The Élysée Palace looked like a marble fortress beneath the cloudy Parisian morning, its grand halls ringing with polished boots and muffled noise of people whispering around.
General Beauchamp was led into the President's chamber, where President Lebrun waited beside a half-dozen men senior officials from the Foreign Ministry, military attachés, and the Interior Bureau.
President Lebrun didn't waste time. "General," he said, voice firm but worn, "I assume you've made your selection for the envoy to Belgrade?"
Beauchamp nodded, removing his gloves. "Yes, Monsieur le Président. Capitaine Étienne Moreau."
Then came the wave of disbelief.
The Foreign Ministry's Acting Undersecretary, Pierre Lescotward sharply. "Moreau? The same Moreau of which we have been hearing a lot."
"The same," Beauchamp replied calmly.
