The Shadow of Great Britain

569: Chapter 291 Golden Pig Breeder_2 569: Chapter 291 Golden Pig Breeder_2 However, the lady Arthur encountered today obviously had energy to spare; she showed no sign of wanting to faint at the moment.

“Your waltz is quite good, did you learn it from a private tutor, or was it a lady who introduced you to dancing?”

“Really?

Thank you for the compliment.

If my friends heard that, they would be very pleased, as I mostly learned to dance from them.”

“To have taught such a fine student as yourself, they must surely be regulars at social gatherings.”

“You see through everything.

Indeed, my friends are almost always at those places.

And it’s not just in London; they are quite well-known in Parisian social circles too.”

“Paris?

Oh, my God!

That explains the French style in your dance steps.

Since you have French friends, you must be able to speak French, right?”

“Un peu, a little; I should be fine with simple conversation.”

Upon hearing this, the lady switched to French, throwing a barrage of French words at Arthur, which took him a while to understand.

Arthur replied with a smile, “As the French often say, the lake is not on fire, you can slow down a bit.”

No sooner had Arthur finished speaking than he caught a glimpse of a robust figure flashing by from the corner of his eye.

The corpulent Frenchman, with his dance partner’s waist in his arms, dashed by nimbly, leaving only a French sentence in Arthur’s ear: “Arthur!

Je te dis merde!”

Upon hearing this, Arthur frowned tightly, turned his head to look at Great Dumas, and said, “Did you just curse at me?

I heard merde.”

Great Dumas replied with an unconcerned chuckle, “Arthur, it’s a special usage.

Although sentences with merde are mostly used to insult, this one is actually a blessing.

You see, I am a playwright, and people in our profession often use this saying to wish actors good luck.

Just think, if there is more horse manure in front of the theater, it means business is much better than before.”

Great Dumas’s dance partner, unable to help herself, laughed and said, “Monsieur Dumas, you’re quite humorous.”

But Arthur, with a serious expression, asked, “So here’s the question, if I were an actor, who would be the horse manure?”

Arthur’s dance partner, upon hearing this, suddenly blushed and, taking out her handkerchief, rebuked him, “How rude, that is so impolite!”

Great Dumas’s dance partner also realized something was amiss and loosened her grip to bid farewell to Great Dumas: “Sorry, Alexander, I need to go check on Jenny.”

Free at last, Arthur finally had the chance to take out his pipe from his pocket.

Elbowing Great Dumas, he asked, “Leaving?

To the smoking room?”

Great Dumas rolled his eyes and said, “Arthur, why did you have to bring that up?

Now I’m going to be labeled as the one who said ladies are horse manure.”

Arthur, escorting Great Dumas towards the smoking room, remarked, “Alexander, I really didn’t expect your phrase to actually be a blessing.”

“What else could it be?!

Now your ‘horse manure’ is gone, and so is mine.

Arthur, you’ve hurt others as well as yourself!”

Great Dumas trudged into the smoking room with an air of agitation.

Perhaps the dance had already started, as there were noticeably fewer people here than before.

In the spacious smoking room, only Heine and Louis were there, smoking and chatting quietly.

“I looked at a few issues of ‘British’ magazines recently, just skimming through.

To be honest, the freedom of the press in Britain is broader than I imagined.

If your ‘Overview of Napoleonic Ideas’ were published in Austria, Metternich would surely order it banned.

Austrians cannot bear to hear a good word about Napoleon.”

“No helping it, the mindset of a loser is just like that.

They have never beaten France, and Metternich harbors a lasting resentment and fear because of that.

You can see it from how he has kept my brother confined in court like a canary.

Metternich doesn’t see him as a Prince of Austria; all he sees is the son of Napoleon.”

“But tell me, why did you end up working as a policeman at Scotland Yard?

Although the Bonaparte name may not be as influential in Europe as it once was, surely it hasn’t come to the point where you’re reduced to walking the streets hitting people with a stick?”

“Heinrich, how should I put this to you?

The Bonaparte name is not just an honor but also a heavy burden.

Maybe the failed conspiracy of the Carbonari in Italy struck me hard, and right now, I just don’t want to think too much.

It’s quite nice for me to peacefully do some simple things; a man always needs to find something to do, right?

Moreover, you’re looking down on the job of a policeman too much, which makes me doubt whether you’re truly Prussian.

I heard when I was at the military academy in Switzerland that in Prussia, if you don’t use respectful language with the police, it seems you can get thrown into jail, right?”

“Ha!

Exactly, that’s what I believe makes the profession so contemptible.”

Arthur pushed the door open, lit his pipe, and took a puff: “If we go by your standards, then British policemen should be somewhat more noble than their Prussian counterparts.”

Great Dumas, still not over his annoyance, chimed in, “Exactly, just like the difference between Je te dis merde and merde.”

Upon seeing Arthur enter, Louis asked, “Speaking of which, how do you plan to handle the situation in Liverpool?

Although the Dock Committee and the Harbour Board have officially started to quarantine the merchant ships as required, who knows whether they secretly stash the goods as contraband to hide and distribute in the nearby cliffs.

Moreover, it seems that the Liverpool City Council has decided today to send a representative to London to protest against the Cabinet’s quarantine policy.”