The runway show

"Mr. Balthasar, you can't judge a book by its cover," Joseph whispered to his fashion designer. "They're here for a fashion show, not a ball."

He pointed to the giant catwalk in the square. "You see, when the guests gather below the stage, they can only see the models' figures, postures, and clothes, but they can hardly see their faces."

Balthasar nodded repeatedly. He had only been exposed to these "catwalks" and "runways" for two days and was still completely clueless.

The promotion for Fashion Week is in full swing, and the whole of Paris is buzzing about it.

Therefore, when the advertisement recruiting models for Fashion Week was published in the newspapers, the ladies of Paris were immediately excited—to wear the most fashionable and beautiful clothes in the magnificent Old Royal Palace, to be the focus of attention of the entire Europe upper class under countless lights, and to receive a high salary, who wouldn't be tempted?

Yes, the profession of fashion model didn't exist in this era, so Joseph had to hold open auditions from the general public.

For a time, "model" and "runway show" became the most popular words among Paris women. Whether they were actresses, singers, fallen women, or even Nobility ladies, as long as they had some confidence in their figure and appearance, they all considered applying to the Tuileries Palace.

After several rounds of preliminary selection by Balthasar, these few dozen people were chosen, and they are already considered the most outstanding among the candidates.

Joseph looked helplessly at the models whose movements were stiff or who were deliberately showing off their "cleavage," and couldn't help but sigh. He stood up, clapped his hands loudly to remind the models to pay attention, and then did the thing he least wanted to do but had to do again - demonstrating the catwalk.

"Watch closely, the second step is here." He was so embarrassed his scalp tingled, but he could only persevere. "First, lift your knee, 'swing' your lower leg out, then the next step..."

"Don't use too much force with your hands, just let them hang naturally... I'm not telling you to let your arms go limp! Never mind, put your hands on your hips."

"Don't let your eyes wander, keep your gaze unfocused..."

Although he didn't know how to do it, he had at least seen pigs walk, even if he hadn't eaten pork. Recalling the countless times he had watched Victoria's Victoria's Secret in his previous life, he was still able to learn a thing or two.

After he walked back and forth, the models immediately responded with enthusiastic applause.

Joseph sat back in his chair, his face dark, and said weakly, "Whoever learns it first can be promoted to coach, and their pay will double."

With the Money Power, the models immediately became serious. Several Nobility ladies who had trained in dance began to get the hang of it, and their movements gradually became more and more professional.

Joseph let them practice and experience it on their own, then turned to the group of male models on the other side of the Hall and gestured, "Please take a look as well."

Dozens of handsome young France immediately stretched out their long legs, and with their high heels, they walked with a graceful, almost seductive gait, much more elegant than the ladies around them.

"Stop..." Joseph felt like he was about to have angina. "No, that's not how it's done! This is a lady's gait..."

A bold blond young man immediately said, "Your Highness, isn't that how you walked just now?"

Joseph stopped him with a murderous glare, then turned to his Guard Captain and said, "Viscount Kex, would you please walk a few steps for everyone to see, just like you do when you stroll through the Versailles Palace?"

"Yes, Your Highness." Kexer hurried to the center of the Hall, walked forward with his head held high and chest out, exuding a heroic and powerful aura.

Joseph looked at the male models. "Please practice like this."

Under a construction shed in the Tuileries Palace Square, the head of the Fashion Week Organizing Committee was staring intently at the west Hall. There, dozens of beautiful women in gorgeous dresses walked one after another across a wooden platform, their eyes sparkling, their demeanor alluring, and their charm captivating.

He unconsciously swallowed and asked the Chamber of Commerce President beside him, "Viscount Flesselles, what's going on over there?"

"I heard it was His Crown Prince who invented this way of showcasing fashion, also called a fashion show," Flesselles replied casually, but inwardly he was thinking: I really don't know how the Crown Prince could come up with such a sensual, oh, brilliant idea at his age. Just this kind of Fashion Week will surely shock all of Europe this year.

"Brienne, you despicable, shameless bastard!" Vergennes slammed the letter on the table with a loud bang. "I swear! One day, I will tear you to pieces with my own hands!"

Hearing the commotion, his attendant hurriedly pushed open the door and peeked out, asking, "Count Excellency, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Get out!"

Vergennes turned and roared, his face colder than the snow outside the window.

The letter was written by the Duke of Orléans, and judging from the date, it was sent the day after he left Paris. However, the postman apparently couldn't keep up with him and didn't receive the letter until he stopped in Smolensk.

The letter contained only a few sentences, informing him that Anglo-French Trade Negotiations had officially begun. The negotiating representatives were Brienne and the Minister of Census, Nicoé.

Vergennes gritted his teeth, recalling how he had asked Brienne about when the trade negotiations would begin just two weeks prior. Brienne had told him that some Finance data needed for the negotiations was not yet ready and that it would take a considerable amount of time.

He was then sent to Russia to convey what he called "France concern over the Russo-Turkish War".

Unexpectedly, the Anglo-French Trade Negotiations began no sooner than he left.

What he found most unacceptable was that the person who replaced him in the negotiations was none other than that useless "Transparent Minister" Nicoé!

After a long while, he slumped weakly into a chair. It was more than 2,000 kilometers away from Paris. Even if he rushed back immediately, by the time he arrived in Paris, the treaty would surely have already been signed.

What awaits him is only ridicule from the entire Paris political scene.

The fire crackled and burned brightly in the fireplace, but Vergennes felt only a bone-chilling cold. He knew his political career was probably over...

Villa Mirabeau, on the west bank of the Seine.

Mirabeau was taken aback by the Crown Prince's sudden visit, and thus appeared somewhat flustered when he came out to greet him, "Oh, it's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness the Crown Prince."

He took a half step back with his right foot, placed his right hand on his chest, and respectfully bowed.

Joseph smiled and said, "It's a pleasure to see you too, Earl Mirabeau. Actually, I've come today because I need your help with something."

Mirabeau opened the door for him himself. "You know, Your Highness, I have always looked forward to serving you."

Upon entering the Reception Room, Mirabeau invited Joseph to sit down and enthusiastically pointed to the Black Tea that the maid had just brought, saying, "Your Highness, you must try this. It was just imported from the Far East and is far superior to those cheap India teas. Oh, by the way, is there anything you would like me to do?"

"Thank you for the tea. It tastes very good." Joseph raised his creamy teacup to Mirabeau, then added, "You may have heard that the government is promoting Potato nationwide."

(End of this chapter)