Turmoil

"No! No!"

"Be good now, listen to me, Forlan," Charles called out softly. "Brother is doing this for your own good..."

"No! I won't!" The volume grew louder.

"Alright, it might be a little unpleasant at first, but just bear with it. You'll feel better afterward."

"I just don't want to! Just let me die! Let me die!" Forlan continued to resist loudly.

"What nonsense are you talking!" Charles raised his voice. "Listen to your brother!"

"I won't! I absolutely won't!"

Charles's patience was gradually wearing thin.

"When you're sick, you should take your medicine, shouldn't you?" Charles adopted a slightly scolding tone. "And don't talk to your brother from under the covers. It's not good for you!"

"I'm staying under the covers, and I'm not taking the medicine!" The bundle of blankets wrapped itself even tighter and trembled slightly, showing just how agitated its occupant was. "I don't want to see you. Get out!"

Having wandered about in a thin nightgown for so long the previous night, and having gone through such an emotional rollercoaster, Forlan had, as a matter of course, caught a cold the next day. It seemed rather severe, so Charles had sent a message to the art studio to ask for a leave of absence, letting his sister rest and recover at home.

"Alright, don't be angry, Forlan," Charles sighed softly. "Let's just pretend nothing happened last night."

"So you do remember!" Forlan's reaction was even more intense, her voice now tinged with a sob. "Now you must be satisfied! I admit it, I often hide and read your manuscripts. Now you can be smug about it! Waaah..."

"Uh..." Charles didn't know what to say. Finally, he managed, "Actually, if you wanted to read them, I would have let you. You don't have to do it like this..."

"This is how I want to do it!"

"In any case, since I already know, let's just look forward..." Charles sat on the edge of the bed, gently patting the lump under the covers where her head was. "Don't be angry. Quickly, take your medicine and get some rest."

Under Charles's rhythmic, gentle patting, the trembling of the blankets gradually subsided, finally returning to stillness. "Really?"

"Really. From now on, you can read however you like. You can read it openly if you want, or if you want to read it secretly, I can pretend I don't know. How does that sound?" Charles replied softly.

After a moment's wait, a voice came from under the covers again. "Then in the future, you must pretend you don't know. And you're not allowed to barge in again when I'm in the study!"

Even if I pretend not to know, I still know, don't I? Are we just going to deceive ourselves together? What is this girl's logic? Charles was somewhat bewildered. He found that he understood his sister less and less.

Yes, as his sister grew older, she was increasingly becoming a standard, inscrutable French woman. Charles felt this reality with a sharp pang.

Oh, God, what have I done wrong to deserve such a punishment? Must I watch my sister turn into another kind of creature, bit by bit? he lamented internally.

"Yes, I don't know anything," he said, his voice extremely desolate and bleak from his own sense of loss. "Nothing happened."

"Don't you dare go back on your word!" His answer made Forlan give up her resistance. The blankets were slowly pulled down, revealing a face made wan by illness, which only made it appear all the more pitifully endearing.

The girl's timid gaze made Charles forget his dissatisfaction with her in an instant.

This is my sister.

He reached out his hand and gently stroked Forlan's fair forehead.

Then, he picked up the medicine bottle from the nearby dressing table and gently brought it to his sister's lips.

Unlike the future era of advanced medicine, what doctors of this age could do was quite limited, and their equipment could only be described as rudimentary. They used all sorts of potions to treat illnesses; heaven only knew how effective they were. However, Forlan only had a common cold this time. Charles had asked the apothecary for the most commonly used remedy, so there shouldn't be any problem.

Forlan opened her lips and obediently drank the medicine her brother offered. Her tongue was slightly pale from her illness, which made Charles's heart ache a little.

"You get some rest first. I'll come and see you again tonight." Having finally completed his task, Charles felt a sense of relief. He turned and left his sister's bedroom.

Since it was almost time for lunch, Charles headed directly to the dining room. When he arrived, he found his grandfather already there, waiting to eat.

Victor, the Marquis de Tréville, was wearing a simple black flannel tailcoat over a starched white shirt, sitting ramrod straight in his seat. He was flipping through a recent newspaper. Although he never once glanced in Charles's direction, the air of authority he exuded without being angry still made Charles feel a sense of awe. His neatly trimmed, graying beard further enhanced that serious temperament.

Charles walked quietly to the dining table, sat down, and prepared to eat.

"Looking at the recent papers, there's more and more criticism of the government. It's here, there, and everywhere," the Marquis said suddenly, just as Charles sat down. "Some criticize its incompetent governance, some criticize its poor response to disasters in various regions, and some criticize it for being too servile toward foreign powers..."

"Doesn't that show that grievances from all sectors are growing? It shows the current government's control is weakening. It's even losing its power to guide and intimidate the world of public opinion."

"No, Charles. You must look through the phenomenon to see the essence," the Marquis replied coldly.

"Hmm?"

"Our family subscribes to several newspapers. Some are conservative, some support the current government, and some hold radical republican views. Yes, every newspaper or any other media outlet has its own position—even though every single one of them claims to be neutral and objective. If you read only one, you'll get nothing but brainwashed. But if you mix them all together and compare them with a calm attitude, you'll find many interesting things."

