The tense situation that occurred at the Rambouillet Relief Home was eventually suppressed by force.
The situation was brought to a halt when Ottavio de Contarini and Ippolito de Mare confronted the poor with swords drawn, and the Rambouillet relief workers rushed out.
The relief workers violently suppressed the poor by swinging clubs and pouring cold water on them, and the people in the food line, most of whom were children, their mothers, or teenagers, scattered in all directions like rats encountered by torches as if they had never raised their voices.
“I’m so embarrassed!”
Mr. Albany, who was now in charge of the Rambouillet Relief Home, apologized earnestly to Countess Baljo, president of the Ladies of the Silver Cross, for the whole affair.
After the death of Queen Marguerite, the position of director of the Rambouillet Home was vacant.
Mr. Albany was the head of the relief home's office, the highest-ranking relief home official other than the director.
“I am speechless even if I had ten mouths to say that such a dangerous situation has occurred to you who have shown kindness to the inmates.”
Baroness Loredan was about to say something more to Mr. Albany, who was taking a humble stance.
But Countess Baljo raised a hand with a show of grace and stopped Baroness Loredan.
“Violetta. That’s it.”
“But...!”
“It is the virtue of nobles like us to be lenient when those who are ignorant cause trouble.”
Kamondo, the Director of Planning and Finance, who was standing behind Mr. Albany, the Director of the Office, barely restrained himself from hitting Countess Baljo.
It was so frustrating that they were the ones who caused the accident, and now they are trying to arrogantly accept an apology.
But Mr. Albany bowed his head without wavering an inch.
“I am grateful for your grace, Madam.”
Here Ippolito intervened arrogantly.
There was no way he could miss a chance to show off and impress the ladies.
“The instigator? Are you going to leave the instigator alone? If it weren’t for Mr. Ottavio here, our Isabella would have been hurt!”
Baroness Loredan, who had been suppressed, burst out at this moment.
“That’s right. The instigators must be punished! Those poor, worthless bastards!”
“We will conduct a thorough investigation.”
Mr. Albany, the office manager, bowed deeply. Mr. Kamondo, who could not stand to watch, added a word.
“It’s not easy to figure out who did it, given the nature of the poor...”
But Mr. Albany cut off Mr. Kamondo and continued on.
“We will investigate thoroughly and punish them severely!”
Ippolito quite liked the manager's stern attitude.
Ippolito turned his gaze toward the Countess of Baljo with a haughty expression.
Countess Baljo merely glanced at Ippolito with nobility, but Baroness Loredan bowed slightly in thanks instead.
The Baroness is not bad either, although she is a little discouraged by the lack of recognition from the Captain. Ippolito smiled.
Countess Baljo raised her chin haughtily.
“Yes. We trust Mr. Albany and will go now.”
“Please be careful on your way back. Don’t worry, the relief center staff will escort you to the main gate.”
"Ha."
As soon as the nobles noisily left Mr. Albany's office, Mr. Kamondo, who was standing behind him, exploded in anger.
“No, Chief Secretary. How can this be possible! You’re telling us to catch the ringleader and punish him when they were the ones who provided the cause? The people who gathered in the garden that day were not guilty of anything other than being angry because they were afraid of starving!”
Mr. Albany stopped Mr. Kamondo with an expression that was hard to tell whether it was indifferent or gloomy.
“Don’t be so stubborn, Kamondo. Your flaw is that you’re too bold.”
He opened the cabinet with his hunched shoulders, which seemed thick with fatigue, and took out the almond biscotti he had carefully stored inside.
The outside was thickly sprinkled with sugar.
Wagjak!
"I'm going to burst," said Mr. Albany, stuffing his mouth full of sweet cookies.
“How can we catch the ringleader? The nobles are causing this mess and the poor are already starving until dinnertime. If we arrest the person who came forward, it’ll really cause a riot.”
To the poor, 'dinner' was like 'family' or 'home' to ordinary people.
Poverty makes people weak, but it is not fatal or petty.
Anyone would be in an uproar if they were to take away just one thing they hold dear.
Mr. Albany took another bite of his biscotti.
Mr. Albany did not offer Mr. Kamondo any cookies, but Mr. Kamondo understood.
It was an expensive snack that was hard to afford on the salary of a manager working at a relief center, but it was Mr. Albany's only source of stress relief.
If he asks to share it, there will be chaos.
“There are people who will die soon and be carried away. People who are very sick.”
“...It’s always there.”
“If someone of similar age appears there, they say that person is the ringleader. We caught him, but unfortunately he died. The nobles are just venting their anger, so they don’t care if the person who died is real or not.”
