"You are free, Mr. Sorel!"
The heavy door of the detention room "clanged" open, and Inspector Claude walked in.
Lionel was a little surprised, but quickly composed himself, pointing to the adjacent cell:
"What about him?"
Inspector Claude secretly took a deep breath, reviewed Director Gigot's recent instructions, and smiled:
"He is indeed the swindler who defrauded your family, and he also impersonated you to deceive the Baroness.
And, he is undoubtedly the author of that erotic publication, 'The Decadent City'!"
Lionel: "...?"
Wasn't this the strategy I had just thought of while sitting on that hard wooden bench?
Did someone anticipate my anticipation?
Of course, he didn't know the complex office politics behind Director Gigot's eagerness to pin this hat on the swindler, but he was wise enough not to ask further, instead showing a relieved smile:
"Oh? That's truly surprising... I didn't expect him to be quite talented..."
Inspector Claude breathed a sigh of relief at this:
"Indeed... otherwise, how would he have thought of impersonating you? — Let's go."
As they passed the swindler's cell, Lionel deliberately stopped and asked Claude:
"Can I have a look at him?"
Claude nodded:
"No problem."
Then he opened the peephole on the iron door.
Lionel looked inside through the peephole, his gaze meeting that of the swindler.
Seeing Lionel unharmed, the swindler suddenly lunged forward and grabbed the iron bars on the peephole:
"It was you... it was you..."
Lionel took a step back to avoid being spat on.
He looked into the swindler's eyes:
"You're a clever man, and a good actor, but..."
Before he could finish, the swindler let out a sinister chuckle:
"Don't get cocky.
Lionel Sorel, right?
I remember now, ha, the Sorels of Alpes-Laragne, right?
They have a son studying at university in Paris...
Your sister's name is Yvanna, isn't it?
She's a complete idiot..."
With a "clang," the peephole was shut again.
Claude's face was full of contempt:
"Swindlers like this are all the same, all bravado and nothing else."
At this moment, the swindler's voice, though muffled by the iron door, was still clear:
"Eight years!
Eight years at most!
I'll be out of Toulon Prison...
You just wait..."
Lionel's expression immediately turned grim:
"What a joke, only sentenced to eight years?
Is he telling the truth?"
Claude shook his head:
"Heaven knows, I'm not a judge either.
But most of these fraudsters are well-versed in the penal code, so he might have a point."
Lionel felt a pang of regret:
"That's too easy on him..."
The swindler laughed arrogantly inside the cell.
Claude then revealed a cruel smile:
"Fraud only carries eight years, but creating obscene works and blasphemy against religion... that's a different story..."
The swindler's laughter abruptly stopped, and his voice became panicked:
"Blasphemy? You... you're framing me..."
It was then that Lionel remembered that France, at least nominally, was still a country where church and state were united, and it was also the Church's greatest patron nation, calling itself "the eldest daughter of the Church."
Charges like blasphemy against the Church could sometimes lead to very severe sentences, especially without powerful individuals to intercede.
Claude scoffed softly:
"According to previous precedents, such people are usually considered demon-possessed or mentally deranged.
Their ultimate destination would likely be a mental asylum."
Lionel shivered – a 19th-century mental asylum, that was a truly terrifying place; even if you weren't mad when you went in, you'd come out mad.
The swindler froze for a moment in his cell, then began to pound on the iron door, crying out in despair:
"I don't want to go to a mental asylum!
I want to go to prison!
Let me go to prison!
For as long as it takes..."
As the heavy iron door of the detention area clanged shut, the swindler's roars became faintly inaudible.
Lionel was a little worried:
"What if he adamantly refuses to admit it?"
Inspector Claude smiled meaningfully:
"Don't worry, he will!"
Lionel nodded; in this regard, he still had considerable confidence in 19th-century police.
He then turned his attention to the most crucial question:
"The 5,000 francs our family was swindled out of..."
Inspector Claude patted his shoulder:
"After the court's final ruling, the stolen money will be returned to you — provided he has any left."
As they spoke, Lionel had already followed Inspector Claude to the large outer office of the Paris police station.
He saw that the place was uncharacteristically brightly lit and bustling with noise, as lively as a marketplace.
With Lionel's arrival, all eyes focused on him; and Lionel, too, saw familiar figures:
The white-haired Turgenev, the anxious Flaubert, the angry yet still polite Zola, Professor Taine with his gold-rimmed glasses, and Daudet with his beautifully curled mustache...
Except for Professor Taine, almost all were senior figures he had met at salons, and each wore a look of concern.
Seeing Lionel emerge unharmed, Ivan Turgenev was the first to greet him:
"Are you alright? Director Gigot just said it was all a misunderstanding..."
Others also came forward to greet Lionel, while reporters were held back outside, though they were actively trying to breach the police line.
At this moment, Director Gigot squeezed in — this was probably the most stressful night of his three-year tenure as director — and shook Lionel's hand:
"I'm sorry, it was all that fool Lefevre...
But it's alright now, everything was a misunderstanding.
The reporters are right outside, and I hope...
I hope you can be understanding."
Lionel nodded and said with a smile:
"I can't blame you — if anyone's to blame, it's that swindler; he impersonated me so perfectly! Didn't he, Mr. Turgenev?"
Turgenev frowned:
"Indeed... if I hadn't met you, I might have mistaken that swindler for you too."
Just then, a reporter ducked under the crowd, pulled out a wooden box from behind him, and quickly extended three legs to stabilize it.
"Everyone, please look forward and smile.
Mr. Lionel, please stand in the center..."
Director Gigot immediately stood beside Lionel.
————
The next day, Le Petit Parisien, featuring a group photo of Lionel with several literary giants in the Paris police station office, sold out completely.
Newspapers at that time could not yet print photographs, so the newspaper reproduced the photo using an etching method, which was considered quite lifelike.
The "farce" that took place last night at Baroness Alekseyevna's masquerade ball on Montmartre Hill also received extensive coverage.
Two "Lionel Sorels" clashing; a master swindler who had traveled all over France arrested; the true author of 'The Decadent City' exposed...
Every single one of these incidents could have been a headline on its own, let alone three of them merging into one!
A single front page was nowhere near enough; Le Petit Parisien used two full pages to publish all this content — rushed and produced overnight, this was all they could manage.
Just as readers finished the two pages, still wanting more, they turned to the back of the newspaper and saw a bold line of text —
[The Conscience of the Sorbonne, a genius novelist, victim of fraud, confidant of Parisian women, Lionel Sorel, with a childlike heart, presents his latest masterpiece, profoundly moving and tear-jerking, making everyone re-examine family, money, and kinship. You're not truly French if you don't read it —
'My Uncle Jules']
Lionel: "..."
(End of chapter)
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