The apartment Lionel was currently living in had no other visitors besides Lucian, who occasionally dropped by.
Only a few newspaper editors knew this address, and they wouldn't go as far as to visit him at home.
Lionel walked to the door and looked through the brass peephole, discovering it wasn't Lucian, nor was it a stranger, but his next-door neighbor, Mr. Greenheight.
The portly Schneider Electric salesman's face, under the gaslight in the hallway, was a mix of sorrow, tension, and anger.
Lionel hesitated for a moment, then opened the door.
Before Lionel could even greet him, Greenheight practically barged past him, pushing him aside, then quickly turned to close the door, tossing a duffel bag by the entrance.
Lionel quickly waved at Alice and Patty, who discreetly retreated into their rooms.
"Mr. Greenheight..."
Before he could finish his sentence, the other man put his index finger to his lips, making a "quiet" gesture.
Once Lionel fell silent, Greenheight pleaded in a low voice,
"Mr. Sorel, just let me stay here for a while, just for a little while, okay?"
Lionel probably guessed what had happened; he didn't speak, just nodded, then went to the kitchen to pour Greenheight a glass of water.
Greenheight gulped down the water as if he had just crossed the entire desert.
Seeing this, Lionel poured him another glass, which Greenheight also drained in two sips, before collapsing onto the living room chair, panting.
Lionel sat opposite him, just about to offer comfort, when Greenheight began to sob softly.
He looked at Lionel with bloodshot eyes, his gaze unfocused, filled with unbelievable horror and an anguish bordering on collapse.
"She... she and Lucian!"
Greenheight's voice sounded like it was squeezed from a torn throat, terribly dry and hoarse.
"My Petitte... and that damned actor!
They're in there! In my bed! In the bed I paid for!"
He trembled, pointing at the wall separating the two apartments.
Lucian's frivolous words and the scene of him disappearing behind door 503 flashed through Lionel's mind.
He wanted to offer comfort but couldn't utter a single word.
"I saw them!"
Greenheight craned his neck, preparing to let out a roar, but immediately suppressed it.
He painfully pounded his chest with dull thuds.
"Just downstairs!
She pulled the curtains... and that bastard was right behind her!
Like a dog in heat!"
"God!
Why?
The larks on Longres Plateau were still in my sights!
I rushed back because I was worried about her health!"
"I even... even carried these things for two whole blocks to save on carriage fare!"
He pointed to the dusty duffel bag by the door, his voice filled with absurd indignation and grief.
From Mr. Greenheight's rambling, Lionel roughly understood the full story:
During the Easter holiday, Greenheight had arranged with his friends to hunt larks on Longres Plateau; his wife, Petitte, had declined to go due to feeling unwell.
Worried about his wife's health, he returned early from Longres Plateau, only to witness the scene he had just described.
Greenheight had originally intended to rush into the room and confront the two, but standing at the door, he lacked the courage to face it all.
He happened to see a sliver of light from Lionel's apartment door and knocked.
Greenheight stood up, pacing back and forth in the living room like a wounded animal trapped, his heavy footsteps making the floorboards creak.
"Mr. Sorel, tell me..."
He suddenly stopped, staring fixedly at Lionel, as if searching for an answer on the young man's face:
"How have I wronged her?
Huh?
I'm Schneider Electric's most diligent salesman, five thousand francs a year!
Five thousand francs!"
"I let her live in the best apartment on Antin Street, let her use Sèvres porcelain, wear fine linen dresses from Roubaix!"
"That new perfume shop on the Champs-Élysées, 'Madame Butterfly,' a small bottle costs one hundred and twenty francs! She only mentioned it once, said it smelled like early spring violets...
I didn't even bat an eyelid! Right before I left to hunt those damned larks!
Is that cursed perfume now smeared on that actor's neck?"
Every wrinkle on Greenheight's face twisted in agony, his voice shattered like a water glass dropped from a rooftop onto the street.
"Every day when I came home, no matter how tired I was, I'd detour to the Sainte-Honoré Market to buy the freshest roses!
Even in winter, the greenhouse ones, as expensive as gold! Just because she liked them!"
"She had pneumonia last winter, high fever, coughing all night, unable to sleep...
I knelt by her bed, holding her hand, praying to the Virgin Mary, over and over again..."
"Is this my reward?
In the home I tirelessly worked for and frugally supported, in the large bed I bought, she's having an affair with that oily-haired, powdered-face, sweet-talking, seducing wretch of an actor?!"
His desperate murmurs didn't end; Lionel remained silent, a quiet listener.
Greenheight desperately clutched his already thinning hair:
"What is a man?
Mr. Sorel!
A man is a candle!
Burning from the day he's born!"
"Burning his blood, burning his sweat, burning his life! For what?
Just to illuminate the woman beside him!
To make her radiant, to make her warm, to make her live like a person!"
"But what about women?
Women are like a breeze!
A light, heartless breeze!
When they're happy, they dance around the candle, thinking the light is beautiful..."
"When they're unhappy, or if they see a brighter candle nearby, or even just a glowing firefly... they just give a gentle blow!"
At this, Greenheight puffed out his cheeks and blew forcefully into the air:
"Poof—!
Your decades of burning, all your light, all the heat you've accumulated...
It's all completely gone in an instant!
Only an ugly, cold puddle of oil remains!"
"Lucian..."
Greenheight murmured the name, each syllable like chewing a cold stone.
"That damned actor, who deserves to go to hell!
He ruined me!
He's like a plague!
Like a viper!
He slithered into my home!
With his honeyed tongue and those eyes specially designed to seduce women..."
"Who does he think he is?
A pretentious, low-class actor who earns a living by pleasing others on stage!
What does he know about responsibility?
What does he know about family?
What does he know about the person sworn before God to protect for life?"
"He only steals! Like a rat, stealing others' most precious things!
And then... then, like spitting out a gnawed bone, he spits it out carelessly!"
Lionel suddenly felt a great unease; he tried to persuade him:
"Mr. Greenheight, please calm down! Perhaps... perhaps there's some misunderstanding?"
"Misunderstanding?"
Greenheight abruptly turned his head, staring intently at Lionel, a grimace almost monstrous appearing on his face.
"What misunderstanding could be worse than what I'm enduring now?
My home is ruined! My faith is ruined!"
"My life has been trampled in the mud like an utter fool!
My good neighbor, tell me, what should I do?"
"Should I cower in a corner like a castrated sheep, licking my wounds?
And then watch them continue to revel in my house?"
Greenheight had made up his mind.
He wiped his face, clearing away the tears, and his tone regained its calm:
"Thank you, Mr. Sorel, you're a good man for listening to my nonsense...
Unfortunately, I have nothing to repay you with.
I can only pray to God to bless you!"
Then he picked up the duffel bag by the door, left Lionel's apartment, and gently closed the door.
Lionel walked to the door and, through the brass peephole, saw Greenheight stealthily take out a key and open the door to apartment 503.
Before entering, Greenheight seemed to know Lionel was watching him through the peephole; he turned and gave him a smile.
(End of Chapter)
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