Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

Walsh frowned upon hearing this: “If I understand correctly, are you planning to have people burn coal at home?”

“It’s processed into special types of coal.”

“God, that smoke will choke people to death.”

Rochefort smiled and said: “That’s true of French coal, but I’m talking about the hard coal from the Rhineland.”

Walsh was quite familiar with hard coal, as England is currently Europe’s largest producer of hard coal. He grew up in a household that used coal for heating. This is also one of the key reasons why the Industrial Revolution first appeared in England.

However, he still shook his head: “Transporting from such a distant place to Paris, the shipping costs would likely be very high.”

“There’s a government subsidy,” the chubby man immediately replied, “for every ton of coal transported to Paris, there’s a freight subsidy of 6 francs.”

Walsh’s business required transporting wool from England to Lyon, so he was familiar with the transportation costs. Finally, a smile appeared on his face—shipping from the Rhineland by water to Paris costs about 20 francs per ton. The French Government provided nearly a third of that in subsidies. This makes the price of hard coal in Paris quite similar to that in London.

Looking at the coal sales situation in London, this business might just be viable.

Rochefort continued: “Moreover, once the coal reaches Paris, it is mixed with 30% clay before being sold.”

Walsh’s eyes lit up instantly. That meant higher profit margins.

After the chubby man detailed the information about briquettes, Walsh nodded repeatedly: “This is indeed a great invention. The burning speed can be adjusted at will, and it can also be used for cooking.”

“Now, please tell me about the investment required for shares and the monthly sales volume?”

The chubby man excitedly said: “You only need to invest 5,000 francs, and we each hold half of the shares.”

“As for sales, I’ve roughly estimated that if one-fifth of the households in the Saint Antoine District use briquettes, we can sell 2,000 francs worth in a month, with a profit margin exceeding 15%!”

Walsh’s interest suddenly waned, and he waved his hand: “The return isn’t bad, but forgive me for being blunt, I don’t want to devote my energy to such a small business.”

“However, if you can secure the agency for briquettes for all of Paris, we might be able to continue this discussion.”

“This…” Rochefort was stunned. He hadn’t expected what he saw as a tremendous life opportunity to appear like a 1-denier coin tossed on the roadside in another person’s eyes.

His mind raced, and just as Walsh was about to end the conversation, he suddenly smiled:

“If you want to make a big deal, we can start from the source.”

“Oh? Please elaborate.”

“A ton of Rhineland hard coal costs only 5 francs and 3 sous. If we handle the transportation ourselves, the profit can increase by over 60%.”

“It’s just an additional 4,800 francs a year. Plus, it requires a significant investment in shipping,” Walsh muttered. His wool business brought in at least 13,000 francs annually.

“That’s not all.” Rochefort stood up, spreading his arms, “If we have our own transportation channels, we can entirely sell briquettes to remote towns without agents—at most, we’ll just pay some patent fees.”

“This will also significantly increase our purchasing volume, allowing us to negotiate prices with the coal mines, thereby reducing costs further. If managed well, I believe the profits could at least double or triple.”

Walsh’s gaze toward the chubby man gradually changed.

He took out a pen and paper, wrote down an address, and handed it over: “Please prepare the relevant materials and come to my office tomorrow morning for a detailed discussion.”

Rochefort, however, tapped his own head: “I can do it now, Mr. Walsh, all the materials are stored right here.”

…

New Paris District.

At a party at Madam Tremouye’s house, Porte Yer lazily held a wine glass, but his small eyes were constantly watching the window.

When he saw a servant in black enter the villa, he immediately went to the entrance to meet him.

The latter whispered to him: “He’s already left, sir.”

“Switch to keeping an eye on Baron Puli Lisi’s house now.”

Porte Yer instructed, then turned to summon another servant, gesturing towards a room on the west side of the house, and whispered: “Lady Lavicia asked me to bring her a glass of gin, please deliver it to her immediately.”

Then he quickly went downstairs, snapped his fingers at the coachman waiting outside.

Lady Lavicia, who was flirting with her lover, heard the gin cue and immediately made an excuse about remembering something urgent. She quickly dressed and, accompanied by a maid, left the villa.

The carriage was ready, and Porte Yer opened the door for her with a smile: “Viscount Lavia left 20 minutes ago and may arrive here in 10 minutes.”

“You’re scheduled to meet Baron Puli Lisi in half an hour.”

“I’ll handle things here. Enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, remember to come home immediately when you hear the sound of newspapers being sold.”

“Alright.” Lady Lavicia embraced him briefly, “Without you, I’d be like a sailor without a compass. See you tomorrow, gentleman.”

The carriage drove away, and Porte Yer smiled, ready to return upstairs to enjoy a few more drinks—Madam Tremouye was very generous, offering only the finest wines.

Just as he stepped onto the staircase, he saw two people, one tall and one short, coming down.

The tall one with a sophisticated wig impatiently said: “I told you, it’s not just handling fees, you also need to prepare offerings for His Highness, or I’ll be reprimanded by Lord Balangden.”

Porte Yer recognized him—a small court official from the Palace of Versailles, Baron Mote.

The shorter man, with a sharp look in his eyes, spoke in less-than-perfect French: “I really can’t come up with more money. Please believe me, once you meet the Crown Prince, he will certainly reward you.”