To use Mrs. Martin's kitchen, Lionel and Petty ate their meals half an hour to an hour after the regular meal times each day—a bit earlier at noon, a bit later in the evening.
Petty had good cooking talent; although she currently only knew how to stew everything in an iron pot, her use of side dishes and spices was already quite skilled.
The tenants of the apartment had also grown accustomed to having their noses bombarded by the smell of meat these past two days, but no one dared to cause trouble anymore, only continuously swallowing their secreted saliva.
To them, Lionel was no longer the country bumpkin from the Alps who could be mocked and bullied at will, but a promising young talent about to rise to prominence.
Offending him now, who knew when misfortune might strike!
Each cry of "Young Master Sorel" was now uttered with utmost respect, devoid of the past teasing.
Even Petty's status in their minds was different—she was a maid worth 15 francs a month, and she could make delicious meat stew!
If Young Master Sorel truly became successful in a few years, Petty might become his head maid, perhaps earning 100 francs a month, even more than her father who worked as a domestic helper.
Mrs. Martin didn't even press for next month's rent, as if she knew Lionel wouldn't be staying here much longer, and looked at the young man with a complex gaze.
Lionel and Petty were slurping pasta at the dining table Mrs. Martin had just tidied up, Petty chattering as she ate: "Young Master Sorel, today the beef at the market was 5 sous more per kilogram, so I didn't buy it, I bought a duck instead..."
"Young Master Sorel, many of the letters in the manuscript you asked me to copy today are connected, and I can't quite make out what they are. Will you teach me how to recognize them later?"
"Young Master Sorel, besides pasta, can we buy some fine noodles? I used to eat fine noodles made by my grandmother in my hometown of Brion, and they were delicious. I saw some for sale at the market today, only 4 sous for a kilogram!"
"Young Master Sorel, can I also live in the attic? Don't worry, I just need to sleep under the desk. It's too noisy at home at night..."
"Young Master Sorel, actually... cough, cough, cough cough..."
As Petty spoke, she suddenly started coughing, which lasted for quite a while before gradually stopping, her cheeks flushed with an unhealthy redness.
Lionel put down his fork: "Slow down, don't choke."
Petty nodded repeatedly, patted her chest a few times, and steadied her breathing.
Lionel hesitated, glanced towards the living room, and, finding Mrs. Martin not by the stove, quietly said to Petty: "You don't need to move to the attic yet—this week I'll look for a new apartment, and then you'll have your own room."
Hearing Lionel's words, Petty's eyes widened in disbelief, and after digesting the incredibly fresh information of "new apartment" and "her own room," she was about to cry out with joy.
Lionel put a finger to his lips, signaling Petty not to make a sound, and she reluctantly swallowed her voice, but then coughed a few more times.
Once her breathing steadied again, Petty suddenly showed a concerned expression: "Young Master Sorel, you must take care of yourself, don't overwork yourself!"
Lionel: "Hmm?"
Petty's small face became serious: "I heard from my mother and neighbors that those baronesses and rich ladies have very big 'needs,' and even the strongest young man can't withstand their demands."
Lionel: "..."
Petty's small mouth didn't stop, chattering like a little adult: "Mother also said that there used to be a young man as tall as you in this apartment, a porter for a freight company, as strong as a bull.
But ever since he got together with Mr. Leeds, the port freight merchant's wife, he quickly became thin and died in the winter of the following year."
Lionel: "..."
Seeing his silence, Petty thought she had hit a nerve and quickly comforted him: "Young Master Sorel, it's actually quite good living here, we don't need to rush to move, that way we can save a lot on rent.
I really can sleep under the table, just give me an extra blanket... We also don't have to eat meat every day, I think once every three... two days is fine..."
Unable to listen any longer, Lionel pushed his noodles aside and asked Petty: "Do you know what 'needs' are?"
Petty shook her head in confusion, then nodded: "I heard those ladies are very fat, one of them weighs more than five Pettys, you need to push them..."
Lionel quickly stopped Petty from continuing, then, holding his forehead, looked at the little person in front of him with a complex expression, and after a long while, he spoke: "Don't you think this is, well, a 'disgraceful thing'?"
Petty showed a puzzled expression: "Why is it a 'disgraceful thing'? Isn't Miss Meryl on the third floor doing the same thing? It's just that she doesn't have your luck; her clients are only the dock workers, and sometimes my father goes to her room too...
My mother used to often call me a 'little bitch' and said she would sell me to a brothel. I heard a prostitute there can earn 150 francs a month, and doesn't even have to practice ballet..."
Lionel: "..." He realized he had overestimated the moral standards of the general public living in this area, in this kind of apartment.
Lionel quickly interrupted Petty: "You must remember what I'm about to say, Petty."
Seeing Lionel so serious, Petty quickly put down her fork, got up from her chair, and stood.
Lionel's tone was more serious than ever: "Petty, this way of exchanging your body for money that you just spoke of, I, Lionel Sorel, have not, do not, and will not ever do, because it is not respectable, I have my own way of earning money, but it is certainly not this."
Petty was also frightened, not daring to breathe, nodding repeatedly.
Lionel continued: "Miss Meryl on the third floor is forced into that profession by life, I don't think it's shameful, but it's certainly not a glorious thing, and I believe that if she had the chance, she would definitely try her best to escape her current situation."
Petty continued to nod.
Lionel finally said: "You will be an outstanding woman in the future, literate, able to speak and write, earning far more than 150 francs, and everyone who sees you will call you 'Respected Ms. Petty.'
You will not become a prostitute; this is not discrimination against them, but rather that you have the opportunity to choose a different path than theirs. If you choose this path, then you should have the awareness to become 'Respected Ms. Petty,' and not think that being a prostitute is fine.
Can you do it?"
Petty understood some of the last two sentences, but not all of them, but since Lionel said it, she still nodded firmly: "I can do it, Young Master Sorel!"
Only then did Lionel relax, telling Petty to sit down and quickly eat the remaining noodles and duck meat.
In the evening, Lionel, as usual, sent Petty to bed early, and he lit a candle and began to write.
He only stood up, shaking his aching hand, after the candle had burned down by more than half.
Handwriting was really inefficient, especially now that he had to complete three manuscripts at the same time—
One was "A Parisian Honest Man's Provincial Travelogue" for The Clamor, requiring at least 150 lines per week;
One was "The Old Guard" for the Sorbonne Faculty of Arts journal, the number of lines undecided, but it should not be less than 500-600 lines;
And of course, there was "decadent city", although the creative period was as long as 4 months, considering the length, it was actually very tight.
"I wonder if typewriters exist now? How much does one cost?" Lionel pondered, then prepared to extinguish the candle and go to sleep.
Just then, footsteps came thumping up the stairs from downstairs, and soon reached the door of his attic room.
"Young Master Sorel, are you resting?" A woman with messy hair stood at the doorway and asked.
Lionel's heart sank when he saw the person; she was Petty's mother.
The woman's face was hard to discern in the candlelight, and he only heard her say in a slightly trembling voice: "Petty started coughing shortly after she came home tonight, and it hasn't stopped; I touched her forehead, it's as hot as a freshly lit stove..."