At this time, France, Army School.
When the withered blades of grass dry up, lose their moisture in the blackened depths of winter, and curl up into balls, so-called tumbleweeds begin to roam the streets.
Half of Xiangbai in the evening is desolate, bleak in the mottled and nostalgic city outline. As the scorching sun faded from its dazzling brilliance, the tumbleweeds chased the gray skyline until they were crushed into pieces by the bumpy carriage wheels.
Just like history repeating itself in a spiral.
On the other half of the wall, lights swayed with phantoms, and silver plates reflected attires. Romantic young people changed out of their woolen coats and put on dresses that showed off their streamlined figures. Behind the shadow of the decadent city, prosperity and singing flowed freely. Decorated with flowers and swords, and France.
This is a ball hall belonging to an aristocratic night, and the light waves of the crystal chandelier are so extravagant that they are dazzling.
Waiters in black and white tuxedos shuttled around, and the long tables were gradually filled from one end to the other. Expensive fruits, vegetables and meats, along with red wine and flowers, were picked and tasted according to people's wishes.
No one is paying attention to the food on the table.
It is a social gathering for the purpose of making connections, with the future heroes of Briena as the core - in fact, the public-funded faction among them. For this purpose, some high-level celebrities organized this feast.
During this dinner organized by nobles, these second-generation nobles chatted in small groups, or went to the central area to dance lightly with their female companions. Only Bonaparte sat alone in the corner of the hall, mingling with those people. The military cadets are misfits.
Bonaparte's family lineage can be traced back to the Ghibelline nobles of Florence, ancient Italy. He was qualified to participate in this ball, but around him, there was a deserted isolation zone.
He is from Corsica. In the eyes of the proud French, it is a subordinate place in the remote countryside.
He was short in stature and stout in stature, and his military uniform was not appropriate, nor was it suitable for the glorious atmosphere. And whenever someone looks at him with strange eyes, the person will stare back with a arrogant expression——
What are you looking at? !
"Spartan Savage!"
One student complained guiltily and quickly left by putting back the red wine.
This thorn in Brienne's reputation is far and wide, he comes from a poor background, is rude and rude, and even dares to fight with the instructor. No one wants to quarrel with him at this wonderful dinner and lose the calm dignity of the nobles.
Bonaparte has long been accustomed to it. He bows his head and enjoys the cold dishes by himself. The brave man does not resent this nickname, but he resents the arrogant French people.
He is left-handed, and his posture when holding a knife and fork is opposite to that of ordinary people. Even cutting a steak will become a topic of conversation in the corner.
"Why can a poor foreigner sit here? I thought it was a party for French nobles."
"Who knows, when the empire pardoned Corsica, how many capitulation factions it recognized..."
The chuckle was not prominent in the crowd, but it was not loud or small and reached Bonaparte's ears, causing the silver knife handle in his hand to twist slightly.
After all, Corsica is a colony, and the reserved conservatives looked down on him, a "foreign native" from the Mediterranean. He was used to hearing cynicism, but the "capitulationists" really left a not so good scar.
Bonaparte cast his stern eyes over, took a breath and prepared to stand up, intending to feed the two idiots two French sticks, when a crisp greeting came from his side.
"Sir, do you mind if I sit here?"
The gorgeous pink dress is like a blooming peony, and the girl's fair skin reflects a soft but dazzling light under the crystal chandelier.
Her smiling blue eyes reminded Bonaparte of the bay of Ajaccio, where the sea breeze blew in front of him like that, stirring up the quiet and peaceful tide.
Bonaparte blinked, feeling slightly off guard.
He certainly didn't think he had the right to be talked to, no matter his appearance or family background.
"Of course, it's up to you."
Seeing the girl's polite smile, Bonaparte's anger subsided by 30%.
The girl may not be stunning, but she has an elegance that makes people feel peaceful, as fresh as a flower bud with dew in the morning.
Bonaparte was sure that he did not know her.
When she appeared at the banquet, she attracted the attention of many people. Although she didn't know her name, she didn't expect that she would put aside the socializing at the ball and come to him.
The girl was shy and lively. She picked up a glass of red wine from the banquet and raised it towards Bonaparte.
"Sorry, the things they talked about were too boring. The political situation always makes people sleepy. I can't express any opinions. I had to find a quiet place to hide for a while. I didn't disturb you, right?"
No one would dislike a beautiful and polite girl, and Bonaparte was the same. He even felt a little ashamed in front of her, so he raised the wine glass at hand.
"No, well, there's nothing wrong with that. Just do as you please."
After giving a perfunctory answer, Bonaparte suspected that she had just rescued him. When he raised his head to drink from the cup, he looked at the place where they were whispering, and sure enough, no one was there anymore.
The girl smiled sweetly and took a sip. She was not alienated by Bonaparte's appearance, but her decent behavior showed that she was indeed here just to take a break and chat a few words as she said just now.
"My name is Sabrina, nice to meet you, sir."
"Bonaparte."
After briefly telling her his name, Bonaparte briefly recalled that she seemed to be the youngest daughter of a certain earl, and was considered a high-ranking person among the nobles at this banquet.
"Bonaparte? Are you the one from Corsica?"
The girl was a little surprised, as if she had discovered some rare species, but again, he was the only one wearing a school-issued military uniform during the entire dinner, so it was no wonder that he attracted attention.
"Maybe the infamous one."
Bonaparte's absent-minded and cold response may have made the girl feel a little embarrassed: "Why don't you go to the ball? I saw you sitting here for a long time."
How boring do you have to be to keep paying attention to him?
Bonaparte turned his face to the center of the dance floor where the singing and dancing was taking place.
The aristocratic young people who attended the ceremony each held their female companions on their arms, swaying their waists and strolling to the music slowly flowing from the record player.
A young man with chestnut hair was putting his hand on the back of the girl's waist and walking around, savoring the slenderness in his palm. Feeling the gaze from Bonaparte, he raised his eyebrows at him ambiguously, and then moved towards Sabrina's position. Nuzui.
"Like you, I don't have much interest in those topics, and I'm not familiar with them."
Bonaparte glared at the chestnut-haired boy with dissatisfaction, and then said perfunctorily to the girl.
If he hadn't been forcefully pulled over by Kane, one of his few friends, he wouldn't have come to this dinner party for French nobles. Thinking about it, he knew that he had nothing to talk about with those French people.
Are we going to talk about Corsica’s post-war economy? Or in memory of Paulie?
