, you must suspect me of Jansenism, too.

Come.

Your cabinet of curiosities.

The same one.

Descare has an identical statue.

- Where did you get it? - An unknown courier

brought it to me as an addition to my curiosities.

The piece is remarkable.

It's rather original craftsmanship.

Who gave it to you?

As anonymous as the lad who brought it in.

As I have little regard for these sorts of tragic figures,

I've left it there in the corner. There was a note attached.

I put it in this drawer, I do believe.

Indeed.

"Closed no more, they will open And pour out their words.

Lardin.

Madame, I must speak with him.

Where is your husband?

Quite certainly in Hell by now.

What makes you think it might be otherwise?

Your husband didn't lose in gambling.

Your apparent financial ruin was likely planned

so he could disappear, and then you, as well.

You're raving mad, sir.

So, then,

if he is in Hell, he may as well stay there.

- You're in a church! - You and I

want the same thing.

The same thing.

Those letters, madame. The letters which your husband

cared about so greatly.

Let us join together instead of fighting each other.

Nicolas! Are you now acting out of greed?

A paragon of integrity, as my husband called you.

Your integrity made him suspicious of you.

You, who appeared to be totally disinterested in money?

He also thought me totally disinterested in women.

You and I, however, know differently.

You've lost none of your magic, madame.

Indeed, sir. Indeed.

But I don't believe in late-in-life conversions.

How entirely regrettable for you, then.

We've little time.

Put your mind at ease,

neither the ravages of time or of men have dimmed your resplendent beauty,

which has been heightened by the fineries of widowhood.

Did you obtain the consolation you sought

in your faith and prayers?

Some consolations are less sure.

Austerity does not suit you.

I had no idea you were so prudish.

You didn't learn it plying your trade at Madame Paulet's.

You are a whore, madame, and I'll use you as such!

You generally do not detest it.

Then you'll have to pay me dearly. The price has gone up since then.

Get out before I get an inkling to jab this right in your heart.

Did the viper strike at last?

Did Mrs Lardin tell you she got visits

from the Holy Spirit and the commissaire today?

I expect this news is worth a few coins, my lord.

Rapace also deserves your consideration, my lord.

My faithful helper has deep affection for your person.

Two men alone are worth more than one alone.

A duo is a rarity these days.

There are two of them. One is called Rapace.

He's an ex-soldier who walked away from his regiment

and became a butcher as it happened.

The other one, Bricart,

was a gunner in the navy.

He boasts that he can break chains bare-fisted

as easily as he can strangle an ox with his bare hands.

- He'll do fine. - You can't miss him.

He lost a leg in a battle against the English,

and wears a wooden peg.

Excellent.

Where can I find them?

They can be found every evening in a disreputable public house

near the Sainte-Catherine cemetery.

I advise you not to go there

without a very stalwart and determined

backup squad.

I need you, Bourdeau. Our goal is in sight.

Do you believe in omens, inspector?

No more than you do, commissaire.

The place you were told about is at the corner of two cemetery walls.

We should have warned the patrolmen.

We cannot, Bourdeau. We must use stealth.

Wait here for our scoundrels.

Keep to the shadows.

There they are.

I'd have preferred to do this with the help of fellow officers!

At two against two in a surprise attack,

we'll likely get the best of them.

Look out, sir!

Jardié, the rascal got it good!

These lead-filled crutches can crack open a head!

We'll work his friend over until he tells us

what we want to hear.

That's Scemacgus's cabriolet.

Well now, Commissaire,

I have something to make you chat.

Sensitive, are we?

Tie him up, Rapace. Make him talk before I make him bleed!

Easy does it, laddie. Easy!

Believe me, my angel, yours is now a hopeless case.

Let me hear that voice a little before I cut your throat out.

On my orders, all ye Saint-Roch boys!

They've opened the gates of Hell!

- So, it's you then? - It is, sir.

Do not worry, sir, we won't hurt him as badly

as he and his fellows hurt the children they capture.

They kidnap children and sell them.

- Let us have him. - I can't.

He's at the heart of a major investigation.

I've never seen such ferocity.

Bourdeau, bind his hands.

Have him taken away promptly.

Midday or midnight?

Midnight seems more plausible to me.

- Who ordered you to set this ambush? - I shall say nothing.