Mr. Albany ate most of the biscotti in two bites and finished it cleanly on his third and final bite.
He gestured for Mr. Kamondo to leave, his mouth full of candy, and Mr. Kamondo left his boss's office with a hunched back.
The group that caused the uproar at the Rambouillet Relief Home dispersed in front of the relief home.
Isabella and Ippolito returned to the Cardinal's residence in a carriage, while Ottavio rode on horseback to the Contarini palace.
And Camellia, who stopped by Bartolini Street in the morning and rode Clemente's carriage together to the relief home, returned to Count Bartolini Street with Clemente.
“...”
Camellia kept her mouth shut. But she couldn't hide the fact that she was clenching her fists and trembling with anger.
She replayed Ottavio's actions over and over again.
Her fiancé, Ottavio, harassed Camelia as soon as the riots among the poor were over.
“Camellia! How could you push Isabella in front of those rascals? Is she your friend?”
Ottavio's eyes were rolled back. He chased Camellia, forgetting all his usual sternness.
Camellia clenched her fists and trembled, not knowing what to say to Ottavio.
There was so much I wanted to say. Why is Isabella, my friend? Is it me who is in danger first or Isabella?
In the end, the words that Camellia blurted out were as follows:
“Ottavio...! How could you do this to me?”
“What are you talking about? You were wrong, so why is this turning into a story about me wronging you?”
“You stayed still when I was in danger, but when Isabella was in danger, you pulled out your sword!”
“You came running as soon as you saw me! How can you be so narrow-minded? Do you think I pretended not to notice you?”
“I screamed, but you didn’t hear me? And you were right next to me the whole time! You could have drawn your sword right when I was in danger!”
“What do you know about swords? Are you just suspicious without knowing anything? What do you think of people to make such noises? No, and you were the one who told me to stay away from you in the first place!”
Camellia hated this situation more than death, where she was fighting with her fiancé in front of others. The pride of a virtuous wife was her husband's respect.
Above all, Isabella was watching the whole situation with her big purple eyes blinking.
She was standing next to her brother, Ippolito, looking down at Camellia with a pitiful expression.
Isabella's pure and beautiful face showed signs of trouble, regret, and apology, but to Camellia, who knew Isabella de Mare's nature well, it just seemed wrong.
'You must be laughing hysterically inside!'
Isabella was indeed experienced.
Even though she watched the whole fight between Ottavio and Camellia from beginning to end, she didn't interfere until the end, keeping an eye on Countess Baljo and Baroness Loredan.
As Ottavio grumbled and was led to a corner by Ippolito's hand, Isabella finally approached Camellia, sat down next to her, and handed her a glass of cool water.
Camellia glared sharply at Isabella as if she was about to throw cold water on Isabella's face.
To the untrained eye, Camellia would appear to be the perpetrator.
Isabella carefully patted Camellia's back.
Camellia flinched to the side in shock at the sudden touch, even though they were not even close to touching each other.
When Camellia suddenly pulled away, Isabella lowered her head in surprise and sat down for a moment, then stood up next to Camellia with a hurt expression.
“...I’m sorry.”
And then she went away to a far corner, looking like she was dead.
Camellia's mistreatment of Isabella was seen without any filter by Countess Baljo and Baroness Loredan.
“Tsk tsk tsk.”
Camellia could not hear what the Countess of Baljo and the Baroness of Loredan were talking about, but it was probably about the jealousy and inferiority complex of young girls toward their peers, and the poor Isabella who was criticized for being pretty despite her good manners.
Camellia trembled in embarrassment.
Camellia, sitting with her mouth shut in the Bartolini family's carriage, wanted to disappear into the ground.
This moment of having to ride in the same carriage as Ottavio's sister was hell.
“...Camellia.”
When Clemente called her, Camellia looked sharply at Clemente.
If you tell him that Ottavio didn't mean to do that, or that men are dull and don't know what to do, and that you should hold him back, I might jump out of the carriage.
But the story Clemente de Bartolini told was completely unexpected.
“...Everyone knows that Isabella has a bad attitude...”
Camellia looked at Clemente with her eyes wide open and red like a rabbit's.
“Do Countess Baljo and Baroness Loredan know of this fact?”
From Camellia's perspective, it was a question that required some thought.
She was curious to know what the ladies of power thought of Isabella, but honestly asking them seemed like asking too many questions.
Clemente just smiled awkwardly and didn't answer.
Clemente alone thinks so, Countess Baljo and Baroness Loredan don't seem to think so.
But for Camellia, this was enough for now.
“You saw it too, Sister! Her tail wagging!”
“...”
