Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 573 The Symbol of High Society!
Petty blinked, incredulous: "English?"

Alice also asked, "Why English?"

Sophie seemed to understand something, but she didn't say anything, only looked at Lionel.

Lionel calmly replied, "Because unlike in France, girls in British secondary schools can learn arithmetic, nature, physics, and even chemistry."

If you want to learn these things, you have to go to school in England. And to go to school in England, you'll naturally need to learn English.

Petty's mouth dropped open: "Go...go to England?" This was something she had never even considered.

Lionel shrugged: "Or it's the United States. The United States even has colleges specifically for women. I visited one when I was in the United States."

However, Britain remains the world's leading country in science and technology, so if you want to learn these things, going to Britain is the best choice.

Of course, you could stay in France and go to the Seville Women's College, but the curriculum there might not be as comprehensive as you'd like.

Petit lowered her head, staring at her plate, remaining silent for a long time, lost in thought. She had never imagined she would have to leave France to study.

Lionel said softly, "You have plenty of time to make a decision, don't rush."

A silence fell over the dining table. Only the crackling of the burning firewood in the fireplace could be heard…

The meal took a long time. The soup was finished, the bread was finished, and the salad was finished.

Petty then brought out her homemade apple pie, and the four of them chatted while eating dessert.

Patty tells stories of fun things at school, Alice talks about which province the typing school has opened in, and Sophie talks about business progress.

Lionel listened most of the time, occasionally interjecting a few words.

This ordinary family dinner was more precious to him than any salon gathering.

After dinner, Alice and Patty cleared the table, while Sophie went to the study to deal with the mail. Lionel returned to the living room and sat down in the armchair in front of the fireplace.

He picked up a book from beside him, but didn't open it; he just stared at the flames in the fireplace.

This is the warmth of home...

----------

For the next two days, Lionel hardly left the house, spending his time resting and writing "The Sinking of the Titan".

Now he walks slowly around his apartment every day to practice putting weight on his left leg. The wound is healing well and the pain is getting less, but he still needs a cane for assistance.

Every day after school, the first thing Petty does is run up to Lionel and say in English, "Good afternoon, young master!"

Lionel answered in English, and then began to teach her. Starting with the simplest words, she had a good memory and accurate pronunciation, and progressed rapidly.

In particular, most of the advanced English vocabulary was borrowed from French, so Petty learned it very quickly.

But the fact that he didn't go out doesn't mean the outside world doesn't know he's back.

In fact, news of Lionel Sorel's return to Paris had already spread throughout the city like wildfire.

Almost all the celebrities in Paris wanted to come and "visit" this "conscience of France" and "hero of literature".

Le Figaro called him "a warrior fighting for conscience," Le Petit Parisien called him "a French writer who made Britain bow down," and The Times described him as "a contemporary Voltaire"...

Reporters from every newspaper wanted to interview him. Every day, reporters would wait downstairs at his apartment building, hoping to take a picture or ask him a question.

Lionel declined almost all requests to visit, while Sophie replied to all his letters and telegrams on his behalf.

"Lionel needs to rest. His leg injury hasn't fully healed, and the doctor has advised him to stay home. He cannot give interviews or see visitors at this time."

Sophie used this excuse to shoo away all the uninvited guests who wanted to come. Of course, most people understood, after all, Lionel had been shot and had just undergone surgery.

But while I understand, I still have to give a gift!

So, starting the day after Lionel returned to Paris, gifts flooded into 117 Boulevard Saint-Germain.

The most abundant item was flowers. Bouquets of roses, lilies, carnations, violets... The young man from the florist would come several times a day, each time carrying a huge bouquet.

The apartment's foyer was quickly filled with flowers, their fragrance so strong it made one dizzy.

Then there's the food. Fine dining from all over Paris, pastry shops sending in high-end cakes and chocolates, and wineries supplying wines and champagnes…

Lionel's favorite restaurant, "Black Forest," even sent him a whole roasted suckling pig, served on a huge silver platter with several sets of knives and forks.

Then came all sorts of strange and unusual things.

Mrs. Rothschild sent some wound medicine from Yunnan, China, which was said to be made from a hundred kinds of herbs and had a miraculous effect on wound healing.

The medicine was packaged in an exquisite porcelain bottle, with a card attached that read: "To brave Leon, wishing you a speedy recovery."

The Rohan family sent Albert a lion pelt he had hunted in Algeria. The pelt was intact, the head was still preserved, and the eyes were replaced with glass beads, making it look incredibly lifelike.

But the skin was too big to fit in the apartment, and it looked too fierce, giving Patty and Alice nightmares the very first night.

After much deliberation, Lionel decided to donate it to the Comédie-Française to see if it could be used as a stage prop.