"Such as?"

"Haven't you noticed? In the opposition papers, the criticism of the government has become more and more vague lately. They aren't condemning a specific incident or the misdeeds of a specific person, but are questioning the very legitimacy of the current government's existence... And their sales haven't decreased."

"Does that mean that years of agitation are gradually taking effect, that people are no longer just disappointed or disgusted with a part of the current dynasty or a certain person, but with the existence of the dynasty itself?"

"Yes." This time, the old Marquis agreed with Charles's deduction. "People are naturally inclined to criticize the government anyway. The key is where that criticism is focused. If, a decade ago, all of France was questioning the legitimacy of the current government's existence, but now they are arguing over whether the authorities did a good job on a certain matter or whether a certain person did something wrong, that would actually mean the current government is already safe."

"You have a point," Charles conceded.

"Thanks to Monsieur 'Middle-of-the-Road' Bourbon-Orléans, France has now been reduced to a mediocre country, with none of its past glory. Our mission is to restore that glory to her."

Historical Note: Ever since the Duke of Orléans, Louis-Philippe, from a junior branch of the House of Bourbon, ascended the French throne, he adopted the surname Bourbon-Orléans. In a speech to the French parliament in 1831, he declared, "This government will follow the 'juste milieu' (the middle way)," meaning his government intended to follow a centrist path, neither radical nor conservative. As he was disliked by both the Legitimist Bourbons and the Republicans, his political opponents often quoted this phrase with extensions to mock the disrespected king.

Hearing this taunt, Charles couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes, we will restore the glory of France," Charles repeated his own heartfelt wish, then raised his glass to his grandfather. They both took a sip of wine.

Then they began to eat, for a time without a word.

Due to his age, the Marquis ate very little and finished quickly. He then went back to reading his newspaper while Charles continued to eat what was left.

"Have you placated Forlan yet?" the Marquis suddenly asked without looking up from his paper.

"Yes, I've finally managed it. She's taken her medicine now," Charles confirmed with a nod. "But because of her cold, she has no appetite and didn't come for lunch. I'll bring some food up to her later..."

"Ah, as long as she's alright..." the Marquis sighed in relief. "Children these days, they're all so delicate. Catching colds every other day, and they don't take care of their own bodies..."

Although his words seemed to be chiding his granddaughter, the Marquis's worry and doting affection for her were still palpable.

"Yes," Charles echoed his grandfather. "Forlan is a bit frail, so she needs to pay attention to her health."

"You children, not a single one of you lets me rest easy!" the Marquis suddenly sighed deeply, then looked up from his newspaper to study his grandson. "But, at last, you've all grown up... I am old and don't have much energy left to look after you. Charles, you are the older brother, and you're an adult now. You must take more care of your sister. She is too young and still doesn't understand the ways of the world."

Charles looked back at his grandfather and replied in a tone of utmost sincerity.

"I will strive to do so for my entire life."

"Very good." The Marquis nodded in approval. "Charles, remember this man's promise! I am old, and I probably don't have many years left to live. If one day I am gone, you two must support each other. Do not let time dilute the bonds of family, do you understand?"

"Your health is still excellent, how can you say such things!" Charles said, alarmed.

"Oh, please," the Marquis pursed his lips and laughed self-deprecatingly. "I am already seventy years old. Even if my health is passable now, how much more can I hope for?"

Charles was at a loss for words.

"Don't mind it. We all have to face this day eventually," the Marquis said, smiling to comfort his grandson, who looked a bit sorrowful. "What's important is to live well now! Old Victor won't close his eyes until he sees his grandchildren living good lives!"

"You certainly will," Charles replied.

"You should also pay some mind to what I told you the other day," the Marquis said, bringing up their previous conversation and continuing his admonishment. "Find a woman who is both rich and has some intelligence and talent, and continue the Tréville bloodline. Although France is very short on such women, you can still find a few..."

Ahem. Charles lowered his head and continued to eat, not daring to reply.

"And Forlan, she's not so little anymore either. We should start thinking about her future soon—don't forget, your grandmother was only sixteen when she married me, and I was mending shoes for people in Düsseldorf back then..."

Historical Note: Düsseldorf is a city on the Rhine in western Germany. During the French Revolution, many French nobles fled to this city and, out of necessity, were forced to take up many "menial trades" they had previously scorned.

On the surface, Charles did not respond, but inwardly he felt a sense of confusion. He knew in his heart that what his grandfather said was perfectly logical and, for this era, completely unproblematic. But deep inside, it seemed someone was constantly asking him a question.

Can a married sister still be considered a sister?

A moment later, he was startled by his own reaction. How could I have such a strange thought? Of course Forlan will always be my sister. No matter what happens, always.

But... if she really marries someone else...

Just as he was trapped in this strange turmoil, a servant's announcement saved him.

"Two of Mademoiselle's classmates have come to visit her?" Charles asked.

"Yes, and one of them said she also wanted to thank you personally," the servant replied.

Charles vaguely understood what was happening.

"Then let them in. I will go and receive them." As if a heavy burden had been lifted, Charles fled the dining room, and with it, his inner conflict.