“Honestly, you know everything, right? I’m really sick of that girl’s vixen behavior!”
For Clemente de Bartolini, Isabella de Mare was a thorn under her fingernails and a fishbone around her throat.
Isabella surrounded Clemente with guilt, believing that she had brought upon herself the stigma of being the Marquis of Campa's mistress, and used this as an opportunity to extract petty benefits from Clemente, hinting that she could expose the affair to Count Bartolini at any time whenever Clemente did not appear to be listening.
But Clemente de Bartolini, who was naturally timid, could not possibly rise up and strike Isabella.
All she ended up saying was this:
“...If there’s anything I can help you with, please let me know.”
I wish Camellia would do something real and bring down Isabella de Mare.
She won't be able to show her face in the capital. No, she'll be thrown into a convent in a remote area.
Isabella returned home in a very good mood.
There was an incident in the middle where she almost came into contact with some dirty, poor, slackers, but it all ended well.
Ottavio de Contarini begged her in front of his fiancée, and Camellia, who was so offended that he blushed, ended up hitting Ottavio.
'Tsk, how impatient.'
No matter how pretty your face is, if you can't read a man's mind, you're a loser.
Camellia de Castiglione—though inferior to Isabella—had some pretty features when examined closely.
Unlike Isabella, who had outstanding sculptural beauty and a slender physique, Camellia had chubby cheeks and a bit of flesh on her body, giving her a cute yet feminine charm.
'Then what should you do? If you keep nagging your man like that in front of everyone without any thought for his dignity, your cheeks will look like a pig's and your body like bacon.'
Isabella, who had been pretending to be nice in front of Countess Baljo, moved to meet her brother and talked to Ottavio as if she was going to see him.
“Please be kind to your fiancée. But... I’m glad you saved me.”
Isabella was convinced as she watched Ottavio's face go blank.
Eros, the pagan God of love, is said to have shot an arrow straight into Ottavio's heart.
Even Ippolito, who is usually sarcastic, quietly applauded her skills today.
So Isabella knew that today would end fantastically.
That was until he entered the de Mare mansion and encountered his half-sister.
“Sister.”
Her illegitimate sister, with her dark hair as thick as a crow's, stood half a head taller than Isabella and looked down at her.
“You're going to stop volunteering for the time being.”
Isabella snapped harshly, feeling her good mood shatter all day long.
“Who are you to dare tell me what to do?”
The situation was brought to a halt when Ottavio de Contarini and Ippolito de Mare confronted the poor with swords drawn, and the Rambouillet relief workers rushed out.
The relief workers violently suppressed the poor by swinging clubs and pouring cold water on them, and the people in the food line, most of whom were children, their mothers, or teenagers, scattered in all directions like rats encountered by torches as if they had never raised their voices.
“I’m so embarrassed!”
Mr. Albany, who was now in charge of the Rambouillet Relief Home, apologized earnestly to Countess Baljo, president of the Ladies of the Silver Cross, for the whole affair.
After the death of Queen Marguerite, the position of director of the Rambouillet Home was vacant.
Mr. Albany was the head of the relief home's office, the highest-ranking relief home official other than the director.
“I am speechless even if I had ten mouths to say that such a dangerous situation has occurred to you who have shown kindness to the inmates.”
Baroness Loredan was about to say something more to Mr. Albany, who was taking a humble stance.
But Countess Baljo raised a hand with a show of grace and stopped Baroness Loredan.
“Violetta. That’s it.”
“But...!”
“It is the virtue of nobles like us to be lenient when those who are ignorant cause trouble.”
Kamondo, the Director of Planning and Finance, who was standing behind Mr. Albany, the Director of the Office, barely restrained himself from hitting Countess Baljo.
It was so frustrating that they were the ones who caused the accident, and now they are trying to arrogantly accept an apology.
But Mr. Albany bowed his head without wavering an inch.
“I am grateful for your grace, Madam.”
Here Ippolito intervened arrogantly.
There was no way he could miss a chance to show off and impress the ladies.
“The instigator? Are you going to leave the instigator alone? If it weren’t for Mr. Ottavio here, our Isabella would have been hurt!”
Baroness Loredan, who had been suppressed, burst out at this moment.
“That’s right. The instigators must be punished! Those poor, worthless bastards!”
“We will conduct a thorough investigation.”
Mr. Albany, the office manager, bowed deeply. Mr. Kamondo, who could not stand to watch, added a word.
“It’s not easy to figure out who did it, given the nature of the poor...”
But Mr. Albany cut off Mr. Kamondo and continued on.
“We will investigate thoroughly and punish them severely!”
Ippolito quite liked the manager's stern attitude.