And you can't do much to make me.

Only putting you to the question.

I can prove, however,

quite rapidly,

that you were present at a site where human remains were dumped.

At Montfaucon. I can also prove

that you were at Dr Descare's just prior to his death.

I can also prove you frequented Madame Paulet's

and even went into her apartment.

Bricart, step on it!

Come on, put all your weight onto it.

Come now, Bricart!

Proof positive, Bricart.

Who ordered you to do this?

On the night of Carnaval...

a stranger introduced us to three masks.

One of the three ordered the death of a man.

Commissaire Lardin's.

- I didn't know that. - Did you kill him?

No!

All we were to do

was dismember the body

and take the remains along Montfaucon road,

with his bludgeon and his personal belongings.

It was the Negro who killed him.

The Negro?

The Negro.

The coachman did him in on the orders of his master

because the man was making trouble over some love affair.

Naturally, you can't tell me more about the three masks.

Too bad, but you will talk, once you're put to the question.

Now that I think about it...

I believe I recognized...

from among the others, a woman's voice.

A woman's voice?

Commissaire,

the lieutenant general wishes to see you in his office immediately.

There is a rumour that the commissaire's death

should now be called the Lardin letter scandal.

The secret that we strove to keep is now out.

If it so happened that the kindness I oddly showed Lardin

were to be revealed,

my position would become untenable.

My position would become untenable

and so would yours, being more precarious and less sure.

Everyone is aware you are under my orders.

The royal police would be taken over by incompetents and schemers,

leaving the monarch exposed.

Take some time off, commissaire, for tomorrow...

Tomorrow?

We've no time for prevaricating.

It is in everyone's interest

to act quickly

without getting sidetracked uselessly.

You have a suspect, the naval surgeon.

Scemacgus?

I want him put to the question first thing tomorrow morning.

Given the gravity of this case,

commissaire, I expect you to be present

during Sanson the executioner's operations.

You're to take notes of every detail

and of the result.

I shall not bid you good night. You may leave now, sir.

Can't you sleep?

You're terribly gloomy.

and seem burdened by a heavy, gnawing pain.

What can I do for you that I haven't already done?

I fear there is nothing you can do.

Have you ever reflected on the strange and grievous threads

in the weave of our lives?

I try to avoid it, madame.

A man whose friendship I cherish will be put to the question tomorrow.

Tomorrow?

I mean in a while, as morning has now dawned.

A man who loves me like a younger brother...

and I can do nothing to save him.

Oh, sir, I fear for your life!

We've looked everywhere for you! Bricart is dead.

The jailer found him at dawn, on the floor of his cell,

- already cold and stiff as a tax. - How could it be?

I don't know. I've had the body carried to the Basse-Geôle,

and enjoined Sanson to proceed with opening it.

How is Scemacgus?

Your friend Scemacgus is doing very well.

He had a hearty breakfast this morning.

The question, right?

For the last time, sir, I beg you to tell me all you know.

I can say nothing other than

that I swear I am innocent of the charges laid against me.

The rest, you may perhaps hear during my conversation with Sanson.

Should matters take a bad turn, I promise...

Promise nothing.

Nothing, my friend, that you cannot hold to.

My hands tremble, see?

But neither my heart nor my spirit.

Come now, sir, let's not look so glum.

After all, you're not the one who will be tortured.

For the last time...

I can see the hard-headed Breton that you are!

Do you recognize this?

Without the slightest doubt. That is my watch.

- Where did you find it? - In your cabriolet

on the cushions still spattered with blood.

It was in a barn being used by ruffians.

One of them accuses you of ordering Lardin's murder.

It was my watch, I should say.

I gave it to my driver Saint-Louis, the day I set him free.

I gave him it so he could manage his time as a free man.

Saint-Louis?

This man did not die of natural causes.

He was beaten repeatedly by blunt instruments.

I'll take this as evidence.

One of the blows broke his ribs.

Racked by so much pain, he probably did not notice.

One move sufficed to cause a rib to puncture a lung.

The large quantity of blood caused his death.

You're not to blame. Death was already at his door.

The time has come.

Not quite yet, sir!

I'd like us to have

another look at the remains of the man known as Lardin.

The bone fracture you see here

is one that I myself set.

