𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 8 | 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑩𝑨𝑳𝑳

The chandeliers at the grand ball glow with the light of a thousand candles, filling the room with the smell of honey, while the blaze of gaslight from the central chandelier makes the elaborate spun-sugar centerpiece of the central banquet table gleam like newly fallen snow at noon. It portrays the palace of the Tuileries itself, with an eagle the size of a mythological roc perched atop its central dome, candied fruits spilling from its claws like rubies. Delectable pastries and canapés load the other tables, along with roasts and fowl quickly being skeletonized by the crowd. The greatest crush surrounds the champagne fountains at each end of the long Galerie de Diane, one ensconced in a grotto hung with green velvet where mechanical woodland animals nod their heads as if drinking, the other spilling down into glasses nestled in the cells of a great gold honeycomb, with mechanical bees circling overhead on barely visible strings.

The doors between the galleries are thrown open, and over the hum of the crowd you can hear the musicians tuning up in the Salon des Maréchaux. While a few of the guests have strolled in that direction already, seeking more privacy for courtship or intrigue, the general exodus from the refreshment room won't begin until the Emperor makes his way into the ballroom. For now, he is lingering near the doors to his private suite, not eating or drinking but watching the crowd with sharp eyes.

You spot other familiar faces in the crowd. Eugenie Duval is sipping champagne and talking to a knot of young men and women in the shadow of a towering epergne, holding the train of her cream-colored evening gown bunched up in one hand as if wishing it away. Several of the young men have added aviator's goggles to their evening dress in blatant violation of the rules of fashion. Franz, the Duke of Reichstadt, is hanging off to one side of the room, a glass of champagne in his hand.

The reporter Julien Lamarque, wearing a crisp tailcoat, is maneuvering through the crowd toward the Emperor, with charming apologies to the people he's elbowing out of the way. Whether he's here as an invited guest or a tolerated member of the press, he's clearly in search of a story. A bit farther on, the Duke of Wellington is unexpectedly alone, helping himself to another glass of champagne and watching the partygoers with a troubled expression.

You are wearing your best court clothes, a midnight-blue tailcoat embellished with silver embroidery over satin breeches. The outfit is several years old, not the height of fashion, but only the wealthiest of the guests have had court dress made up just for this occasion. Indeed, there's an antique flavor to the men's clothes on display, as most gentlemen who are entitled to wear military dress uniform have taken advantage of the privilege, even if those dress uniforms are decades old.

Alexandre slips away into the crowd, and as you watch, Julien corners him, notebook in hand. Another purposeful movement through the crowd catches your eye: A footman approaches Franz, and with a deep bow presents him with a folded piece of paper on a silver salver. Franz reads it, then says something to the footman. He follows the footman, making his way down the Galerie de Diane among the revelers.

There are so many things that need your attention, but you can only be in one place at a time.

Who has summoned Franz using an imperial footman? What is Franz up to? You'll follow him.

Franz is following the footman down the entire length of the Galerie to the door at the far end, a door that you know opens on a staircase and some unused apartments beyond. As you watch, you see him pass through the door, leaving the footman standing in front of it. No one else is using this door, and certainly you can't follow without persuading the footman to let you through.

You could use the window ledge running around the building to climb in through a window.

You hurry out the opposite end of the Galerie de Diane from where Franz went, through the Salon de la Paix on the opposite side and out through the French doors to the balcony. It's a chilly evening for spring, so the balcony isn't full of cooing couples—at least not yet. It's the work of a moment to get up on the balcony's stone rail. Where the rail meets the wall, it turns into an architectural ledge that runs the length of the building's façade. It's not very wide, but a dexterous person could carefully work their way along it and then get back in one of the windows farther down.