Chapter 177

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 177
Chapter Title: Everyone Has Two Faces
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The volatile situation that had erupted at the Rambouillet Almshouse was ultimately brought to an end by force.

Just as Ottavio de Contarini and Ippolito de Mare were facing off against the paupers with swords drawn, the staff of the Rambouillet Almshouse rushed out, putting an end to the confrontation.

The almshouse staff brutally suppressed the crowd, swinging clubs and dousing them with cold water. The people in the food line—mostly children, their mothers, or teenagers—scattered in all directions like a pack of rats confronted by a torch, all traces of their earlier clamor gone.

“I am truly ashamed!”

Mr. Albani, the current head of the Rambouillet Almshouse, bowed deeply and apologized to the president of the ‘Silver Cross Ladies’ Society,’ Countess Balzo.

The position of Director of the Rambouillet Almshouse had been vacant since Queen Marguerite’s death.

Mr. Albani was the almshouse’s chief administrator, the highest-ranking official besides the director.

“For such a dangerous incident to befall you, who came with such goodwill to provide for our wards… I have no excuse, even if I had ten mouths.”

Baroness Loredan was about to snap something more at the deferential Mr. Albani.

But Countess Balzo elegantly raised a hand, stopping her.

“Violetta. That’s enough.”

“But…!”

“It is the virtue of nobles like us to graciously overlook the troubles caused by the uneducated.”

Standing behind Chief Administrator Albani, the finance director, Camondo, barely restrained the urge to strike Countess Balzo.

His stomach churned at the sight of them, who had caused the entire mess, now loftily accepting an apology.

But Mr. Albani simply bowed his head, his composure unshaken.

“I thank you for your ladyship’s grace.”

At this, Ippolito interjected arrogantly.

He would never miss an opportunity to show off and curry favor with the ladies.

“The ringleader? Are you just going to let the ringleader go? If it weren’t for young Ottavio here, our Isabella could have been hurt!”

Baroness Loredan, who had been holding her tongue, seized the moment to jump in.

“That’s right. The instigator must be punished! Those insolent paupers!”

“We will conduct a thorough investigation.”

Chief Administrator Albani bowed respectfully. Unable to watch any longer, Mr. Camondo, standing behind him, added a word.

“Given the nature of the poor, it won’t be easy to find out who it was…”

But Mr. Albani cut Mr. Camondo off and immediately followed up.

“We will search exhaustively and punish them severely!”

The man in charge’s groveling attitude was quite to their liking.

Ippolito shot a triumphant glance toward Countess Balzo.

The countess merely gave Ippolito a refined look, but Baroness Loredan curtsied slightly in thanks on her behalf.

Though slightly deflated at not receiving the leader’s acknowledgment, the baroness wasn’t a bad substitute. Ippolito grinned.

Countess Balzo lifted her chin haughtily.

“Very well. We will trust in you, Mr. Albani, and take our leave.”

“Please return safely. The almshouse staff will escort you to the main gate, so do not worry.”

“Hmph.”

As soon as the nobles noisily exited Mr. Albani’s office, Mr. Camondo, who had been standing behind him, exploded in frustration.

“Chief Administrator, how can this be? They caused the whole problem, and now they demand we find and punish an instigator? The people gathered in the garden that day did nothing wrong except get angry about the prospect of starving!”

With an expression that was hard to distinguish between weary and melancholic, Mr. Albani quieted Mr. Camondo.

“Don’t be like that, Camondo. Your rigidness is your biggest flaw.”

His shoulders slumped as if layered with fatigue, he opened a cabinet and took out the almond biscotti he had carefully stored inside.

It was thickly coated in sugar.

*Crunch!*

Munching on the cloyingly sweet biscuit that filled his mouth, Mr. Albani spoke.

“How are we supposed to catch a ringleader? The nobles caused such a scene that the poor have now missed their dinner. If we arrest the person who stepped forward, a real riot will break out.”

To the poor, ‘dinner’ was what ‘family’ or ‘home’ was to an ordinary person.

