On the Steam Tram to the Fontainebleau Sanatorium, Baron de Breteuil watched the exquisitely designed buildings flashing past outside the window, as well as the various flags fluttering from their rooftops, and felt as though his heart were bleeding.
Last year, Director Covisat had urged him to buy a few more houses here. He had given a perfunctory agreement, but had not taken it to heart at all. This place was still three or four kilometers from the sanatorium, and at the time, the surrounding area had been nothing but vast stretches of wasteland. An acre had cost less than 900 francs. How could he have imagined that now, any inconspicuous two-story building here sold for more than 3,000 francs, while upscale villas with courtyards could fetch over ten thousand! An acre could hold roughly twelve to twenty buildings...
If he had bought a few acres back then, they would have become a fortune by now.
Indeed, after royal families and political dignitaries from various countries began coming to Fontainebleau for recuperation—many of them even staying here for four months a year—they often ran into one another at places like the sanatorium's gymnasium, spa, and massage parlor, naturally exchanging a few words about current political affairs or diplomatic matters.
Before long, Fontainebleau had become a miniature permanent European "political and economic forum."
Many important pieces of information, diplomatic communications, and even political deals came out of the sanatorium's massage parlors or Tea Rooms.
Countries began, without prior consultation, to attach importance to this diplomatic hub. To improve the efficiency of handling affairs, a large number of liaison offices, secretariats, and similar departments began to spring up around the Fontainebleau Sanatorium.
Milan, Genoa, Baden, and other countries had even established Embassy branch offices here.
Since the areas closest to the sanatorium