Ippolito turned his gaze toward the Countess of Baljo with a haughty expression.
Countess Baljo merely glanced at Ippolito with nobility, but Baroness Loredan bowed slightly in thanks instead.
The Baroness is not bad either, although she is a little discouraged by the lack of recognition from the Captain. Ippolito smiled.
Countess Baljo raised her chin haughtily.
“Yes. We trust Mr. Albany and will go now.”
“Please be careful on your way back. Don’t worry, the relief center staff will escort you to the main gate.”
"Ha."
As soon as the nobles noisily left Mr. Albany's office, Mr. Kamondo, who was standing behind him, exploded in anger.
“No, Chief Secretary. How can this be possible! You’re telling us to catch the ringleader and punish him when they were the ones who provided the cause? The people who gathered in the garden that day were not guilty of anything other than being angry because they were afraid of starving!”
Mr. Albany stopped Mr. Kamondo with an expression that was hard to tell whether it was indifferent or gloomy.
“Don’t be so stubborn, Kamondo. Your flaw is that you’re too bold.”
He opened the cabinet with his hunched shoulders, which seemed thick with fatigue, and took out the almond biscotti he had carefully stored inside.
The outside was thickly sprinkled with sugar.
Wagjak!
"I'm going to burst," said Mr. Albany, stuffing his mouth full of sweet cookies.
“How can we catch the ringleader? The nobles are causing this mess and the poor are already starving until dinnertime. If we arrest the person who came forward, it’ll really cause a riot.”
To the poor, 'dinner' was like 'family' or 'home' to ordinary people.
Poverty makes people weak, but it is not fatal or petty.
Anyone would be in an uproar if they were to take away just one thing they hold dear.
Mr. Albany took another bite of his biscotti.
Mr. Albany did not offer Mr. Kamondo any cookies, but Mr. Kamondo understood.
It was an expensive snack that was hard to afford on the salary of a manager working at a relief center, but it was Mr. Albany's only source of stress relief.
If he asks to share it, there will be chaos.
“There are people who will die soon and be carried away. People who are very sick.”
“...It’s always there.”
“If someone of similar age appears there, they say that person is the ringleader. We caught him, but unfortunately he died. The nobles are just venting their anger, so they don’t care if the person who died is real or not.”
Mr. Albany ate most of the biscotti in two bites and finished it cleanly on his third and final bite.
He gestured for Mr. Kamondo to leave, his mouth full of candy, and Mr. Kamondo left his boss's office with a hunched back.
***
The group that caused the uproar at the Rambouillet Relief Home dispersed in front of the relief home.
Isabella and Ippolito returned to the Cardinal's residence in a carriage, while Ottavio rode on horseback to the Contarini palace.
And Camellia, who stopped by Bartolini Street in the morning and rode Clemente's carriage together to the relief home, returned to Count Bartolini Street with Clemente.
“...”
Camellia kept her mouth shut. But she couldn't hide the fact that she was clenching her fists and trembling with anger.
She replayed Ottavio's actions over and over again.
Her fiancé, Ottavio, harassed Camelia as soon as the riots among the poor were over.
“Camellia! How could you push Isabella in front of those rascals? Is she your friend?”
Ottavio's eyes were rolled back. He chased Camellia, forgetting all his usual sternness.
Camellia clenched her fists and trembled, not knowing what to say to Ottavio.
There was so much I wanted to say. Why is Isabella, my friend? Is it me who is in danger first or Isabella?
In the end, the words that Camellia blurted out were as follows:
“Ottavio...! How could you do this to me?”
“What are you talking about? You were wrong, so why is this turning into a story about me wronging you?”
“You stayed still when I was in danger, but when Isabella was in danger, you pulled out your sword!”
“You came running as soon as you saw me! How can you be so narrow-minded? Do you think I pretended not to notice you?”
“I screamed, but you didn’t hear me? And you were right next to me the whole time! You could have drawn your sword right when I was in danger!”
“What do you know about swords? Are you just suspicious without knowing anything? What do you think of people to make such noises? No, and you were the one who told me to stay away from you in the first place!”
Camellia hated this situation more than death, where she was fighting with her fiancé in front of others. The pride of a virtuous wife was her husband's respect.
Above all, Isabella was watching the whole situation with her big purple eyes blinking.
She was standing next to her brother, Ippolito, looking down at Camellia with a pitiful expression.
Isabella's pure and beautiful face showed signs of trouble, regret, and apology, but to Camellia, who knew Isabella de Mare's nature well, it just seemed wrong.
'You must be laughing hysterically inside!'
Isabella was indeed experienced.
