The roar of the people still rang through the city when Capitaine Étienne Moreau stepped back inside the Élysée Palace.
Inside the presidential reception hall.
Ministers, aides, generals, and civil servants hovered in corners, exchanging hurried glances.
No one spoke to him.
They stared, nodded, but didn't speak.
President Albert Lebrun stood alone at the end of the hall, near the old map of France hung behind his desk.
He looked as though the years had caught up with him in the last twelve hours eyes rimmed red, posture slightly stooped but when he turned to face Moreau, his gaze held firm.
"Capitaine," the President said, walking toward him. "You have done more in one hour than we managed in years."
"I only told the truth, sir," Moreau replied.
The President chuckled, tired but genuine. "Yes. And you told it well enough to silence a thousand liars."
Moreau stood awkwardly, unsure of what to say.
He sensed tension still in the air, a rope not yet cut.
