In France at this time, few people introduced themselves with their full names, just as Lionel would only say, "My name is Lionel Sorel," instead of "My name is Lionel Joseph Étienne Sorel."
However, this surname caught Lionel's attention, and he asked with some curiosity, "You and Mr. Jules Verne are…?"
Upon hearing this question, Michel Verne did not answer, but instead snorted dismissively and turned his head away.
However, Albert proudly introduced him, "Michel Verne is Mr. Verne's only son, and he will soon be our classmate. Mr. Verne thinks our Sorbonne…"
Michel Verne interrupted Albert, "Stop talking about that old scoundrel who's obsessed with money! I don't care where he wants me to go! He sends me to Paris but only gives me 300 francs a month; he just wants me to starve to death in Paris!"
Lionel: "…" 300 francs in Paris was already enough to support a large family, living in a decent apartment, with a maid from Brittany.
However, it seemed that Mr. Jules Verne and his only son had a strained relationship. 300 francs a month was a huge sum for ordinary people, but for him, it was a drop in the ocean.
Jules Verne, through the connection of Alexandre Dumas, fils, became a disciple of Alexandre Dumas, and successfully entered the literary circle with the help of his "mentor."
So his creative philosophy came entirely from Alexandre Dumas — in Alexandre Dumas's eyes, "What is history? It's just a nail to hang my novels on!" — and for Verne, it can be summarized as "What is science? It's just a nail to hang my novels on!"
In any case, his writing was very successful. In 1863, he signed a twenty-year contract with the famous publisher "Hetzel Publishing House." As long as he provided three books to "Hetzel Publishing House" each year, "Hetzel Publishing House" would pay him 500 francs a month.
And this amount, with Jules Verne's increasing fame and sales, also rose tenfold from the original contract.
By the 1870s, the sales of Jules Verne's novels had already caught up with his mentor Alexandre Dumas, making him one of the most beloved novelists in France, and certainly one of the wealthiest writers.
It seems that how to educate children is a common heartache for famous people throughout history?
Lionel thought, since you are not your father, you are just a rich second generation, so he stopped asking and said directly to Albert, "Are you ready?"
Albert chuckled strangely, took the lead, and led everyone into the narrow Hell Street.
Hell Street first formed in the 13th century, evolving from defensive fortifications built during the time of King Philip Augustus. It survived multiple wars, fires, and even the large-scale land expropriation of the 1860s, stubbornly living until now.
It is also one of the few streets in Paris still dominated by wooden buildings. The outer walls of many buildings are pitch black, and even the streetlights cannot illuminate them, adding to the sense of oppression.
Most Parisian students who loved to play pranks had been here to satisfy their "desire for adventure," but this was everyone's first time coming so late.
The group walked one after another, like a luminous centipede, through Hell Street. Many people doing transactions late at night, upon seeing them, either covered themselves with cloaks or pulled down their hat brims and turned up their collars.
Not far into the alley, Albert stopped beneath a window. He reached out and tapped the glass. The window quickly opened, and a pale, withered hand reached out.
Albert slipped a 10-sou coin into this hand and casually asked, "We want to go 'down the well' to take a look."
The pale, withered hand withdrew, and a moment later, a note was handed out, accompanied by a hoarse, gender-indiscernible voice: "Take the note to number 109. Knock twice slowly, then after a few seconds, knock three times quickly."
Having received the instructions, Albert led the group forward for a few more minutes, finally seeing a narrow door marked with the number "109."
Albert knocked on the door according to the previous instructions. Soon, a small window on the narrow door opened, and Albert handed in the note; after about half a minute, the narrow door finally opened.
A thin, short man, who looked like a goblin, looked up at Albert and Lionel, revealing a lewd smile: "University students?"
Before Albert and the others could react, he turned sideways: "Come in. As long as you're not police, anyone is fine."
Lionel took a deep breath and followed Albert and the others through the narrow door.
Unexpectedly, the space inside was not small, just empty, without any furniture. Gas lamps lit the walls. Although the brightness was average, it was no longer as eerie and terrifying as outside.
The "goblin" held out his hand: "'Down the well' is 2 francs per person; if you need a guide, it's 4 francs per hour; the 'wellhead' is open to you for 1 hour. If you don't return after 1 hour, you'll have to wait for the next guest, or pay an additional 2 francs per person; if you don't take a guide, we are not responsible for getting lost or any accidents."
Albert looked back at Lionel, who shrugged: "I don't care, but I'm certainly not paying those 2 francs."
Albert was choked for a moment and could only turn back to the "goblin" speechlessly, pulling out 12 francs and handing them over: "We don't need a guide."
The "goblin" took the money, nodded, and then grabbed a crowbar from a corner of the room. He pried at the edge of the broken floor, and a pitch-black opening appeared.
The "goblin" then dragged a ladder over, lowering it into the opening while explaining: "There are only three main tunnels down there. No matter how far you go, as long as you follow the widest path, you will definitely return here."
"Of course, if you encounter something else, then I can't guarantee whether you'll return…" He then started to laugh sinisterly.
Albert was a bit unnerved by the laughter and was about to say something when he saw Lionel already climbing down the ladder first. He could only close his mouth and brace himself to follow.
The shaft was not very deep, only about 5 meters, and they quickly reached the bottom. It was pitch black here; apart from the gas lamps in their hands, there was not a trace of light.
The air in the catacombs instantly seized them. It wasn't the coolness of the surface, but a viscous, icy, dead silence carrying old dust and an indescribable sweet, putrid smell.
Albert was the last to touch solid ground. The ladder was quickly pulled away by the "goblin" above, and the last faint light from the surface was completely swallowed, as if the tomb door had slammed shut above their heads.
Absolute darkness, so thick it couldn't be dissolved, like cold grease coating everyone's eyes, mouths, and noses, leaving only their heavy, nervous breaths echoing in the narrow shaft bottom, sounding particularly harsh and helpless.
"Light! Quickly!" Albert's voice, with an imperceptible tremor, sounded extraordinarily abrupt in the absolute darkness.
The others quickly brought their gas lamps together and held them high, illuminating their surroundings — they stood at the entrance of a low-arched tunnel, barely wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side. The walls and ceiling of the tunnel were not made of earth or masonry at all, but of dense, layered, endless human bones.
Femur bones were neatly stacked like firewood to form the foundation of the walls; tibias, fibulas, and arm bones crisscrossed to fill the gaps; and what made one's scalp tingle and soul tremble were the countless skulls densely embedded in the bone walls, like wallpaper from hell.
Thousands upon thousands, boundless.
Albert and his followers were not new to the catacombs. Some of them had even been "subdued" by Albert in this very way.
But at 10 PM, in a private shaft, without a guide… it was everyone's first time, and seeing the scene before them, they couldn't help but swallow.
The sound of their Adam's apples moving was unusually jarring at this moment.
Suddenly, Michel Verne's voice rang out: "Then, where did that Lionel go?"