These remains

are not Commissaire Lardin's, they are my driver's.

Poor Saint-Louis' remains. Take a look there.

See the black smudge.

He was named for his birth place, but Saint-Louis was a Muslim.

He always shaved his head,

save one lock atop his skull

which his god could grab

the day of his death.

Old Émilie saw a light being lit and something burning.

Commissaire Lardin was bald beneath his wig.

To pass this body off as Lardin's,

that feature had to be rubbed out.

'Tis odd, my faithful friend,

that though Death has struck you dumb,

still you silently give witness to my innocence.

Not quite, Scemacgus.

This temporarily delays the excruciating torture

of the question. Go back to your cell.

I'll go back to my investigation.

So, Lardin isn't Lardin.

No.

Lardin is not Lardin.

It reinforces your initial suspicion that he isn't dead.

No, Bourdeau.

Alas, it doesn't.

Two facts contradict you. The inhuman interrogation

that Dr Descare was subjected to prior to his death,

and then, there is the harsh way his office was searched.

If Lardin were alive,

why would he need to search out

what he had so carefully hidden?

What might Lardin have concealed so carefully?

Letters.

Neither of us will ever know

their content, even if we manage to seize them.

These letters could determine the king's security

as well as Scemacgus's fate.

A note for Mr Le Floch.

A note from a lady, whose resplendent beauty

was enhanced by her somber and elegant attire,

and who instantly stole away.

"You know when and where."

The noose is tightening, madame. The noose is tightening on you.

The corpse found in Montfaucon was not your husband's.

- See, I can be fair-play. - You cannot, sir!

Tell me the truth!

The truth as well as the name of the man forcing your hand!

Anything that clears Scemacgus!

In exchange, once the path is clear, I will give you what you seek.

You can then negotiate at the highest level.

Have you found out then?

Yes, without much difficulty.

Well then, madame?

Well then, sir.

Wait no longer to produce the letters.

You've little room to maneuver.

You lack one clue that only I can provide.

I am willing to trade it,

otherwise I should be forced to destroy it.

Marie Lardin, sir,

for whom you've long had a constant and deep affection.

If I were you, I wouldn't hesitate for a second!

As the saying goes, "Innocence has no price."

Don't think you've won!

I haven't finished with you!

Commissaire, to what do I owe your visit?

Can you explain the cause of your agitation?

Pressing reasons, too long to list.

I'm all ears, sir. Make it quick and exact, please.

Our goal is in sight. You must hand me a warrant

to conduct a house search.

This sounds quite important. Whose house?

- Madame Lardin's, sir. - Good gods!

Madame Lardin's?

I shall grant you this whim.

Nevertheless...

This antique measures out one full day.

I shall give you not a fraction of another instant

to carry out my instructions and to put Scemacgus to the question.

The dandy claims he has found what we are looking for.

I do not believe his claims anymore than you.

Needless to say, he seems most upset

to hear that we hold the damsel.

Go to where she is being held.

You will personally keep watch over her.

I've had less agreeable tasks.

Well then, Mauval, wait no longer to obey me.

Nicolas.

Later, madame!

Spare me a moment! Innocence is at sake!

What innocence?

I was granted foster care of a young novice

who recently entered the Dauphin Couronné.

While I rarely feel remorse, I am capable of pity.

Be concise, please.

The poor despairing girl refused to hear my reasons.

But after Madame Paulet roughed her up a bit,

she revealed to me her first name.

She mentioned you and begged me to seek out your help.

- What is her name? - Marie.

Marie?

You asked for me, sir?

Yes. For an urgent mission that will require the entire force.

Round up all available policemen.

You, madame, with sword?

My station allows me to, as does yours.

In some traverses, having a fine blade is recommended,

particularly a sharp one, unless you're a fool.

I was helpless. The man held me.

- Who? - Mauval, Mrs Lardin's henchman.

- And the girl? - Down below,

in a cellar with that man.

Be careful, sir.

Mauval is dangerous. Commissaire Lardin never trusted him.

He should have been more cautious. I do not fear him.

I saw you were at pains to conclude several times, there.

Your precautions nearly cost you your life.

I needed him alive, madame!

Sweet, dear Nicolas!

"Relentlessly sought out have they been."