Poverty grinds a person down. But that couldn't be seen as petty or cheap.

Anyone would raise hell if the one thing they held dear was taken away.

Mr. Albani took another bite of the biscotti.

He didn't offer any to Mr. Camondo, but Mr. Camondo understood.

The biscuit was far too expensive for an almshouse administrator’s salary to afford; it was Mr. Albani’s only way of relieving stress.

He would surely cause a scene if asked to share.

“There are always people who are about to die and be carried out, right? The very sick ones.”

“…There always are.”

“Find someone of a similar age among them and say they were the instigator. Say we caught them, but they unfortunately died. Their noble lordships just want to vent their anger; they couldn’t care less whether the dead person is the real one or not.”

Mr. Albani had already devoured most of the biscotti in two bites and finished it cleanly with a third.

Chewing on the mouthful of biscuit, he waved a hand for Mr. Camondo to leave, and Mr. Camondo, with his own back stooped, left his superior’s office.

***

The group that had caused such a ruckus at the Rambouillet Almshouse dispersed in front of the building.

Isabella and Ippolito returned to the Cardinal’s residence in one carriage, while Ottavio rode his horse to the grand Contarini estate.

And Camelia, who had stopped by the Bartolini house that morning and ridden with Clemente to the almshouse, was now to return to the Bartolini estate with her.

“…”

Camelia kept her lips pressed tightly together. But she could not hide the way she trembled, her fists clenched in anger.

She replayed Ottavio’s actions over and over in her mind.

Her fiancé, Ottavio, had berated her as soon as the paupers’ commotion was settled.

“Camelia! How could you push Isabella in front of those beggars? Isn’t she your friend?”

Ottavio’s eyes had been wild. Forgetting all his usual composure, he had cornered Camelia.

Camelia, unsure of how to respond to Ottavio, clenched her fists and trembled.

There was so much she wanted to say. *Why is she my friend? Shouldn’t my safety come before Isabella’s?*

In the end, the words that came out of Camelia’s mouth were:

“Ottavio…! How could you do this to me?”

“What nonsense are you talking about? You’re the one who was in the wrong, so how did this turn into me wronging you?”

“You stood by and did nothing when I was in danger, yet you were so quick to draw your sword when Isabella was at risk!”

“I ran over as soon as I saw! How can you be so petty? Did you think I would have seen you and pretended not to notice?”

“I screamed, but did you not hear my voice? Besides, you were right there the whole time! You could have drawn your sword immediately when I was in danger!”

“What do you know about swords? Is it all right to just make accusations without knowing anything? What do you take me for, spouting such nonsense? And besides, you were the one who told me to stay far away in the first place!”

Camelia hated this situation—fighting with her fiancé in front of everyone—more than death itself. A respectable lady’s pride was her husband’s respect.

Worst of all, Isabella was watching the entire scene, blinking her large purple eyes.

She was clinging to her brother Ippolito’s side, looking down at Camelia with a pitiful expression.

Isabella’s innocent, beautiful face showed a mixture of trouble, pity, and apology, but to Camelia, who knew Isabella de Mare’s true nature through and through, it was nothing but a pathetic act.

‘I bet she’s laughing her head off inside!’

Isabella was truly a master.

Despite having watched the entire fight between Ottavio and Camelia from beginning to end, she was careful to gauge Countess Balzo’s and Baroness Loredan’s reactions and never intervened.

Only after Ottavio, fuming, was led away to a corner by Ippolito did Isabella finally approach Camelia, sit beside her, and offer her a glass of cool water.

Camelia glared sharply at Isabella, looking as if she might splash the cold water in her face.

To an unknowing observer, Camelia would look like the aggressor.

Isabella carefully patted Camelia’s back.

It was not a relationship where they would touch each other, and the sudden contact sent a shiver down Camelia’s spine, making her flinch away.

When Camelia noticeably moved away, Isabella looked startled, lowered her head, and after waiting for a moment while seated, she stood up from beside Camelia with a hurt expression.

