Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 572 Master Math, Physics, and Chemistry!
Lionel patted Petty's head and said softly, "It's alright, it's alright. See, I'm perfectly fine, aren't I?"

Petty looked up, her face streaked with tears. She looked Lionel up and down, her gaze finally settling on his cane and left leg.

"The newspaper said you were shot... said the bullet pierced your leg... said you almost..." She started crying again, unable to finish her sentence.

“The newspapers love to exaggerate,” Lionel chuckled. “It was just a scrape, it’s all healed now. Look, I can walk on my own.”

As if to prove something, he let go of Sophie's hand and took two steps at the door, leaning on his cane. His steps were indeed a little stiff, but still steady.

"Let me walk a couple of steps for you, okay? I'm almost better now. In a little while I'll be able to jog, and in a little while I'll be able to jump high..."

Petty still didn't believe it and squatted down to lift Lionel's trouser leg. Lionel quickly stopped her.

"Stop looking, it's really healed," he said. "But what about you? Why didn't you go to school?"

Patty wiped away her tears and stood up: "I took the day off. I have to cook for you now that you're back."

A slight smile finally appeared on her face, but her eyes were still red.

Alice came up from behind and helped Lionel take off his coat and hat.

“Welcome home, Leon,” she said.

Sophie closed the door, keeping the cold out. Inside, it was warm, the fireplace was burning, and the air was filled with the aroma of food.

Lionel took a deep breath; it smelled like home. It was different from the disinfectant smell of St. Thomas' Hospital in London, and different from the perfume scent in Parisian salons.

This is a genuine, reassuring flavor.

He then slowly walked to the living room, sat down in the armchair, and almost sighed as his bottom touched the soft cushion.

Petty followed him, squatted down at his feet, and looked up at him.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked softly.

“It still hurts occasionally, but it’s much better now,” Lionel said. “Dr. Lister is a good doctor; he did a great job with the surgery.”

"Where is the person who fired the shot? Have the British caught him?"

"He's been caught. His name is Jean-Pierre Rouvier, and he's French. But that's not important now."

Petty wanted to ask something more, but Sophie came over and put her arm around her shoulder: "Let Leon rest for a while. Let's go see if the soup is ready."

Patty nodded, stood up, and walked towards the kitchen with Sophie, glancing back every few steps.

Lionel leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He was truly tired. From London to Dover, and then from Calgary to Paris, the journey had been filled with bumpy train rides and swaying ships.

Although Sophie, Alice, Zola, and Maupassant were taking care of him, the long journey was still a torment for someone with an injured leg.

He heard the clatter of pots and pans coming from the kitchen, heard Patty humming a song, heard Alice packing her luggage, and heard Sophie poking at the firewood in front of the fireplace.

These sounds reassured him.

About half an hour later, Patty poked her head out of the kitchen and cheerfully called out, "Young Master, dinner is ready!"

The table in the restaurant was already set with cutlery: four plates, four forks, four knives, and four glasses.

In the center of the table sat a large soup bowl filled with steaming chicken broth. Beside it were a pot of tomato oxtail soup, a basket of bread, and a salad.

Patty stood by the table, wiping her hands on her apron: "These are the dishes you taught me back then. Chicken soup, tomato oxtail soup..."

The chicken soup had a perfect color, with a layer of golden oil floating on the surface; the tomato and oxtail soup was thick, reddish-brown, and had a wonderful aroma.

Lionel sniffed with satisfaction: "It smells wonderful!"

Petty's eyes lit up immediately, and she quickly pulled out a chair: "Please sit here."

The four people sat down. Lionel was at one end of the table, Sophie to his right, Alice to his left, and Patty across from him.

Petty first served everyone a bowl of stewed chicken soup. The soup was very hot, and Lionel blew on it before carefully taking a sip.

It tasted great. The chicken was tender, the broth was flavorful but not greasy, and the salt was just right. It was exactly the same as what he taught Petty to make four years ago—no, even better.

Lionel exclaimed, "It's delicious!"

Patty smiled, her eyes curving into crescents: "I haven't done it in a long time. Since I started school, the cook has always done the cooking, but today I want to do it myself."

"Isn't schoolwork busy? How can you take time off to come home and cook?"

"I'm busy, but your return is more important. Besides, I can keep up with my studies."

Lionel nodded and took another sip of soup. The hot soup warmed him up completely.

As he ate, he chatted with everyone and casually asked Petty, "How's school? Are your teachers nice to you?"

Patty nodded: "Okay. The teachers all like me because I get good grades."

"Oh? Which subject is the best?"

“Everything is excellent.” Petty puffed out her chest, somewhat proudly. “Literature, arithmetic, science, history… I’m the best in the class. Even in PE.” Lionel looked Petty over carefully. Four years ago, when he decided to pay her 15 francs a month to be his “maid,” she was not yet eleven years old.

