When Lionel re-entered Mrs. Martin's apartment, he was greeted with flattery and awe from everyone.
Petite's mother even called him "Master Sorel."
"What a pathetic thick barrier..."
Lionel muttered to himself, while mentioning his move to Mrs. Martin.
Mrs. Martin seemed to have anticipated this day; she showed no surprise, but coldly settled the rent with Lionel.
Compared to the others, she didn't need to be so awestruck by Lionel.
After all, in Paris, an old widow like her who owned an entire apartment building for rent would not be short on money; over 30 years, she had seen countless foreigners rise and fall in this city of desires.
Many of them had made their fortunes faster and more brilliantly than Lionel, but often within a few years, their obituaries would appear in the newspapers.
When Lionel came to Paris for university, he only brought two suitcases containing clothes, blankets, and books; this time, he also left with only those two suitcases, as well as the pots and pans Petite had bought before she fell ill.
He quickly packed his few belongings, leaving behind some miscellaneous items like a candle burned halfway down, soap as thin as paper, and the iron rack used for warming food.
Going back down to the first floor, Jacques Pet, the stableman of the apartment, eagerly approached him:
"Young Master... Sorel, would you like me to take you to your new residence?
For just 2 francs, I can take you anywhere in Paris."
Jacques Pet drove a small, one-horse carriage, capable of carrying both people and goods; however, the old horse's rear was as thin as two deflated loaves of bread, making it questionable whether it could truly take Lionel "anywhere in Paris."
Lionel shook his head:
"I've already hired a carriage..."
No sooner had he spoken than everyone heard the crisp sound of hooves outside the door, followed by the "ding-dong" of brass bells – clearly indicating a good carriage that would cost at least 15 francs a day.
Lionel showed no reluctance to leave, merely exchanging a few words with Petite's parents before taking his luggage and boarding the 'Cabriolet' carriage outside the door, disappearing down Aubercamp Street to the sound of hooves.
The tenants of Mrs. Martin's apartment stood under the eaves by the door, discussing for a long time before finally dispersing.
Lionel first went to the bank and withdrew 500 francs in cash; 270 francs were for two months' deposit and this month's rent for the new apartment, and 50 francs were for this month's meal plan.
The remainder, after purchasing some necessities, would be his living expenses for the coming period.
Watching his bank balance quickly drop from four digits to three, Lionel felt a pang of heartache – truly, you don't know how little money you have until you come to Paris.
Fortunately, he still had a 1500-franc bill of exchange, which theoretically couldn't be cashed for another three months.
However, if he truly needed money, he could sell it on the market for cash.
Combined with the remaining money in his savings account and his weekly column fees from The Tumultuous Gazette, he could afford a decent life in Paris for one to two years.
By evening, Lionel had settled into his residence on the fifth floor of 12 Antoine Street.
The administrator, Enzo Roy, meticulously described every detail of the room before handing the key to Lionel, bowing, and then exiting the room.
Only then did Lionel relax and lie down on his large bed, savoring the softness he had never experienced in Mrs. Martin's attic, and began to imagine his future life.
But the apartment door was knocked upon at an inopportune moment.
Lionel quickly tidied his clothes and went to the foyer to open the door.
Standing at the door was an extremely handsome man, slightly taller than the already quite tall Lionel.
His hair and beard were waxed and meticulously combed, shining brightly.
As soon as he saw Lionel open the door, he broke into an extremely brilliant smile:
"Good evening, neighbor.
I'm Lucien de Pancey, from room 505."
Lionel's room was 502; room 505 was at the end of the corridor, what would be called a 'corner unit' today – the largest, most spacious, and best-decorated apartment on the fifth floor.
Lionel couldn't quite figure out the other man's intentions, but politely returned the greeting:
"Lionel, Lionel Sorel, good evening."
Lucien's smile remained charming:
"You were looking at apartments today too, weren't you?
I was next door, in, well, room 503, and heard the commotion...
If Petite hadn't been clinging to me, I would have come out to greet you much earlier!
You know, the thighs of a woman caught in passion are harder to escape than the chains of the Bastille..."
Lucien spoke of his amorous adventures to Lionel, a stranger he had just met, without any reservation, even with a hint of boastfulness, leaving Lionel somewhat speechless and awkward.
But Lucien didn't care, and excitedly said:
"It's wonderful to have a young person like you move in.
This apartment is full of boring businessmen, engineers, and accountants; they won't even go to the opera house, which is just around the corner, to see one of my performances—
Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, I'm an actor, I work at the opera house, and I'll be a leading actor soon..."
This was the first time Lionel had met such a 'self-familiar' person in Paris; watching the man's animated expression, he didn't know how to interrupt him for a while.
However, footsteps were heard from the stairwell, and a breathless, middle-aged stout man appeared in the corridor.
Lucien immediately turned around and greeted him with the same exaggerated tone:
"Oh, my esteemed Mr. Greenhight, good evening! May God bless you!"
The stout Mr. Greenhight also quickly took off his hat and returned the greeting:
"Good evening, Lucien, thank you for your blessing, and may God bless you too."
After exchanging brief greetings with Lionel, the door to room 503 opened, and a sweet, cloying female voice rang out from inside:
"Darling, welcome home!"
Greenhight's face broke into a smile.
He stretched out his hands and walked inside, presumably to embrace the woman who was greeting him, kicking the door shut with his foot as he went.
Lucien turned back, unflustered and calm, and genuinely exclaimed:
"They are the model couple in this building.
Greenhight is a salesman for 'Schneider Electric' and earns 5000 francs a year;
Petite is a good woman; she cooks delicious meals for her husband every night, mm, absolutely delicious..."
Lionel really wanted to ask him if "absolutely delicious" referred to Petite's cooking or Petite herself.
Lucien suddenly invited him:
"Did you order the meal plan?
The time is just right now, we can go to the restaurant on the first floor."
Lionel looked at Lucien, this 'social butterfly' in front of him, and an inspiration suddenly burst into his mind—
For the past few days, he had been struggling to write a good opening for his novel Decadent City; the original Jin Ping Mei began with Wu Song's revenge from Water Margin, which certainly wouldn't work in France; but wasn't this unrestrained, smooth-talking opera actor right in front of him the perfect entry point for the story?
Thinking this, Lionel also broke into a brilliant smile:
"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Pancey."
(End of this chapter)
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