“…I’m sorry.”

Then, with a dejected look, she walked away to a distant corner.

Countess Balzo and Baroness Loredan had an unfiltered view of Camelia rebuffing Isabella.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

Camelia couldn’t hear what Countess Balzo and Baroness Loredan were discussing, but she was sure it was about a young girl’s jealousy and inferiority complex towards her peer, and how poor Isabella was being blamed despite her good conduct, simply because she was pretty.

Camelia trembled with indignation.

Sitting in the Bartolini carriage with her lips sealed, Camelia wished the ground would swallow her whole.

This moment, having to ride in the same carriage as Ottavio’s sister, was hell.

“…Camelia.”

When Clemente called her name, Camelia looked at her sharply.

If she started saying things like, *Ottavio didn’t mean it*, or, *Men are dense and don’t know any better, so you should be more understanding,* she might just jump out of the carriage.

But what Clemente de Bartolini said was completely unexpected.

“…Everyone knows Isabella’s attitude is poor…”

Camelia’s rabbit-red eyes widened as she stared at Clemente.

“Do Countess Balzo and Baroness Loredan know that too?”

From Camelia’s perspective, it was a cleverly phrased question.

She was curious what the influential ladies thought of Isabella but felt that asking directly would be too prying.

Clemente just smiled uncomfortably and didn’t answer.

*So, it’s just Clemente’s own thought, and Countess Balzo and Baroness Loredan don’t think so.*

But for now, this was enough for Camelia.

“You saw it too, didn’t you, sister! The way she flirts!”

“…”

“Honestly, she knows exactly what she’s doing, doesn’t she? I’m so sick and tired of that little vixen’s sly tricks!”

To Clemente de Bartolini, Isabella de Mare was a splinter under her nail and a fishbone in her throat.

Isabella hovered around her, instilling a sense of guilt that Clemente was the reason she had been branded as Marquis Campa’s mistress. Using that as leverage, she extorted small favors from Clemente, and whenever Clemente seemed reluctant to comply, she would hint that she could expose the affair to Count Bartolini at any time.

But the naturally timid Clemente de Bartolini couldn’t bring herself to stand up and strike first against Isabella.

In the end, all she could say was this:

“…Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

*I hope Camelia pulls off something big and brings about Isabella de Mare’s downfall.*

*So she can’t even show her face in the capital. No, so she gets locked away in a convent in the middle of nowhere.*

***

Isabella returned home in a very good mood.

There had been an incident along the way, and she had almost come into contact with a filthy pauper, but it had all ended well.

Ottavio de Contarini had groveled before her in front of his own fiancée, and that insolent Camelia had turned beet red and confronted him.

‘Tsk, so impatient.’

No matter how pretty a face, if you couldn’t read a man’s heart, you were an amateur.

Camelia de Castiglione—though inferior to Isabella—certainly had her pretty features when examined closely.

Unlike Isabella, who was exquisitely sculpted and naturally slender, Camelia had chubby cheeks and a bit of flesh on her body, giving her a cute yet feminine charm.

‘What good is that? If she berates her man like that in front of everyone, without a thought for his pride, her chubby cheeks will look like a pig’s, and her curves will look like bacon.’

Isabella, having played the part of the good girl in front of Countess Balzo, had moved on to speak with Ottavio under the pretense of meeting her brother.

—“Please be kind to your fiancée. But… I’m glad you saved me.”

Watching Ottavio’s face go blank, Isabella was certain.

Eros, the pagan god of love, had shot an arrow straight through Ottavio’s heart.

Even the ever-scoffing Ippolito gave a silent applause to her skills today.

So, Isabella had expected the day to end fantastically.

That was, until she entered the de Mare mansion and came face to face with her half-sister.

“Sister.”

Her illegitimate sister, with hair as black as a raven, was a good half-head taller than Isabella and looked down at her as she spoke.

“Stop the volunteer work for a while.”

Isabella felt her day-long good mood shatter into pieces and snapped back harshly.

“Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?”