"Each one will return to the king."

Do not be offended, madame.

Mauval, your accomplice, is dead.

I have a proper warrant from Mr de Sartine

to search your house from top to bottom.

In fact, my men are already at it.

We found him in a passageway running from the cellar

to a nearby garden beyond the walls.

Come, madame! Come pay one last visit to your late husband!

Forgive me for rushing you, but this is urgent.

It is quite all right.

As I rarely have the chance to enjoy air outside the jail

I daresay I savour each one!

Well, madame, is this not your handiwork?

My handiwork? You shall have to prove it!

Lock her up at Le Châtelet now!

Throw her in a cell.

We can now explain the mysterious comings and goings.

A sliver of a passage begins here

and leads out to a garden on the Rue des Blancs-Manteaux,

where a man I had been following mysteriously vanished.

Rats have eaten the flesh, thus facilitating my examination.

We have here a shoulder blade. Notice the gash.

It could only have been inflicted by a hefty blow from a good sword.

The sword was thrust into the victim already on his back.

Per your order, Mrs Lardin is in a dank, dark cell,

propitious to meditation and introspection.

Darkness, decaying straw, and scampering rats

have a sobering effect.

I'm at a loss to make this out.

One thing is certain: the same hand penned all three notes.

It was Commissaire Lardin. I assisted him often enough

to recognize his handwriting without a shadow of a doubt.

Two of these notes were attached to the crucifixes.

One went to Mr de Noblecourt, the other went to Dr Descare.

The third was sent by Commissaire Lardin

to his own daughter, instructed to remit it to me,

in the event of misfortune.

Look, Bourdeau.

Do you see it? We have an acrostic here.

What do you read, Bourdeau?

- "Descare." - Descare, indeed.

It is the clue we've needed to finish our work.

What do we know about Lardin's will?

Nothing. Despite my insistent requests,

his notary is as silent as the grave.

I am a notary, Commissaire.

As such, it is my duty to respect utter discretion,

even when speaking to one of the king's officers.

I can hardly imagine an argument that would convince me

to give you what I obstinately denied your subordinate.

I see but one that would force you:

the question.

I'm listening.

Dr Descare's last wishes were particular

but not at all controversial.

He wanted official papers to be in my possession

so he could bequeath all his fortune, monies, buildings, furnishings,

not to his old cousin, Louise Lardin,

but to the youngest known heir, one Marie Lardin.

Could Mr Lardin have been aware of this arrangement?

It benefited his daughter.

How can you explain Descare's extravagence

toward a young distant relation?

Marie Lardin was born by a first wife who died in childbirth.

Although Lardin ignored it,

and loved the girl, and showed her touching affection,

she had not been sired by him but by Dr Descare.

Sir, I wish to protest your henchmen's methods and manners,

and proclaim my innocence!

Generally speaking, I rarely believe in innocence,

especially bedecked with the fineries of crime.

Begin, commissaire.

I'll be brief, although the case is complex.

We are faced with a two-pronged case.

First, Commissaire Lardin's scheme to disappear,

and make off with his illegal winnings.

We shall not delve into his motives,

born of greed and a disgrace to his function.

Nor shall we delve into the strange circumstances

which allowed him, in plain sight,

to run a rigged gambling table in certain establishments...

Undoubtedly aware of his schemes,

or perhaps the instigator of them,

Madame Lardin first collaborated in the subterfuge,

which sparked the feigned row at the Dauphin.

His abject assertions are unfounded!

Sit down, madame, let him continue.

Lardin expected suspicion would be cast upon a rival,

either upon the late Dr Descare

or upon naval surgeon Scemacgus, standing here.

He needed a body to pass for his own, and thus, poor Saint-Louis,

Scemacgus's coachman became his prey.

His remains, and not Lardin's,

were found near Montfaucon.

accompanied by a few of Lardin's personal belongings

masquerading as Lardin's death.

Thus far, sir,

the late Commissaire Lardin is incontestably the sole perpetrator.

I see nothing that might be held against her,

aside from complicity.

I'm getting to that, sir.

Part two of the plot

took place underground, where Lardin's corpse was found.

It was in this underground room

that Madame Lardin played her part.

As Lardin was supposed to be dead,

why not eliminate him for good?

My motive, pray tell?