Victor Hugo sent Balzac's quill pen, which was in a red velvet box.

Besides these acquaintances, the gifts were mostly from strangers.

A musician sent a manuscript of his newly composed piano piece, titled "To Lionel Sorel." A painter sent an oil painting depicting Lionel testifying for civilians in court.

In the painting, Lionel stands on the witness stand with a resolute expression, while the common people below look up at him with hope in their eyes; he could practically be hung in a church as a saint.

There were also books, countless books. Some were autographed by the authors, some were rare editions, some were exquisitely bound…

One of the books was even edged with pure gold, so heavy that it couldn't be lifted with one hand.

In addition, there were practical items. Various high-quality wool blankets, silk pajamas, silver tableware, crystal wine glasses... the list goes on and on.

A furniture dealer sent a specially made armchair that supposedly "cures back pain"; a watchmaker sent a clock studded with gemstones.

The next gift instantly triggered Lionel's innermost soul, and he almost refused it on the spot.

The most extravagant gift was from Sofia's mother, Baroness Alexievna—a complete Cossack cavalry uniform!
The package included a saber, riding boots, a hat, and a whip... The card read: "For a true warrior."

Lionel looked at the uniform, both amused and exasperated: "What would I do with this?"

Sophie said in a serious tone, "Maybe you can wear it next time you visit her. The Baroness might like this one..."

Lionel glared at her.

There were so many gifts that the apartment couldn't hold them all! The foyer was overflowing, the living room was overflowing, and even the bedroom and study were starting to pile up with things.

It took Lionel, Sophie, Alice, and Patty two whole days to finish organizing it.

They sorted and registered all the gifts, and then decided which ones to keep, which ones to give away, and which ones to donate.

They kept some flowers for decoration and gave the rest to their neighbors in the neighborhood. They kept the food that could be preserved and distributed the fresh food to the poor people in the area.

Some of the strange and unusual gifts were donated to museums or charities because people didn't know how to use them; others were temporarily stored in a rented warehouse.

Once the new villa in Vernev is completed, it can be used to fill the empty rooms and walls.

For every gift, Lionel would write a thank-you note; it was a matter of courtesy.

So he spent two whole days writing letters. He thanked the gentleman for his concern, the lady for her gift, and everyone for their kindness…

By the third night, Lionel had to rub his wrist and say, "I feel like my hand is going to break from writing so many replies."

Sophie laughed and said, "It's all because you're so popular."

Lionel sighed. "It's better to keep it quiet."

But he knew it was impossible. From the moment he chose this path, he was destined to stand in the spotlight.

Being fawned over, attacked, worshipped, and hated—this is the price of fame.

----------

Although Lionel declined almost all visits, there were exceptions. His closest and dearest friends were allowed into the apartment.

The first to arrive was Émile Perrin, the director of the Comédie-Française, who brought a basket of fruit and a bouquet of flowers.

“Leon!” Emil Perrin opened his arms wide as he entered. “Welcome home!”

He hugged Lionel, then stepped back and looked him up and down.

"You look good. How are your legs?"

"Much better. I still walk with a slight limp, but the doctor said I'll be back to normal in a few weeks."

Émile Perrin sat down on the sofa: "That's good. You have no idea how much Paris missed you these past two months."

Lionel chuckled: "Miss me? You miss my script, don't you?"

Émile Perrin laughed: "I miss them all. I miss the people who miss you, and I miss your scripts."

He took the coffee Alice handed him, took a sip, and then said, "But to be honest, what happened to you in London actually did the theater a big favor."

"Oh?"

"This Christmas season, tickets for your plays—'The Choir,' 'Thunderstorm,' and 'The Café'—are incredibly hard to come by."

People lined up to buy tickets just to see a play by 'that French writer who dared to challenge the British.'

Lionel sighed. "This is not a good thing. Drama should be appreciated for its artistic value, not for the author's misfortune."

Emil Perrin shrugged: "So you don't want a share of the profits? Besides, your plays have artistic value to begin with; it's just that more people are realizing that now."

He put down his coffee cup: "You know what? Even Charles Gounod's premiere of 'The Carmelites' at the Paris Opera was overshadowed by you."

Lionel didn't respond. He knew Charles Gounod, the author of "Faust," a renowned playwright who was now older and less prolific.

The two chatted for a while longer about the theater, recruiting actors for the theme park, and the progress of the stage renovation...

As they chatted, Emil Perrin's gaze fell on Lionel's cane, which was placed beside the sofa.

He took the cane and examined it carefully, touching it repeatedly to feel its texture and craftsmanship. Finally, he remarked with admiration:
"Leon, you're finally acting like a member of 'high society'!"

(Second update, one more to come, please vote with monthly tickets.)
(End of this chapter)