Reincarnated as Napoleon II-Chapter 75: The Dinner and the Men Across the Room

Inside, the air was warm and heavy with the scent of wine, meat, butter. Low light pooled across polished wood floors. Conversations stayed contained, never rising above a steady murmur.

It was a restaurant for the elites.

A woman stood near the entrance, hands folded neatly in front of her.

"Good evening," she said. Her eyes moved briefly over them, measuring without staring. "Table for two?"

"Yes," Napoleon II replied.

She nodded and picked up two menus from the stand beside her. "Please follow me."

They walked past occupied tables. Men in tailored coats. Women leaning close, voices low. Bottles rested in metal holders, beads of condensation sliding down their sides. Candlelight caught on glass stems and disappeared again.

The receptionist stopped near the back, beside a table set close to the wall. Two chairs. Crisp linen. A single candle already lit.

"This will do," she said, pulling a chair back for Elisabeth.

"Thank you," Elisabeth replied, sitting carefully.

Napoleon II took the seat opposite her. The woman placed the menus down and stepped away without another word.

Elisabeth looked around once more, then down at the menu.

"That’s normal," he said. "They expect you not to."

A waiter appeared at their side as if summoned by the pause.

"Good evening," he said. "May I suggest something to drink?"

Napoleon II handed the menu back. "A red. Your recommendation."

The waiter inclined his head. "Very well. And for the lady?"

Elisabeth hesitated, then looked up. "The same."

"Excellent choice," the man said, already turning away.

Another waiter arrived with a bottle, dark glass catching the candlelight. He presented the label briefly, then poured. The wine settled into the glasses with a soft sound.

Elisabeth lifted hers, hesitated, then took a small sip.

Her shoulders loosened.

"It’s good."

"Let me try," Napoleon II said.

He took a sip, set the glass down, and nodded once. "Good balance."

Elisabeth watched him, then looked back at the menu. She traced a line down the page with her finger, stopping at the center.

"There are so many cuts," she said. "I don’t know the difference."

"That’s fine," he replied. "Tell me what you want from it."

She thought for a moment. "Tender. Not dry."

"Then this," he said, tapping the page. "Filet. Simple."

The waiter returned, quiet as before, notebook already open.

"Are you ready to order?" he asked.

"Yes," Napoleon II said. "Two filets. Medium."

"And sides?" the waiter added.

"Potatoes," Elisabeth said quickly, then paused. "The roasted ones."

"And vegetables," Napoleon II added. "Seasonal."

The waiter wrote it down without comment. "Very good. Sauce?"

"No sauce," Napoleon II said. "Just salt."

The waiter nodded once. "It will be prepared shortly."

The waiter stepped away.

For a while, nothing happened.

Wine glasses were lifted and set down. Cutlery clinked softly from nearby tables. Someone laughed once, quickly, then lowered their voice again. Heat from the kitchen drifted through the room in slow waves.

Elisabeth rested her hands on the edge of the table. "I don’t feel underdressed," she said quietly. "But I feel... observed."

Napoleon II took a look around and noticed the inquisitive gazes of the other patrons.

"Perhaps our disguises worked so well that they didn’t know they were staring at their Emperor and Empress," Napoleon II said in a whisper.

Elisabeth chuckled. "If they found out about it, they’d probably be shocked and certainly, attention would flock around us. It’s best that we keep ourselves discreet."

A few minutes later, plates appeared.

The waiter returned, setting one dish down, then the other. Thick cuts of steak rested at the center, juices pooled dark against the white porcelain. Roasted potatoes were stacked neatly to the side. Vegetables followed, still bright, lightly glazed.

"Enjoy," the waiter said, and was gone.

Elisabeth picked up her knife and cut into the meat. The blade slid through without resistance.

She paused, then took a bite.

Her eyes softened.

"That’s... very good," she said.

Across the room, another table sat half in shadow.

Six men wearing dark coats sitting in a military posture that didn’t soften even with wine in hand.

A waiter set down fresh glasses.

"Sergei," one of them said quietly, swirling his wine, "look around. Not a single beggar at the door."

Sergei Trubetskoy didn’t answer at first. He was watching a nearby table where a couple laughed softly over dessert.

"I’ve been looking since we arrived," he said. "Nothing. No children sleeping on stone. No soldiers chasing people away."

Yevgeny Obolensky leaned back in his chair. "And the people eat like this every night. Meat. Wine. Not just officers. Clerks. Shopkeepers."

Nikita Muravyov tapped the edge of his plate with his fork. "In Moscow, this would be a noble’s table. Here, it’s... ordinary."

Pavel Pestel spoke next. "The more I see Paris, the more I see how necessary that changes be made in our homeland."

Pyotr Kakhovsky snorted softly. "Back home, work leads to the same field your grandfather died in."

Kondraty Ryleyev glanced toward the window, where neon light still colored the street outside. "Did you see the lights tonight?" he asked. "It’s beautiful."

"The trains that we rode yesterday," Muravyov said. "Our country is so slow to adopt this modern technology."

Sergei finally took a sip of his wine. "And no serfdom," he said. "You feel it in the way they stand. No one bows out of fear. I may have hated the Bonapartes for forcing us to burn Moscow, but I can’t deny what they built. Their governance, their laws, and constitution that allowed this system to rise and uplift most of its citizens...They even have basic education for all. Children are not being forced to work."

"More like they are forced to study," Kondraty added with a snort.

"See, our country is so backward," Muravyov said. "France is getting stronger by the year...and if a coalition war breaks out in the next year, I don’t think we will have the power to stop the French. Heck, they might even conquer the whole European continent."

"True..." they intoned.

"So comrades, let’s hope that our journey here in France will be worth it."

"Our foreign minister will have a time with the Emperor of France, Napoleon II within this week. Let’s hope that he accepts our proposal."