Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 22 The real misleading is never about words.
Petty saw Lionel, a fleeting glint of light flashed in his eyes, then dimmed again, his pale lips trembled, and he ultimately remained silent.

It was her mother who spoke up: "Isn't this young master Sorel? Which noblewoman is he going to make his fortune with today?"

Lionel knew that she was unhappy that every time she brought Petty something delicious, she had to watch Petty eat it instead of letting her take it home.

Most of the residents in the apartment building speculated about the young man who suddenly stopped eating the meals provided by his landlady, Mrs. Martin. One of the most common theories was that he had probably hooked up with some wealthy woman.

Although Lionel was a poor student, he had a great physique developed in the Alps and a handsome face with southern features.

With these assets, coupled with the decadent environment of the Sorbonne, it wouldn't be surprising if they caught the eye of some student's parents.

Lionel initially considered hardening his heart and leaving downstairs, since he hadn't received Gabriel's money yet, and all he had was a little over 100 francs in cash. He felt a bit hesitant to try and be a hero with such limited funds.

but now……

Lionel stopped and turned around to stare intently at the burly, sturdy middle-aged woman—she had messy reddish-brown hair, a large, swollen nose, and was clearly an alcoholic; her apron was greasy and stained, its original color no longer recognizable.
She was holding a broom, but actually, aside from cooking, Patty did almost all the housework. The main purpose of the broom was to whip her daughter from one spot to another...

This is the typical family life of poor people in Paris; kinship is almost a luxury for them.

Children usually start helping with household chores at the age of 6. Boys are sent to become apprentices before the age of 10, while girls are sent to become maids or enter factories at the age of 10 or 12.

However, none of these are too bad.

Truly cruel parents would send their daughters to places like ballet schools or similar institutions.

At that time, wealthy people could freely enter and exit the backstage area to meet actors or dancers simply by paying to reserve a seat at the Paris Opera; the opera house even provided them with secluded luxury boxes for their entertainment.

Providing sexual services has even become a "duty" for ballet dancers.

Sending your daughter to become a ballet dancer can lead to a significant financial return for her family if she gains the favor of a wealthy patron. This patron not only covers her living and training expenses but also provides substantial financial support to her family.

They usually contract syphilis or other infectious diseases common among sex workers before the age of 20, and their bodies gradually deteriorate, eventually leading to their death in the prime of their lives.

Petty's mother felt a chill run down her spine under Lionel's gaze, but she wasn't truly afraid. Instead, she paused, then gave a lewd smile: "What's wrong, Master Sorel? You've taken a fancy to this little bitch too?"

As she spoke, she grabbed Patty's arm and dragged her outside, letting the sunlight shine on her pale face and messy hair.

Then she turned to the middle-aged woman from "Neuschwanstein Castle" and said, "See, Mother Greta, even this Sorbonne's top student thinks our Patty is beautiful. Do you still think the 10 francs a month 'nutrition fee' is too expensive?"

Mother Gretel glared angrily at Lionel; she was indeed reluctant to part with Petty, such a promising talent.

Although Petty looks malnourished now, her excellent facial features and body proportions suggest she is a natural-born ballerina. In just a few years, she could become a cash cow.

She gritted her teeth and prepared to agree.

“15 francs, 15 francs every month.” Lionel’s voice echoed through the apartment building’s stairwell, stunning Patty’s mother, Aunt Greta, Mrs. Martin who had come to watch the spectacle, and the other residents.

This was a price that Granny Greta absolutely could not accept, and that Patty's mother absolutely could not refuse.

Petty's eyes lit up again, brighter than the morning light streaming through the narrow skylight. Lionel patted his pocket, pulled out a bunch of coins of various colors worth about 15 francs, and tossed them at Petty's mother's feet: "I happen to need someone to help me tidy my room and do my laundry right now."

He almost laughed out loud after saying that—his attic was so small it could only house mice, and he was wearing almost all of his clothes.

Watching the woman squatting on the ground frantically picking up the money, Lionel took out the keys from his pocket and handed them to Petty: "You're starting work today. When I come home tonight, I hope to see the room all tidy. Can you do that?"

Petty gripped the key with almost all his might, then nodded with all his might: "Yes, Master Sorel!"

Lionel nodded in agreement: "Okay. I have something to do, I'll be going now."

Without waiting for anyone else to react, he strode downstairs in a few steps.

Mother Greta from Neuschwanstein Castle quickly caught up, stopped Lionel, and threatened him menacingly: "Do you know who owns Neuschwanstein Castle?"

Lionel turned around and smiled: "Why don't you tell me? I'm going to meet the owner of the largest newspaper in Paris in a little while, and he should be very interested in the answer to this question."

Mother Greta was startled. Did this boy know the owner of the Little Daily or Le Figaro?

He didn't look poor, but that snobbish woman had just said he was a top student at the Sorbonne... He swallowed the rest of his words.

Lionel ignored what the woman, whose profession was almost that of a brothel madam, was thinking, and strode away from Rue de l'Obercamp to wait for a bus at the public bus stop on Market Street.

Half an hour later, he arrived at Café de Flore, located at the corner of Boulevard Saint-Germain and Rue Saint-Benoît.

It's a weekend morning, and although the sun is high in the sky, it's not yet time to kill time with coffee, so there are very few customers in the coffee shop.

A broad-shouldered figure, smoking a cigar and glancing around frequently, quickly caught his eye. Lionel walked straight to him and sat down opposite him: "Good morning, Mr. Marel."

He then took a thick envelope from his pocket and placed it on the table.

Gabriel Marel looked at the young man sitting opposite him, first with some surprise, then with a dissatisfied expression: "Damn it, his pen name is 'An Honest Parisian,' but he himself is not honest at all!"

How much did he pay you to come?

The young man in front of me looked to be only in his early twenties, with a youthful face and shabby clothes. He was definitely not the kind of old pervert who would write "Priest Jokes" and "Elena Hanging Upside Down on the Grapevine".

Lionel remained noncommittal: "If you don't want to talk to me, then I'll take this draft back..." He then made a gesture as if to put the envelope away.

Gabriel quickly grabbed Lionel's hand: "Talk, talk!"

Lionel smiled and withdrew his hand; he had achieved his goal.

Gabriel breathed a sigh of relief, quickly tore open the envelope, and took out the letter inside to read it.

(End of this chapter)