Half an hour later, Lionel almost "fled" from the small reception room at the Sorbonne, leaving behind a string of unrestrained laughter from Madame Rothschild.
Fortunately, it was Thursday, and there was hardly anyone in the academy in the afternoon; students were whoring in the 5th and 9th arrondissements, and professors in the 2nd or 4th.
Although Madame Rothschild had at one point shown great interest and even adoration for Lionel, she was, after all, a well-trained noblewoman, and she soon began to try and "control" him in turn.
Lionel also expended immense effort to barely resist the temptation, reaching certain tacit understandings with her that were not deeply intimate but very friendly, marking a decent start.
He repeatedly told himself, this was for literature, for art...
Dean Henri Patin witnessed all of this through a window in the corner of his office.
Seeing Lionel's expression, a smile of both relief and melancholy appeared on his face.
He thought back 40 years, when he too was such a young and handsome man, and a noblewoman had also developed an interest in his work... and in himself.
And the warm, fragrant, oriental-style reception room in the noblewoman's home...
Apart from that noblewoman being twenty years older and two feet wider in the waist than Madame Rothschild, there were no other regrets.
Lionel didn't return to 12 Antan Street immediately.
Instead, he went to the post office on Saint-Martin Avenue, where he had two things to do today—
First, he would immediately write a letter to Gabriel, politely declining his request for the manuscript in two weeks, but stating that, according to their previous agreement, he would deliver the remaining parts of The Decadent City to him 40 days after Easter, before "Ascension Day."
At the same time, effective immediately, he would suspend contributing to Le Vacarme's column
"An Honest Parisian."
The post office had small cubicles, curtained off, specifically for people to temporarily open and reply to letters, offering stationery and quill pens for just 1 sou.
Lionel quickly wrote the letter, paid the 5-sou "same-day delivery" fee, instructing the post office to deliver it to Le Vacarme's mailbox by tonight at the latest.
Second, he would close his previous "post office box for general delivery."
Although the independence of the French postal system was generally well-known, he couldn't be sure if the employees could withstand pressure from the Parisian police or the Church.
Therefore, the best course of action was to temporarily disappear.
The post office on Saint-Martin Avenue was busy, and there were daily queues for "general delivery"; after a while, no one would remember him.
Anyway, Paris had countless post offices, so when needed, he could just register at another one.
Unexpectedly, he had received Gabriel's second letter pressing for the manuscript, which also contained a 300-franc money order.
However, all this only made Lionel more vigilant—Gabriel was by no means a generous person, so for him to be willing to pay in advance for the manuscript indicated that the situation was more urgent than Lionel had imagined.
Lionel hesitated for a moment, then decided to have the post office return both the letter and the money order.
"With a noblewoman's patronage, one's backbone truly stiffens!" Lionel exclaimed.
If he hadn't had that friendly exchange with Madame Rothschild today and secured the promise of patronage, he might indeed have taken the risk to earn that 3,000-franc manuscript fee.
But now, he was much more at ease.
Moreover, he had a fixed-term money order worth 1,500 francs, which could be fully cashed in mid-April, after the "Easter" holiday.
The cash he had would last him until early next year without a problem.
Having completed these two important tasks, he finally felt truly relieved.
He then boarded a public carriage at the intersection and casually headed towards 12 Antan Street.
————
"Young Master Sorel, you're back!"
As soon as he entered the house, Lionel heard Petty's sweet voice.
This time, Lionel felt a little guilty.
Recalling the stern words he had spoken to Petty, his face flushed slightly—but he comforted himself that he was still chaste, and Madame Rothschild had not "ruined" his innocence.
Alice, hearing the sound, put down her copying pen and came out of the room to greet him.
Having lived with Lionel for nearly two months, Alice's tanned complexion, acquired from the farm in the Alps, had gradually faded, revealing her original fair skin, which almost made Lionel afraid to look too closely.
Her complexion, which had been poor after a year of asceticism at "Our Lady of Lourdes," also regained a healthy rosy glow thanks to daily meals costing at least 2 francs.
Apart from the occasional furrowing of her brow due to worry about her family, her mental state was much better than when she first arrived.
Lately, besides copying books, she also helped Petty with household chores.
Consequently, although three people lived in the apartment, it didn't seem too messy.
One must remember that "home appliances" were unheard of in the 19th century; just washing clothes, cooking, and cleaning alone consumed a huge amount of time, in addition to countless other trivial tasks that needed handling.
The higher one's social status, the richer one's social activities, the more chores there were, and thus even less time to deal with them.
Typically, an ordinary middle-class family did not employ a maid—if they did, it would only be the cheapest Breton maid, and the mistress of the house would do almost as much work as the maid every day.
Wealthy middle-class families with an annual income exceeding "20,000 francs" employed at least four servants, including a personal maid, a personal valet, a cleaning maid, and a cook; otherwise, life would be a mess.
Fortunately, Lionel was currently just a happy bachelor and didn't bring guests home, so Petty and Alice could manage.
Watching the two busy figures before him, Lionel felt a sense of timelessness—he couldn't even explain why he had "taken in" the two of them in the first place.
Perhaps it was his inherent soft-heartedness, or perhaps the intense loneliness he felt after being reborn, which made him want to be bound by something.
Tonight's dinner featured a new dish—mushroom chicken puff pastry.
It was Petty's "magical modification" of the "truffle chicken puff pastry" Lionel had brought back two days prior.
The expensive black truffles were replaced with cheaper mushrooms, and the chicken changed from premium Bresse chicken to ordinary grey hen, but the correct use of spices, salt, and pepper ensured the dish didn't lose too much of its flavor.
Lionel, thinking of Petty busy on the stove every day, standing on a stool, sincerely sighed,
"Petty, with your skill, I won't be able to afford you in a few years."
Petty's eyes curved into smiles at his words; she knew Young Master Sorel was joking.
In truth, Lionel's words were not unfounded. In Paris, a first-rate cook was a status symbol; a delicious dinner could even be worth ten arduous attempts at flattery and appeasement.
Parisians, when it came to food, were never stingy, never polite, and never forgiving!
Therefore, hiring a good cook would cost at least 200 to 300 francs a month, and one also had to allow them to take a cut when purchasing ingredients.
A young cook like Petty, capable of preparing three meals, would earn no less than 50 francs a month—yet Lionel only had to pay her parents 15 francs a month.
It was as if, with an annual income of 5,000 francs, he was enjoying the lifestyle of a wealthy middle-class family.
An accidental act of kindness had yielded such generous returns; he truly felt like he had struck gold.
After a hearty meal, while Petty was cleaning up, Lionel said to Alice,
"Starting tomorrow, I'll give you my novel manuscript, and you can help me transcribe it. It will also be 10 centimes per page."
Hearing this, Alice's eyes first lit up; then she seemed to recall something, and her cheeks flushed as she lowered her head.
(End of chapter)