Several motives, any one of them would suffice.

Your natural treachery sharpened by commerce with men

in the trade you plied

at Madame Paulet's.

So what? Others also,

presently in high society.

You, yourself, sir...

Greed, madame, and the opportunity to be rid of an old husband,

rumoured incapable of satisfying you.

But more importantly, the desire to seize

the object of your late husband's own impunity.

Stop there, Nicolas!

The letters that Commissaire Lardin held,

and which, for some odd scruple,

he was loathe to negotiate.

I suppose you now have a buyer for those letters.

What a wild imagination, sir.

For these letters, you eagerly tortured and killed

- your cousin, Dr Descare. - Prove it, sir! Prove it!

For these letters, you also eagerly ordered

the abject torture and slaying

- of your late husband. - Prove it!

I shall, madame.

I know that the sight and the odour of decomposing flesh repulses you.

This, however, is evidence.

Look carefully.

Notice how the blade and the wound of the shoulder blade

are perfectly matched.

Commissaire Lardin was finished off, sprawled on the ground,

He was stabbed in the back by this sword,

with great force.

There was another man,

sharp, bold, unscrupulous!

A fearsome swashbuckler, always ready to service you, madame.

You're familiar with my appetite, commissaire.

Mauval satisfied me thoroughly. I see no evidence

in any of this, however.

Mauval is dead, madame.

Mauval is dead and the truth

is marching in.

For I've a witness.

A witness to your plotting and blood crimes.

Bricart, the old naval gunner.

He spoke and the thud of his step sounds the truth

marching toward us.

With his testimony, you will be put to the question

if you persist in denying, and to prison if you survive.

Your beauty will fade, madame.

Your charms will promptly wither

as you rot away in a horrid lazaret.

I eliminated that foul beast.

My deed is now out.

Descare, too, was another foul beast.

Both received just punishment

for the despicable things they subjected me to.

They never saw me as anything but a harlot pulled from the gutter.

A plaything!

I will not rot in a cell, sir!

I won't!

I didn't understand your silence.

Some things escape your wisdom, sir.

Your affair was no secret. How would admitting it have compromised her?

- I loved her and gave my word. - Your word?

I hardly hoped to believed, but I hoped to be cleared.

I don't believe in justice based on confessions.

I had great hope.

For innocence cannot be proclaimed. It must be proved.

I was counting on you for that.

Your trust in mankind both delights and dismays me.

You took a huge risk.

That trust did not apply to myself.

Under torture, I might have revealed the little that I knew.

Thank you, Nicolas.

Mr de Sartine wants you to clear up a few final details.

Descare.

As you can see.

Lardin had a twisted mind

and enjoyed playing such games.

Indeed, he held these letters, but as a precaution,

not as objects for gain.

Otherwise, he'd have used them long ago.

We now know that he ordered two identical crucifixes to be made.

They were sent as anonymous gifts. One went to Mr de Noblecourt,

the other to Dr Descare.

With them, he provided clues

in three notes pointing

to the recipients of the very thing you are searching for.

The third element was safely held

by Mr de Noblecourt.

And Marie Lardin was holding dear to her breast

one of the notes meant to alert me should anything happen to Lardin.

How perverse to entrust one's safety to one's enemy.

Or an admirable ruse?

For, who would have looked inside this piece

to locate the cause of so much suffering and death?

In fact, by the oddest fashion,

Lardin set in motion the king's return.

No one is ever a bad as one might think.

Nor as good, either.

Come, Nicolas.

We must give these back to their rightful owner.

The situation is bleak. The king is morose.

I think he'll want to hear the meanders of our investigation.

May I suggest rounding the edges of certain aspects?

And then...

I believe a touch of frivolity might be appropriate.

Frivolity?

Have you found them, Sartine?

Sad trifles, indeed.

But penned by my own hand.

Such sad trifles, if one is not careful,

can cause wars.

Nothing is worse than war, Sartine.

All the wars I waged, were against my will.

They caused nothing but loss, ruin, and desolation.

It is said, marquess, that a king with no entertainment

is a miserable man.

Yes, it is.

I am well aware that you led the investigation, so...

entertain me!

Entertain me, marquess.

Adaptation: David Cox Subtitles: TÉLÉTOTA