Molière and his Shining Troupe staggered into Paris, but they were a little unlucky, because they could not find someone who could vouch for them, so they could not borrow a house to settle down, so some people thought that they should go to the Duchess of Montpensier, after all, the Duchess was very appreciative of their drama at that time, but then I don't know what happened, the Duchess suddenly left Saint-Fargo- Of course, they now knew, because the duchess had been pardoned by the king and had set off for Paris.

Only Molière had a different idea, and only he knew why he was ...... The Duchess of Montpensier did not want to see her, for it was with a sum of money from the Count d'Artagnan, the king's envoy, that he had written and rehearsed a little play about a miserly father and a fool's daughter, and the duchess was so touched by the pain in her heart that she could not react for a moment, but it was hard to say that she would not have any associations when she saw him again—but since Monsieur d'Artagnan had promised to introduce him to the king, he should go and go through the other party's door.

Monsieur d'Artagnan was now a well-known figure in Paris, and upon his return the king fulfilled his promise to make him the acting captain of the company of the Guards, and he could now be truly called a count, and his fame for his fame had gone from the streets to the court, and it was said that many noble ladies were willing to spend a lot of money on him, and he was fond of dressing up and riding triumphantly on the king's reward (the new horse, his beautiful black horse had been broken in the unknown inn) and walked up and down the streets of Paris。

D'Artagnan was reluctant to Molière's request, and the king did mention to him that if there was an excellent troupe or musician, he could recommend it to him - he agreed and as a guarantor, he helped Molière rent a small two-story building near the Red Child Market, which had a long history, and after two riots it was almost a charred shell, although its owner had tried to repair it, but a closer look at the corner— The floors have been pried away, the walls blackened by fire, the ceiling with no light stands and only a brown hole, windows without glass and door panels without handles...... But it would be nice to have a place to shelter for the exhausted troupe, who had not lived in the stables and cowsheds, and who had noisily occupied several rooms, leaving Molière to haggle with the landlord over a few eguills.

When Molière returned to them, his female companions lit a fire in the middle of the room, and put the clay pots they had brought with them, and poured some water into them, and added the dried meat and beans with pickles, and it was their supper - if anyone else had seen this sight, they would have felt desolate, but Molière had great confidence, and he rubbed his hands together as quickly as a great fly, and was full of ambition— They are already in Paris, and this is the best step, although the air quality here obviously cannot be compared to Saint-Fargo, but if they can win the king's favor, they will soon be able to relocate to a better place and eat fresher and tastier food.

Potatoes, which were said to be very tasty, he had seen in the kitchen, and were said to be abundant, but not to the point where a small troupe leader could get his hands on them—but in Paris, perhaps, it was one of the king's favorite foods.

"Baptiste, come to the soup!" interrupted Monsieur Molière's fantasy with a loud cry, whose female companion, and the only female singer in the troupe, was taking a spoonful of beans from a clay pot and discreetly pouring it into a tin dish that had been knocked out of no less than five or six holes.

"Come!" cried Molière, "and, call me Molière!" he said, retracting his gaze from the window, but at that moment the sight on the street corner suddenly caught his eye.

Not only did he not return to his friends, but he even stretched out half of his body and head with great interest, and watched as a group of people crying and shouting were forcibly driven out of a dark and narrow alley, and their lives did not seem to be at worst, some of them were bloated—they could even be called rich in an age when clothes were still quite valuable, and could almost be regarded as inheritance or reward, and their cries were quite powerful and clear...... They were praying to the fierce soldiers, to these terrible people not to drive them out of their homes.

"What are they doing?" Madam Singer, who had not waited for Molière, stuck her head out from under his elbow, "what did they do?"

These are two very similar-sounding questions, but the meaning is very different, yes, the men are complaining, the women are pleading, the old people are praying, the children are wailing and sobbing, and a little pity rises in those who see and hear it, but Molière has passed through many places since he left the house, and he can see at a glance that these people are not at all the innocent people they claim to be, and from their group, strong men are gathered in groups of three or five, and then an old man is surrounded by a group of teenagers and children, and the young women are led by older ladies, and some women are carrying babies, but they don't care about the child, and in the midst of arguments and pushes, they will even throw the baby's swaddling clothes directly on the ground, crying as they can't stop.

"It's a den of thieves. Molière said, "Look," he pointed to his female companion, "the strong men are thieves or robbers, and they are gathered together because they are accustomed to being with their accomplices; There were a dozen layers of shirts and collars, and three coats, and all the cumbersome ornaments, all stolen goods, and the women, almost all of them, were 'celebrities', though they might not be worthy of that title - there were no good customers to be won over, I mean, compared to Boulogne, there were probably only thieves, sailors, laborers, or merchants, so they often had children because they couldn't afford the expensive contraceptives, the ones you see, so they didn't care at all...... Anyway, they'll be like that when they grow up, they'll either be thieves or ......," Molière shrugged.

"So are those sergeants?"

"Perhaps," said Molière absent-mindedly, as he quickly pulled out a small notebook from his pocket, on which he wrote and drew with charcoal, and the constant gathering of material was the greatest reliance on his success, and he memorized the scenes and characters deeply, and then used them in his plays—and as he was concentrating on the last word, he heard his female companion laugh.

"What's wrong?" Is there something interesting going on?

"Look," cried his female companion, and Molière followed her line of sight to see a nobleman in a long black coat struggling to board the carriage, followed by dead mice, dead cats, dead dogs, and even half-rotting fish like hailstones.

"It seems that this is the person who is presiding over the matter. Molière flipped the page of his notebook and hurriedly added a few words.