Now, four years later, Patty is fourteen years old and almost as tall as Sophie's shoulder. Her figure also shows the talent that made her the object of the ballet school's favor.

The roundness of her face had faded, replaced by the delicate features of a young woman. Her hair was neatly combed and tied into a ponytail at the back of her head.

The only thing that hasn't changed is that her eyes are still bright, like the brightest star in the night sky. When she speaks, she looks directly at the person she's talking to, never looking away.

She has indeed grown up, from a timid little girl into a confident young woman.

She did not become a victim of the ballet school, nor another tragedy in the slums.

Lionel exclaimed, "You're great!"

Petty's face lit up with a proud smile; no teacher's praise could compare to Lionel's affirmation of her.

Sophie handed Lionel a piece of bread: "Don't just drink soup, eat some bread."

Lionel took the bread and dipped it in the tomato oxtail soup. The oxtail was stewed until very tender, the meat falling off the bone and melting in his mouth.

The sourness of the tomatoes and the savory flavor of the beef blend together perfectly, making it very appetizing.

Lionel smiled and said, "This is delicious too."

Petty looked up: "I picked the tomatoes myself. They had to be red, but not too soft. If they're too soft, they'll rot and won't taste good."

Alice smiled and said, "You know so much."

Petty looked at Lionel: "The young master taught me." "The young master taught me to cook, taught me to read, and sent me to school."

Her eyes held gratitude, dependence, and an almost worshipful emotion.

Lionel suddenly remembered something: "You're about to graduate from elementary school, right? Which middle school are you planning to go to?"

This question made Petty's smile fade a little. She put down her spoon and poked at the bread on her plate with her fork.

She shook her head: "I don't know."

Lionel frowned. "You don't know? Don't you have a school in mind?"

"The other girls in the class... they will all go to the Sacred Heart Girls' School, or St. Joseph's Girls' School, or other church-run girls' schools."

But those schools spent half a day studying the Bible, praying, and living like nuns; the other half day was spent learning how to be a lady—

How to walk, how to talk, how to bow, how to embroider, how to play the piano for guests… I have no interest in any of that. I don't want to learn how to be a lady.

Lionel looked at Sophie: "Are there only church schools among the girls' secondary schools in Paris now?"

Sophie put down her knife and fork: "I've also looked into it recently. France didn't allow public girls' secondary schools until after the Camille Sefa Act of 1880."

But even now, only one girls' college, the Sevigne College, has been built in Paris; the rest are church schools. I used to attend a church school.”

"What about that Seville Girls' College?"

"The curriculum is better than that of church schools. There are literature, modern languages, history, and geography. But Latin is not taught, and graduates cannot take the secondary school examinations."

Moreover, that school only has a little over a hundred students now. Most girls who want to go to secondary school still have to attend those church-run "lady training classes."

Lionel fell silent. Nineteenth-century France outwardly proclaimed itself civilized and progressive, but women had pitifully few opportunities for education, even fewer than in Germany.

Most French girls learn enough to read, write, and do basic arithmetic; the rest is learning how to be a good wife and mother.

He looked at Petty: "What are you interested in studying? I mean, if you had to choose, what would you like to study? Art? Painting? Literature? Or something else?"

Patty's eyes lit up: "I want to learn arithmetic, and also science class. Last time in science class, the teacher talked about photosynthesis in plants, and I found it really interesting."

In arithmetic class, solving equations felt like playing a game, and the sense of accomplishment when you found the answer was immense.

This answer surprised Lionel, who thought Petit might prefer the piano or painting, given that Debussy and Renoir were teaching her.

Or perhaps she prefers literature, which might be the "smoothest" path she can take in the future; she might even have the chance to become the queen of the Parisian salons.

But Petty is actually interested in science?
Petty didn't notice Lionel's expression; she became more and more excited as she spoke, gesturing with her hands:

"I also want to study physics. Last time, the young master and Mr. Tesla did an experiment at home, and I found it very interesting. Why can electricity make a light bulb turn on? Why can magnets attract iron?"
I want to know all of these things. Now, every weekend I spend half a day with Paul from Langevin to watch Mr. Tesla and his team do experiments at the lab.

Lionel listened, feeling both gratified and heavy-hearted. He was gratified that Petit had such a thirst for knowledge, but heavy-hearted because it would be difficult to satisfy her in France today.

A girl wants to learn arithmetic, nature, and physics? To most French people, this seems like a pipe dream.

Lionel nodded: "It's good that you want to learn these. But if you want to continue with arithmetic and science, you'll have to start studying English seriously from today."

Upon hearing this, the three women at the table were stunned.

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(End of this chapter)