Monday afternoon; August, 27, 1821.
The Valcour residence; Bayeux:

Dinner had always been a simple affair, but a welcome one at the Valcour household. Charles' father, Jean-Philippe hobbled into the
common room where the extended family was preparing to eat; what was left of his right foot bothering him more than usual.
Jean's youngest brother Gaston & his bride Monique were the first to greet him with kisses on the cheeks as he entered, then Jean's children respectfully took turns doing the same to him before he painfully ambled over to where the children's wheezing, chair-bound grandfather, Armand was seated.
"Good afternoon, Papa! How was your nap?"
Jean remarked as he bent over to kiss him on
one cheek, "You're look well this afternoon." he added politely.
Armand the family patriarch growled angrily; his leathery wrinkled face clearly showing his displeasure. He looked considerably older than his 63 years; a manifestation of a very hard life.
"Young man, how many times have I told you
not to tell lies?" he scolded, coughing and wheezing as he did, "If your mother was still alive, she would slap you. And I don't have the strength anymore to swat your behind with my cane."
The awkward & uncomfortable moment quickly passed as Jean warily lowered himself into his chair while his wife and two of his daughters brought in a steaming pot containing barley and lentil soup along with
a loaf of bread & a plate full of cheese.
Jean's wife, Marie eyed her oldest son as she deposited the pot on the table.
"Charles?"
He sprang to attention. "Yes, mother?"
"Since Alexandrie is looking after the baby, I want you to pour the wine for the older ones
around the table. Alexandrie - Chantalle - Josephine & Henri will be given some goat's milk."
Henri looked up in disappointment, "Awww, Mother. I'm nine-years-old, why can't I have some wine?"
Marie shot him an angry look.
"I don't want you to talk back to me, young man! You will drink the goat's milk as I say!"
she irately demanded, before proceeding to go around the table ladling out the soup into wooden bowls.
Henri began to pout, reluctantly resigning himself to the beverage offered him.
"You sit down too, young lady!" Marie commanded her seven-year-old daughter, Josephine who still lingered aimlessly after depositing the plate of cheese on the table.
Marie paused reverently as her husband crossed himself and blessed the food before those seated began to eat, drink and converse. Jean's wife turned to her eight-year-old daughter, Alexandrie who was still gently rocking a nearby baby's cradle; the three-month-old infant in it beginning to cry out feebly in hunger.
"You sit down and eat as well, Alexandrie.
It's time for me to nurse little Maurice."
she explained.
There was idle talk around the table; even some politics and weather entering into the conversation. But it was Jean turning to his oldest son, Charles seated next to him;
who steered the talk towards recent events and future plans.
"So you want to become a chemist like
your hero, Monsieur Lavoisier, eh? young man?' Jean skeptically quipped.
Charles smiled nervously and nodded, "Yes,
Father."
Jean turned to Gaston, both betraying concerned smiles. "It bears repeating, brother, that my son Charles has a good head on his shoulders. He's wise beyond his years. He's very well read - - - and his school masters are unanimous in complimenting him on his work."
Charles squirmed, "Oh, Papa! It's because I'm curious about things! I love to ask questions! And I love science!" he explained,
"Did you know, Father that Monsieur Lavoisier
showed that one-fifth of the elastic fluid that surrounds us is composed of an element he called oxygen. He discovered that oxygen is absolutely necessary for both fire and life to exist."
Jean again glanced over at his brother; both shrugging in lack of comprehension.
'Interesting," Gaston interjected, "And where do you, my young nephew, plan to receive training or an apprenticeship to become a chemist?"
Charles grinned in anticipation,
"At the Ecole Polytechnique in Paris. They don't apprentice there, Uncle Gaston.
And it is also a military academy. But I can graduate there as a civilian.
Many graduates from the Polytechnique become civil servants; others become engineers in civilian life.
I would gladly wear the academy's
uniform! - take the academy oath! - and I would obey the military authorities at that institute, since that belongs to them.
Naturally, I would study diligently; all to obtain the degree in sciences that they offer.
I would have to have four years of education there to receive a Master's Degree in the sciences. It would open the door for me to becoming a
professional practicing chemist. I would also have to study physics too. That subject interests me a great deal as well."
Gaston looked bewildered.
"I see," he replied unconvincingly, "And where would you work after you receive such a - - - Degree?"
Jean grunted impatiently, trying to discreetly wave off the line of questioning.
"It's alright, Brother, I've already asked my son about it. He said he would want to eventually rise to the position of chemistry professeur at the Polytechnique, College de France, or the Sorbonne, starting off as a humble assistant to one of the scientists and lecturers in one of those places.
He claims the pay for such work would be - acceptable." he sniffed, "I also made inquiries on my own about the Polytechnique, asking a local school master about it. - - - My boy is no doubt very bright and dedicated, but he would have to to a preparatory school for two years and would then have to pass the examinations there before he could be admitted into the Ecole Polytechnique." Jean frowned, adding, "Such a preparatory school would still be four or five-years-away for Charles, and the nearest one is at Caen."
he sighed.
"I wouldn't want to go to the Ecole Poly --- Poly - technique," Henri interrupting his father from across the table, exclaimed, "I would rather work with you, Papa in the shop. Or I would work with Monsieur Carbonneau down the street in his metalwork
shop. I love working with wood. And I love the idea of working with metal too, or even with stone or glass."
Jean nodded approvingly.
He tapped Charles on the shoulder.
"I think in some ways, your younger brother
is more sensible than you, young man."
Charles looked disappointed but not surprised,
sadly protesting his father's claim.
"Papa, you know I would continue to work with you in the shop after school hours - - - as long as I live here in Bayeux. I want to help out in the shop until I am sent off to preparatory school."
Gaston leaned over and whispered into his brother's ear.
"Jean! Your son is set on becoming a chemist or physicist. And he has helped you out considerably; and not just with physical effort. I like that
suggestion Charles came up with the other day recommending that you should be making tables of oak or other hardwoods, which would have have honeycomb patterns chiseled out under the thick tabletops
to make those tables lighter, yet remaining strong and durable.
He even suggested that I use my carving skill to engrave cameos of Bayeux Tapestry scenes on the edge-boards around those tables. It could bring us good income from some wealthy patrons in the Normandy region and elsewhere."
Jean silently pondered his brother's
advice for a minute or two when a knock
came to his door. It was the metalsmith,
Monsieur Carbonneau.
Jean stood up to greet him with a kiss, when he noticed the look of intense grief on his face.
Jean frowned.
"What is wrong, my friend."
George Carbonneau, wiping some tears from his eyes, muttered, "Our beloved general and emperor is dead."
Jean was momentarily puzzled.
"Who are you refer..." he tried to inquire, swiftly comprehending, "Are you saying, General Bonaparte is dead?"
Monsieur Carbonneau silently nodded as tears
and grief came to many in the room, "He died on the fifth of May. I learned it from a traveler today." the metalsmith managed to explain with trembling lips.
The adults in the room could no longer restrain their tears; an era had passed.