Misfortune Only Befell the Wretched

Tsar Nicholas I frowned, thinking, The French are real blackguards! Still, at least he intends to sell, not lend.

Just then, Ilarion jabbed Pierre Giscard with his elbow, and the latter was shoved forward a couple of steps, quite unwillingly.

Tsar Nicholas I noticed the movement and asked,

"Is there something else?"

Pierre Giscard looked at Ilarion, who held his head high and refused to meet his gaze.

Pierre Giscard had no choice but to brace himself and speak.

"Our great King Louis Philippe has one more request."

Nicholas I found this long-winded fellow thoroughly irritating. He turned and said coldly,

"Speak."

Perhaps the Russian winter was too cold, or perhaps the Tsar's tone was. In any case, Pierre Giscard shivered involuntarily.

Pierre Giscard had, in fact, met plenty of important people in his time.

Whether it was James Rothschild, head of the Rothschild family in France—also known as Amschel Rothschild—or a descendant of the House of Bonaparte, he could face them calmly. He could even make them come to him for favors.

But before this imposing Tsar, he felt as helpless as a lamb waiting to be slaughtered. Still, he couldn't keep quiet.

Even if he said nothing, it wouldn't change anything. When the time came to sign the agreement, everything would come to light, and then he would be in an even worse position.

So Pierre Giscard summoned his courage and said,

"His Majesty Louis Philippe hopes you can do France a small favor."

This time, Nicholas I couldn't even be bothered to speak again. He simply looked at the other man coldly.

"His Majesty hopes Russia will help drive the Mexican forces entrenched in California out of the region."

Pierre Giscard didn't dare meet the Tsar's gaze. The palace fell deathly silent, and even the air seemed