Lionel, stunned from head to toe by the news, stopped in his tracks.
He pulled out the entire letter on the stairs, eager to see what lay beneath.
Just then, a voice came from the adjacent room:
"Good evening, Monsieur Sorel."
It was as clear and pleasant as wind chimes.
Lionel tucked the letter away, turned his head, and forced a smile:
"Good evening, Petty."
The one who greeted him was Petty, the 10-year-old youngest daughter of the Millet family, who lived on the second floor.
Lionel had taught her to read before, so they had a good relationship.
Petty giggled happily:
"Anything new today?"
Lionel thought for a moment before saying:
"Someone probably invited me to a 'public dinner'?"
Petty's eyes lit up:
"'Public dinner'? I heard a meal there costs at least 2 francs! Was it good?"
Lionel nodded:
"It was good. At least the beef was chewable..."
Petty covered her mouth and laughed:
"You shouldn't let Madame Martin hear that..."
Lyon also smiled and asked:
"Petty, what about you, anything new today?"
Hearing this, Petty's expression immediately dimmed:
"Mama said she's sending me to ballet lessons next month..."
Lionel's heart sank.
In this era, anyone with a bit of social awareness understood what it meant for a poor family to send their child to ballet lessons.
Ballet was long out of fashion, so only poor families would send their daughters to full boarding ballet schools.
On the one hand, it saved the family on food and lodging, and on the other, they hoped the child could help support the family after becoming a professional dancer.
Ballet schools enforced strict militaristic management.
Girls learning ballet were often malnourished and frail, mockingly called "rats."
At this time, some "kind" benefactors would appear—they would either hide behind curtains or circulate backstage at the theater, choosing the girls they fancied...
Before Lionel could say anything, a gruff woman's voice came from the room:
"You little bitch, get in here and work..."
Petty looked horrified, nodded to Lionel, and hurried back into the room.
By now, it was dark.
This old "middle-class apartment" built in the 18th century had terrible lighting, and the residents were reluctant to light extra candles, let alone gas lamps.
Lionel watched Petty's frail figure disappear into the thick darkness, sighing inwardly, unable to do anything.
He was currently a "clay Bodhisattva crossing a river, barely able to save himself."
He went all the way up to the attic, returned to his cramped, sloped-roof space, and lit a candle.
Only then could he clearly read the rest of the letter.
The reason his family wanted him to drop out was simple: his sister had encountered a good marriage prospect last October.
The man was a senior manager at the "Orby Trading Company," not only earning a high income but also owning a large farm in Guyana.
In this era, for a woman to marry a man of higher social standing than her own family, a substantial dowry was essential.
Many families couldn't afford this sum, which is why their daughters remained "old maids."
Maupassant, who had just treated Lionel to a big meal today, described this situation in "My Uncle Jules"—
The two daughters of the protagonist Joseph's family remained unmarried until old age.
Only when their father used letters from Uncle Jules to paint a rosy picture for a young man, was the second sister reluctantly married off to this minor clerk.
Now that his sister was marrying "up," the money his family had originally prepared for her was probably far from enough.
His parents would have to dig deep into their savings to afford it.
The letter didn't specify the exact amount, but Lionel guessed it was probably no less than 3,000 francs—this already exceeded his father's entire annual income, almost equivalent to the dowry level of a Parisian middle-class family.
If the cost of his sister's gown and wedding was added, the Sorel family would practically be emptying their coffers just to welcome this son-in-law into their home.
Lionel couldn't help but wonder, what was the point of spending so much money to marry off their daughter?
Even to the extent of disregarding their son's future?
The second page of the letter provided the answer—
[Émile, who is soon to be your brother-in-law, has been given the opportunity to invest in the 'Panama Interoceanic Canal Global Company.'
He has promised that we will use a large part of the dowry, along with our family's savings, to purchase shares and bonds in this promising company.
Once the 'Panama Canal' is successfully excavated (expected to take only 5 years), these investments will snowball like those in the Alps, completely freeing our family from our current fate...
You also don't need to worry about your future after dropping out.
Émile has already promised to find you a position at the 'Orby Trading Company's' branch in Provence, with a monthly income of at least 260 francs, plus an annual bonus.
Come back, dear Léon.
What good is graduating from the Sorbonne anyway?
The job market is terrible these days, and you're studying literature... that's only good for gilding the lily in good times...]
At the end of the letter were 20 francs in cash and a train ticket back to the Alps two weeks later.
Lionel held the letter, lost in deep thought.
Of course, he knew about the 'Panama Canal.'
Before his rebirth, he had just experienced the farce of the Li family selling their port, and this canal was at the heart of it.
However, the history of the canal's excavation, and whether it was successfully dug by the French, he wasn't entirely clear on.
If this so-called "Panama Interoceanic Canal Global Company" truly existed and could indeed excavate the canal within 5 years, then this investment could certainly be said to yield immense profits.
However, as a socialist youth who had anti-fraud apps installed on his phone, he didn't believe that pie would really fall from the sky.
Moreover, what fell was a living, breathing person—young, wealthy, not only able to make the whole family rich but also solve his own brother-in-law's employment problem.
Rummaging through the original owner's memories, his "sister" was of ordinary appearance, with quite a few freckles on her face—if one were to compare, she was even less handsome than her younger brother.
No matter how he looked at it, this was a pig-butchering scam!
But judging from the overflowing enthusiasm, joy, and anticipation in the letter, the entire family seemed to be thoroughly convinced.
He wondered what kind of spell this "Émile" had cast on them.
Lionel clutched the 20 francs and the train ticket, deep in thought.
Dropping out was out of the question, and leaving Paris to return to the Alps was even less so, especially since he had just befriended Maupassant.
Once this "Émile" swindler succeeded and disappeared, the entire Sorel family would face utter ruin...
He hastily pulled a piece of paper from his desk, dipped his quill in ink, and began writing a reply:
[Dear Father, Mother, and Sister:
I am delighted to hear this news...]
He knew that directly calling Émile a swindler would be the worst approach to dissuade his family.
They would only think he had "gone wild," become "disobedient," and "didn't care about the family's well-being."
So, he could only subtly remind his family to thoroughly investigate the man's background.
At the same time, he was also calculating ways to earn money, as the possibility of receiving tuition and living expenses from home in the future was now minuscule.
(End of Chapter)