The sudden attack by the Order Party caught Jero Bonaparte sowhat off guard, ringing an alarm bell in his heart.
Sotis simply trusting in the "established facts" of history is not a long-term strategy. After all, the course of history is driven by people, and any small change can cause a significant shift in a person’s mindset.
The struggle against the Order Party and those opposing the establishnt of the Bonaparte Empire is inevitable, but this struggle can only begin after Jero Bonaparte becos the President.
Now, what he needs to do is rush to Paris to arrange various matters related to the election and show weakness to Thiers and others.
Appropriate signs of weakness might cause complacency in the opponent, allowing one to calmly plan.
Understanding the next few strategic moves he needed to make, Jero Bonaparte wished he could sprout wings and fly to Paris. Unfortunately, in the short period of less than 30 years since the invention of the steam train and less than 8 years since the opening of the Paris-Lyon train route, there was still no nightti passenger train.
Jero Bonaparte had to suppress his anxious feelings and quietly wait for the next day to arrive.
The night grew deeper, and as he extinguished the kerosene lamp, Jero Bonaparte curled up in bed lying on his side.
His heart pounding with excitent, anyti he closed his eyes, mories of the past ca flooding back, intertwining 19th-century and 21st-century recollections in his mind, making it difficult for him to sleep peacefully.
The words "campaign slogan" suddenly appeared in his mind.
"What kind of campaign slogan should I use?" Jero Bonaparte murmured to himself, eyes open, as slogans from past Arican presidential campaigns surfaced in his mind.
Unemploynt, bankruptcy, political instability... The signs in France can’t be deed entirely unrelated to those in the United States during the 1930s; rather, they are almost identical. Jero Bonaparte couldn’t help but think of the slogan used by Little Roosevelt, one of the Yalta Three Giants, during his campaign.
Perhaps I can use it! However, sothing needs to be added at the end.
Unable to contain his burst of inspiration, fearing that it might vanish by the next day, Jero Bonaparte got up and relit the kerosene lamp with a flint.
The lamp once again illuminated the entire room. Jero Bonaparte sat at his desk, pulling out paper and pen after much contemplation, and wrote down the campaign slogan in French.
He then held the paper bearing the slogan up to the kerosene lamp’s light, where the whole sheet assud a yellowish hue under the lamp’s glow. Satisfied with the slogan in hand, Jero Bonaparte nodded approvingly.
Then, he folded the paper and placed it in his pocket, and once again blew out the lamp.
This ti, Jero Bonaparte could sleep peacefully.
The next morning, as the first rays of dawn pierced like arrows into the ancient city of Lyon, a city that has survived through millennia, the proletariat residing there had already begun their workday.
The workers, logging nearly fourteen hours of labor every day, were roused by the crowing of roosters around 4 a.m. They dragged themselves around, lethargically washing their dust-covered faces with so water before comncing work to the shouts of foren.
A group of people had likewise gathered at the rudintary railway station in the northern part of Lyon, carrying large bags as they awaited the train.
The usually haughty railway supervisors and police responsible for railroad security now wore almost ingratiating smiles as they greeted this group’s leader, Jero Bonaparte.
Jero Bonaparte, impatiently waiting for the train at the station, had no desire for pointless conversations, dismissing them with a few cursory words.
Knowing they ranked low in status, the two n skulked away.
Before leaving, they still wore obsequious smiles, assuring Jero Bonaparte that he could call on them anyti if needed.
Watching their departing backs, Jero Bonaparte gently shook his head, remarking with feeling, "If my surna weren’t Bonaparte, perhaps my life would be just like theirs, constantly compromising for a living!"
Those present did not respond to Jero Bonaparte’s words; sotis a leader’s words are only ant to be earnestly heard.
As the sun rose, white mist gradually dissipated in the sunlight.
More and more people boarded the train to Paris.
At 7:30 a.m., with a piercing whistle and thick white steam billowing, the train appeared.
The train pulled steadily into the station. Jero Bonaparte boarded first, followed closely by Fleury, Eugène Roué, Percy, and other Bonaparte Party mbers.
At 7:50 a.m., another long whistle sounded, and more thick white smoke spewed from the train’s chimney as it slowly started to move.
Seated on the train, Jero Bonaparte, feeling utterly bored, rested a hand by the window, gazing at the scenery outside.
Covering a distance of nearly 470 kiloters from Paris to Lyon, the train advanced at a speed of 40-50 km/h, reaching the destination after almost 10 hours.
[In 1848, the fastest train at the ti was the Arican Antelope, which reached a speed of 96.6 km/h]
By 7 p.m., the train gradually ca to a stop at the Paris Railway Station, and Jero Bonaparte disembarked with the Bonaparte Party mbers.
Returning to Paris after a four-month absence, Jero Bonaparte felt exceptionally excited.
Compared with himself four months ago, Paris now felt like his first love, from which he would embark on conquering all of France.
Accompanied by Eugène Roué and other Bonaparte Party mbers, Jero Bonaparte arrived at the Rhine Inn near the Champs-Élysées in the Saint-Germain District, where his inexpensive father was staying.
Upon arriving at the Rhine Inn with Eugène Roué, Jero Bonaparte learned from the innkeeper that his thrifty father wasn’t at the inn.
From the innkeeper’s expression and his understanding of his father, Jero Bonaparte surmised that his father was probably "engaging in deep discussion" with an opera singer at so opera house.
Jero Bonaparte shook his head and complained softly in Tuscan dialect, "Oh, co on, at such an age! Still imitating youngsters! That’s reckless!"
The innkeeper, not understanding the Tuscan dialect, looked at Jero Bonaparte with a puzzled expression.
Standing beside Jero Bonaparte, Eugène Roué stifled a laugh, maintaining a serious deanor.
After negotiating with the innkeeper, Jero Bonaparte decided to rent the floor of his forr residence as his temporary office.
The innkeeper, amid the off-peak tourist season in Paris, was overjoyed to agree with Jero Bonaparte.
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