Coulomb walked out of the South Hall of the Tuileries Palace alone, the dejection on his face standing out starkly beneath the dazzling glow of the Gas Streetlights. In the hall behind him, the celebration was still going on; music drifted out from time to time, along with people's praise for the winners. Yet to Coulomb's ears, all of it was nothing but merciless mockery aimed at him.
"Mr. Monge shouldn't have lied to me..."
He muttered as he pulled up his collar, then gestured to the servant waiting outside. "Martin, bring the carriage over."
As early as half a month ago, the French mathematician Monge, a member of the judging committee, had privately told him that this year's physics prize had basically already been decided—it would be awarded to him.
But just now, when Mr. Leroy read out "the physics prize," he had already risen to his feet, only for the name he heard to be that Englishman's! The sound of hooves came from nearby.
Coulomb was just about to get into the carriage when he heard someone call him from behind. "Mr. Coulomb, is that you?
"Oh, no wonder I couldn't find you anywhere. Why did you leave early?"
Coulomb knew that voice very well. It was Leroy, president of the Academy of Sciences.
He hurriedly turned and bowed. "Ah, I drank a little too much. You know, the Wine prepared by the Academy was far too fragrant and mellow, so I thought I would go back first and rest."
"That is not very good." Leroy said, "His Highness the Crown Prince wishes to summon you tomorrow morning. I hope you will not be hungover then."
The next day.
Versailles Palace, in the Crown Prince's reception room.
Coulomb widened his eyes and looked at His Highness the Crown