Even though she watched the whole fight between Ottavio and Camellia from beginning to end, she didn't interfere until the end, keeping an eye on Countess Baljo and Baroness Loredan.
As Ottavio grumbled and was led to a corner by Ippolito's hand, Isabella finally approached Camellia, sat down next to her, and handed her a glass of cool water.
Camellia glared sharply at Isabella as if she was about to throw cold water on Isabella's face.
To the untrained eye, Camellia would appear to be the perpetrator.
Isabella carefully patted Camellia's back.
Camellia flinched to the side in shock at the sudden touch, even though they were not even close to touching each other.
When Camellia suddenly pulled away, Isabella lowered her head in surprise and sat down for a moment, then stood up next to Camellia with a hurt expression.
“...I’m sorry.”
And then she went away to a far corner, looking like she was dead.
Camellia's mistreatment of Isabella was seen without any filter by Countess Baljo and Baroness Loredan.
“Tsk tsk tsk.”
Camellia could not hear what the Countess of Baljo and the Baroness of Loredan were talking about, but it was probably about the jealousy and inferiority complex of young girls toward their peers, and the poor Isabella who was criticized for being pretty despite her good manners.
Camellia trembled in embarrassment.
Camellia, sitting with her mouth shut in the Bartolini family's carriage, wanted to disappear into the ground.
This moment of having to ride in the same carriage as Ottavio's sister was hell.
“...Camellia.”
When Clemente called her, Camellia looked sharply at Clemente.
If you tell him that Ottavio didn't mean to do that, or that men are dull and don't know what to do, and that you should hold him back, I might jump out of the carriage.
But the story Clemente de Bartolini told was completely unexpected.
“...Everyone knows that Isabella has a bad attitude...”
Camellia looked at Clemente with her eyes wide open and red like a rabbit's.
“Do Countess Baljo and Baroness Loredan know of this fact?”
From Camellia's perspective, it was a question that required some thought.
She was curious to know what the ladies of power thought of Isabella, but honestly asking them seemed like asking too many questions.
Clemente just smiled awkwardly and didn't answer.
Clemente alone thinks so, Countess Baljo and Baroness Loredan don't seem to think so.
But for Camellia, this was enough for now.
“You saw it too, Sister! Her tail wagging!”
“...”
“Honestly, you know everything, right? I’m really sick of that girl’s vixen behavior!”
For Clemente de Bartolini, Isabella de Mare was a thorn under her fingernails and a fishbone around her throat.
Isabella surrounded Clemente with guilt, believing that she had brought upon herself the stigma of being the Marquis of Campa's mistress, and used this as an opportunity to extract petty benefits from Clemente, hinting that she could expose the affair to Count Bartolini at any time whenever Clemente did not appear to be listening.
But Clemente de Bartolini, who was naturally timid, could not possibly rise up and strike Isabella.
All she ended up saying was this:
“...If there’s anything I can help you with, please let me know.”
I wish Camellia would do something real and bring down Isabella de Mare.
She won't be able to show her face in the capital. No, she'll be thrown into a convent in a remote area.
***
Isabella returned home in a very good mood.
There was an incident in the middle where she almost came into contact with some dirty, poor, slackers, but it all ended well.
Ottavio de Contarini begged her in front of his fiancée, and Camellia, who was so offended that he blushed, ended up hitting Ottavio.
'Tsk, how impatient.'
No matter how pretty your face is, if you can't read a man's mind, you're a loser.
Camellia de Castiglione—though inferior to Isabella—had some pretty features when examined closely.
Unlike Isabella, who had outstanding sculptural beauty and a slender physique, Camellia had chubby cheeks and a bit of flesh on her body, giving her a cute yet feminine charm.
'Then what should you do? If you keep nagging your man like that in front of everyone without any thought for his dignity, your cheeks will look like a pig's and your body like bacon.'
Isabella, who had been pretending to be nice in front of Countess Baljo, moved to meet her brother and talked to Ottavio as if she was going to see him.
“Please be kind to your fiancée. But... I’m glad you saved me.”
Isabella was convinced as she watched Ottavio's face go blank.
Eros, the pagan God of love, is said to have shot an arrow straight into Ottavio's heart.
Even Ippolito, who is usually sarcastic, quietly applauded her skills today.
So Isabella knew that today would end fantastically.
That was until he entered the de Mare mansion and encountered his half-sister.
“Sister.”
Her illegitimate sister, with her dark hair as thick as a crow's, stood half a head taller than Isabella and looked down at her.
“You're going to stop volunteering for the time being.”
Isabella snapped harshly, feeling her good mood shatter all day long.
“Who are you to dare tell me what to do?”
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