Lionel glanced into the laboratory: "Professor Bobuze isn't here?"
Pierre Curie cautiously said: "The professor went to dinner, he might be back in a while..."
Lionel smiled—"might be," meaning it was unlikely he'd return.
He asked in a low voice: "Mr. Curie, I heard that here, one can get some experimental supplies that are hard to find on the market, such as chemical reagents..."
Pierre Curie's face visibly panicked, and he quickly clarified: "That's a rumor... Besides, this is the 'Physics Laboratory,' didn't you see the sign?"
Lionel quickly said: "Don't be nervous, I'm just asking..."
Pierre Curie was both a genius who earned his master's degree at 18 and an eccentric who loved to break traditional research paradigms.
He always liked to do experiments he was interested in outside of the professor's requirements, and he even had a small private laboratory in his apartment, which resulted in his expenses always exceeding his income.
So he occasionally took on some 'side jobs,' helping Sorbonne students tinker with strange, but harmless, gadgets.
Of course, such things were intolerable to Professor Bobuze, his mentor and direct superior, who believed that Pierre Curie should not waste his talent on these unorthodox pursuits.
Lionel took out his badge and student ID, handing them to the other party.
Seeing that Lionel was indeed a Sorbonne student, Pierre Curie finally relaxed: "Alright, but why do you need to come to the laboratory? If Professor Bobuze sees us, we'll both be in trouble."
Lionel seized the opportunity to invite him: "Then shall we go to 'Procope' for a cup of coffee?"
'Procope' was the name of a cafe next to the Faculty of Science, which had hosted masters like Voltaire, Rousseau, and Hugo, and was also one of the favorite cafes of Sorbonne teachers and students.
Pierre Curie hesitated for a moment, then nodded: "Wait for me." With that, he returned to the laboratory to finish up, and carefully checked that all the instruments were properly turned off, to prevent the million-franc laboratory from exploding while they were drinking coffee.
Fifteen minutes later, the two sat at a small round table at 'Procope,' each sipping a cup of coffee.
At this point, Lionel was no longer in a hurry, observing this both fortunate and unfortunate scientist with interest, and thinking about the story of him and his wife, who was famous in the history of science, he couldn't help but get lost in thought.
Pierre Curie couldn't help but ask first: "What do you want exactly?"
Lionel then snapped back to reality: "I want to get some 'copper chloride,' can you help me get it?"
Pierre Curie was stunned: "What do you need it for?"
Although his major was physics, his brother Jacques Paul Curie had been a chemistry assistant at a medical school, and Pierre had helped his brother organize lecture notes there.
Moreover, a genius like him was proficient in both physics and chemistry during his basic education, only later specializing in physics.
A mischievous smile appeared on Lionel's face: "I want to make a burning flame turn green."
...
It was 8 PM when Lionel parted ways with Pierre Curie; they had a light meal at the cafe for dinner.
Although Lionel was a liberal arts student in his previous life, he had the foundation to be admitted to Yan University, so he still remembered some basic physics and chemistry knowledge, as well as interesting experiments his teachers had done.
Therefore, his conversation with Pierre Curie was very pleasant, and he occasionally brought up strange knowledge and speculative theories that astonished the other party.
Although Pierre Curie considered these to be nonsense, he was, after all, the first student from the Sorbonne Faculty of Arts he had met who had such a profound understanding of natural science.
Even stranger, why did Lionel specifically remind him when they parted: "Be sure to pay attention to passing carriages when crossing the road."
Of course, Lionel couldn't explicitly say that the old man, in the second year after achieving fame, had his head crushed by a carriage wheel because he didn't look when crossing the road.
Returning to Mrs. Martin's apartment, there was no longer the aroma of stewed meat, nor Petty's star-like eyes and crisp call of "Young Master Sorel."
All that remained was the dark, gloomy hallway, the cold air, and the lingering, inescapable peculiar smell in every corner.
Lionel knew that preaching moral education to these poor people, who were struggling on the brink of survival and could lose their lives at any moment, was not only foolish but inherently immoral.
Now, he could only save himself, Petty, and the Sorel family, who were far away in the Alps.
This weekend, he had to find a suitable apartment no matter what—not only to keep himself away from the risk of illness, but also to provide Petty with a clean environment to recuperate in after she was discharged from the hospital.
Such residences could usually only be rented in "Haussmannian" residential apartments that had undergone urban renovation, mostly concentrated in the aristocratic, wealthy, and middle-class areas of the first to ninth arrondissements.
In these places, an apartment with two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a private bathroom, and other complete facilities typically cost no less than 100 francs per month, not including meals.
In addition, there would be a cost for personal items to be purchased after moving into the apartment.
6,000 francs seemed like a lot, but in reality, it was just an entry ticket to a middle-class life in Paris, with little left after deducting family debts.
If he couldn't continuously earn enough wealth later, at most within two years, he would end up like the protagonist in Balzac's "Father Goriot," living worse each year.
Lionel's desire for "fame" and "money" burned hotter than ever before.
He lit a candle, took out manuscript paper, and luxuriously made himself a cup of black coffee, then, like Balzac who had just gone bankrupt, he wrote furiously under the flickering candlelight, transcribing his recently completed "the old guard."
At this moment, he even felt that every letter he wrote now made the "clink" sound of centime copper coins and franc silver coins colliding.
The next morning, Lionel arrived at Sorbonne 20 minutes earlier than usual and waited outside the door of Mr. Duen, the dean.
It was almost 9 o'clock when Mr. Duen arrived at his office and looked very surprised to see Lionel: "Why are you here?"
Lionel took out the transcribed novel manuscript from his embrace, handed it to the dean, and said in an uncharacteristically polite tone: "This is the manuscript of the work you requested; I have finished writing it and am submitting it to you today."
Mr. Duen took the manuscript and frowned, thinking that this student might have been a bit hasty, having completed a novel in just a few days. Was he perhaps being perfunctory?
But since the dean's task was completed, it was no longer his concern, so he accepted the manuscript and nodded: "Very good, you may go to class."