It was morning somewhere in France currently. A man was rushing down the busy streets. He had a wig between his teeth, his coat and his vest thrown over his shoulder, and his hands were busy buttoning up his breeches. He nervously glanced over his shoulder, no one was chasing him anymore. He let out a relieved sigh and slowed down. Then he looked up at a church he was passing by, at one of the nuns- no, he was in enough trouble as it was. He looked away and hastily continued walking away.