Lionel looked back, and sure enough, it was Guy de Maupassant's familiar beard.
Mr. Flaubert's direct disciple, a seasoned philanderer renowned in Paris, was also on deck at the moment, flirting with two exquisitely dressed and adorned women.
However, the two women were clearly not interested in Maupassant, did not accept his invitation, and turned to return to the cabin.
Maupassant was not at all disheartened; he turned and began looking for his next target—he soon spotted Lionel.
"God! Dear Léon! What are you doing here?"
Maupassant strode across half the deck and embraced Lionel tightly without a word.
Although Lionel knew that syphilis was not transmitted through such ordinary contact, he still held his breath for a few seconds.
Maupassant was in high spirits, his voice particularly enthusiastic:
"Have the waves of fate also swept you onto this decrepit ship?
I thought you were hiding in some country château, or perhaps tripped up by a muse in a salon!"
As he spoke, he looked Lionel up and down, a hint of envy in his eyes.
Although Lionel didn't know why Maupassant had that expression, he still responded with a smile:
"Yes, fate's arrangements are always unexpected, aren't they?
France is so vast, yet we manage to meet on this very ship."
His smile then turned mischievous:
"What, you couldn't stand the Seine anymore?"
Mentioning the Seine ignited Maupassant's anger, and his complaints poured out endlessly like a floodgate opened:
"That damned Seine! It's not a river at all, but a giant, open cesspool!
All of Paris is suffocating and rotting in its stench!
Those idiots at the city hall!"
He grew more agitated as he spoke, waving his arms:
"I went out yesterday, and that smell... it was like falling into a pile of rotting internal organs!
If I stayed any longer, I'd have to bathe in perfume!"
Lionel listened for a full three minutes before he had a chance to interject:
"Sounds like things are particularly bad where you are?"
Maupassant sighed:
"The stinkiest stretch of the river is right outside my window—but I paid an extra 20 francs per month for this view when I rented that apartment.
The day before yesterday, they even fished out a dead baby, swollen like a rotten sack of flour... it was a nightmare!"
He continued to complain:
"Those people who still live in Paris and refuse to leave.
Artists, critics, prostitutes, and parliament members, each more prone to fantasy than the last.
They imagine the Seine is only temporarily stinky, that parliament will vote for the budget they want, that cholera can read and will avoid influential households..."
As the two spoke, the ship gently swayed, and footsteps sounded from the deck's edge.
Lionel looked back to see Alice and Petty staggering over, holding onto the railing.
Although their faces were still a bit pale, they had seemingly started to get used to the up-and-down pitching.
"How are you both?"
Lionel inquired.
Maupassant caught sight of Alice, half her face obscured by a veil, and stopped speaking abruptly, his gaze hooked as if by a fishing lure.
In that instant, even his beard seemed to straighten a bit:
"Léon... are you traveling with an angel?"
His voice was low, but his eyes were burning.
"Friends," Lionel answered calmly.
"Then I must thank God for making me take an extra step today,"
Maupassant quickly rose, doffed his hat, and bowed to Alice and Petty:
"Ladies, Maupassant, Guy de Maupassant, an amateur writer, an occasional dreamer."
Alice had not yet fully recovered, merely nodding and smiling faintly; Petty, however, giggled aloud:
"You're very amusing!
My name is Petty!
Master, I'm much better now."
Maupassant raised an eyebrow sharply:
"Master? So my friend here is an important person in your household?"
Petty said bluntly:
"Not an important person, but the master."
"Oh!"
Maupassant glanced at Lionel again, his eyes now filled not with envy, but with jealousy—Lionel had only published one novel so far, so how could he afford a maid and travel with such a beautiful young woman...
Everything was understood without words.
Alice managed a smile and took Petty's hand:
"My name is Alice, I'm from Léon's hometown—Petty, let's go to that side of the deck, so as not to disturb Léon and Mr. Maupassant."
Maupassant quickly extended a hand:
"We're just chatting, it's no bother—Léon, I'll treat all three of you to oysters!"
Lionel looked at Petty and Alice, who had just vomited up their lunch, and nodded.
Maupassant was overjoyed and took the lead, heading to the other end of the deck.
In a corner there was a stall made of rough wooden planks, where an old sailor with a wrinkled face and stooped figure was prying open oysters with a rusty knife.
His knife was nimble; with a slight turn at the seam, it clicked open, revealing the moist, slippery flesh.
Currently, a lady, accompanied by her male companion, was eating oysters there—she ate them very elegantly, holding the oyster shell with a delicate handkerchief, her mouth extended forward to avoid staining her robe; then, with a quick, slight movement of her mouth, she sucked in the juice and the oyster meat, finally tossing the oyster shell into the sea.
This sophisticated way of eating attracted Alice and Petty—the former curious about the posture, the latter about the taste.
After the people in front had finished, Maupassant leaned forward:
"Open me a dozen oysters!"
The old sailor didn't even lift his head:
"2 francs a dozen, sir."
Maupassant took out a 2-franc silver coin and tossed it to the old sailor, then threw him a 10-sou copper coin as a tip.
Only then did the old sailor say gratefully,
"God bless you, generous sir!"
His movements for opening oysters became more careful, ensuring his grimy fingers didn't touch the tender white oyster meat.
Maupassant and Lionel each symbolically ate one, and Maupassant began to complain again:
"Léon, my life is stagnant now—writing reports, copying documents, listening to old men drone on all evening about 'financial temperance'... I'm going crazy.
Mr. Flaubert tells me to write some novels, but writing needs inspiration, and I've searched the entire office, and besides pencils and ledgers, where is the inspiration?"
Lionel looked at Maupassant, then at the old sailor opening oysters beside them, and a sudden idea struck him:
"Do you know Rodin?"
Maupassant paused:
"Rodin?
You mean the sculptor?
He often appeared at Mallarmé's salon, didn't talk much, always looked like he disdained everyone...
I know him, but we're not close."
Lionel said earnestly:
"Rodin once said something I think is very true—'Life doesn't lack beauty, but rather the eyes to discover it!'"
Maupassant looked puzzled:
"That fellow said something so philosophical?
But what does that have to do with my lack of novel material?"
Lionel sighed, muttering to himself,
"I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to...",
then walked over to the old sailor and asked him,
"Old sir, is your name Jules Darmance?"
The old sailor's oyster knife paused mid-air, and he looked up at Lionel:
"Of course not, sir, my name is Antoine Mathieu, you've mistaken me for someone else."
Lionel gave a confident smile, then pulled out another 10 sous and handed it to him:
"No, your name is 'Jules Darmance', your home is in Le Havre, but you've only recently returned from America..."
The old sailor was stunned but immediately reacted, took the copper coin, and lowered his head to continue opening oysters:
"Call me what you like, sir, I am Jules Darmance, my home is in Le Havre, and I've just returned from America..."
Lionel nodded in satisfaction:
"Good, now you are my uncle..."
Seeing Lionel's maneuver, Maupassant, Alice, and Petty were all bewildered, like three perplexed Louis XVIs.
(End of this chapter)
Note: Starting tomorrow, this novel will be updated with 1 chapter/day. But, if this novel gets 300 power stones in a week, I will upload 2 chapters/day for the entirety of the following week.
And I will upload 4 new novel tomorrow, I hope you guys give it a try.
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