Half an hour later, Lionel practically "fled" from the small parlor at Sorbonne, leaving Madame Rothschild's string of unrestrained laughter behind him.
Fortunately, today was Thursday, and the academy was almost empty in the afternoon; students were in the Fifth and Ninth Arrondissements, while professors were in the Second or Fourth Districts.
Although Madame Rothschild had at one point shown great interest and even admiration for Lionel, she was, after all, a well-trained lady and quickly began to try and "control" Lionel.
Lionel also expended great effort to barely resist the temptation, reaching a certain, not deep but very friendly, understanding with her, which was a good start.
He repeatedly told himself, this was for literature, for art…
Dean Henri Patin witnessed all of this through a window in a corner of his office, and seeing Lionel's expression, a smile of both relief and melancholy appeared on his face.
He thought back 40 years, when he too was such a young and handsome man, and had a lady who was interested in his work… and in him.
And the warm, fragrant, oriental-style parlor in the lady's home…
Aside from that lady being twenty years older than Madame Rothschild and having a waist two feet wider, there were no other regrets.
Lionel did not immediately return to An Tan Street 12, but instead went to the post office on Saint Martin Boulevard; he had two things to do today—
First, he would immediately write a letter to Garibuer, politely declining his request for the manuscript in two weeks, but stating that he would deliver the remaining parts of "the decadent city" to him 40 days after Easter, before "Ascension Day," as they had previously agreed.
At the same time, he would cease contributing to The Clamor's "An Honest Parisian" column, effective immediately.
The post office had small, curtained cubicles specifically for people to temporarily open, read, and reply to letters, offering stationery and quill pens for just 1 sou.
Lionel wrote the letter as quickly as possible, paid a 5 sou "same-day delivery" fee, and asked the post office to deliver it to The Clamor's mailbox by tonight at the latest.
Second, he would close his previous "poste restante" mailbox.
Although the independence of the French postal system had always been well-known, he could not be sure whether these employees could withstand pressure from the Parisian police or the Church.
So the best solution was to temporarily disappear.
The post office on Saint Martin Boulevard was busy, and there was a queue for "poste restante" every day, so after a while, no one would remember him.
Anyway, there were countless post offices in Paris, and when needed, he could just register at another one.
Unexpectedly, he received Garibuer's second letter urging him to submit the manuscript, which also contained a 300-franc money order.
However, these only made Lionel more cautious—Garibuer was by no means a generous person, and for him to be willing to pay in advance to get the manuscript indicated that the situation was more urgent than he had imagined.
Lionel hesitated for a moment and decided to have the post office return both the letter and the money order.
"With a lady's patronage, my backbone is indeed strong!" Lionel exclaimed.
If he hadn't had that friendly interaction with Madame Rothschild today and received the promise of sponsorship, perhaps he really would have taken the risk to pursue that 3,000-franc manuscript fee.
But now he was much more at ease.
Moreover, he still had a time draft worth 1,500 francs, which could be fully cashed in mid-April, after the "Easter" holiday; the cash on hand was enough to last until early next year without issue.
After completing these two major tasks, he finally felt truly relieved, then boarded a public carriage at the intersection and went to An Tan Street 12 with ease.
— — — —
"Young Master Sorel, you're back!"
As soon as he entered the house, Lionel heard Petty's sweet voice.
This time, Lionel felt a little guilty, remembering the righteous words he had spoken to Petty, and his face burned slightly—but he reassured himself that he was still pure and had not allowed Madame Rothschild to "ruin" his innocence.
Alice also put down her copying pen when she heard the sound and came out of her room to greet him.
Having lived with Lionel for nearly two months, Alice's original tan from the farm in the Alps had gradually faded, revealing her natural fair skin, which made Lionel almost afraid to look too closely.
Her complexion, which had been quite poor after a year of asceticism at the "Notre Dame de Lourdes," had also gained a healthy flush thanks to at least 2 francs a day for food.
Aside from occasionally frowning due to worry about her family, her mental state was much better than when she first arrived.
Recently, in addition to copying books, she also helped Petty with household chores, so although three people lived in the apartment, it did not seem too messy.
It's worth noting that in the 19th century, there was no such thing as "home appliances"; just washing clothes, cooking, and cleaning alone took up a lot of time, in addition to a myriad of other trivial tasks that needed to be handled.
The higher your social status, the richer your social life, the more chores you had, and the less time you had to deal with them.
Typically, an ordinary middle-class family did not employ a maid—if they did, it was only the cheapest Breton maid, and the mistress did almost as much work as the maid every day.
Wealthy middle-class families with an annual income exceeding "20,000 francs" employed at least four servants, including a personal maid, a personal valet, a cleaning maid, and a cook; otherwise, life would be a mess.
Fortunately, Lionel was currently just a happy bachelor and did not bring guests home, so Petty and Alice could manage.
Watching the two busy figures before him, Lionel felt a sense of unreality—he couldn't even say why he had "taken in" the two of them in the first place, perhaps it was his natural soft-heartedness, or perhaps the strong sense of loneliness after being reborn, which made him want to be tied down by something.
Today's dinner included a new dish—mushroom chicken pie. It was Petty's "magical modification" of the "truffle chicken pie" Lionel had brought back two days ago.
The expensive black truffles were replaced with cheap mushrooms, and the chicken also changed from fine Bresse chicken to ordinary grey hen, but the correct use of spices, salt, and pepper ensured that the dish did not lose too much of its flavor.
Lionel thought of Petty busy on the stove, standing on a stool every day, and sincerely exclaimed: "Petty, with your skill, in a few years I won't be able to afford you."
Petty's eyes curved into a smile upon hearing this; she knew Young Master Sorel was joking.
In fact, Lionel's words were not unfounded; in Paris, a first-class cook was a capital asset to show off; a delicious dinner could even be worth ten tedious attempts at flattery and ingratiation.
Parisians were never stingy, never polite, and never forgiving when it came to food!
Therefore, hiring a good cook cost at least 200 to 300 francs per month, and they also had to be allowed to take some advantage when purchasing ingredients.
A small cook like Petty, who could prepare three meals, would not earn less than 50 francs per month—yet Lionel only had to pay her parents 15 francs per month.
It was as if, with an annual income of 5,000 francs, he enjoyed the lifestyle of a wealthy middle-class family; an occasional act of kindness, a generous return, it felt like he had struck gold.
After eating and drinking his fill, Lionel, while Petty was cleaning up, said to Alice: "Starting tomorrow, I will give you my novel manuscript, and you will help me transcribe it, also for 10 centimes per page."
Alice's eyes lit up at the news; then, thinking of something, her cheeks flushed, and she lowered her head.