ionel slept until noon, skipping his last morning class before the Easter Holiday.
After drinking a glass of water, he decided to skip his afternoon classes as well, officially starting his Easter Holiday.
However, not many students attended Sorbonne today, and the professors tacitly allowed it—after all, many students could extend these two weeks of holiday into four.
During lunch, Lionel noticed Alice's eyes were red and asked with concern, "What's wrong? Missing home?"
Alice wiped her eyes and shook her head. "No... Lionel, how could you be so cruel?"
Lionel: "Hm?"
Before Alice could speak again, Petty raised her hand and finished her sentence for her: "Sister Alice read Young Master's novel and cried for almost an hour!
She said the fate Young Master arranged for the heroine was too tragic, always loving the man, but he never remembered her..."
Hearing Petty's words, Alice's eyes began to redden again, looking like she was about to cry.
Lionel quickly comforted her: "The novel is fictional, don't take it seriously—how could there be such a tragic woman and such a heartless man in reality?
This is all for the market, Alice. Female readers need to satisfy their fantasy of a love involving life and death, and male readers need to satisfy their yearning for the life of a dashing wanderer..."
It must be said, "letter from an unknown woman" was still too stimulating for readers of this era!
The most extreme "sadomasochistic" reading experience people had was the love-hate saga after a landlord's young master seduced a maid. They absolutely could not imagine someone loving another person their entire life, like the heroine of "letter from an unknown woman," with the other person completely oblivious.
To some extent, this novel redefined "love."
In traditional concepts of love, no matter the process or outcome, both parties always had a process of meeting and getting to know each other.
This novel, however, told readers that love could also be pure unrequited love, where one party was deeply devoted, and the other remained completely unaware.
Alice looked at Lionel doubtfully: "Really? Lionel, don't lie to me... I feel like you've changed.
The Lionel in Paris and the Lionel in Alps are completely different people!"
She struggled hard not to say the proverb, "Men turn bad when they come to Paris."
Lionel didn't rush to refute but smiled softly: "Oh? What was the Lionel in Alps like?"
Alice seemed lost in thought, and after a long while, she said: "The Lionel in Alps... was smart, polite, spoke slowly, shy, and always hunched his back when he walked, as if afraid of seeming too tall..."
As Lionel listened, he cut a piece of meat from his plate and put it into his mouth. With one bite, the rich juices filled his oral cavity.
"So, is my change not good?" Lionel asked her.
Alice shook her head: "I don't know... You're still as smart, as polite... even smarter, to be able to write such a good novel. But... but..."
She ultimately didn't finish her sentence and began to quietly lower her head and eat.
But what came after "but," Lionel didn't press. Such questions inherently have no answers.
However, to ease the awkward atmosphere, Lionel suggested: "Tomorrow, let's go on an outing, Saint-Cloud Park? Bois de Boulogne? Versailles? Or do you want to go boating on Seine River?"
This topic finally swept away the gloomy atmosphere at the dinner table, and Petty also smiled.
Alice thought for a moment: "How can the parks and forests of Paris compare to Alps... I want to see Seine River. I've read about it many times in books, but I've never really seen it properly."
Lionel snapped his fingers: "Alright, we'll go to Seine River!"
————
Not everyone was as relaxed and happy as Lionel, for example, Garibuer, the owner of The Clamor.
Due to being busy with various negotiations, he only received two replies from "An Honest Parisian" this morning.
One was a refusal, and the other was also a refusal.
Garibuer hadn't expected the other party to be so cautious, refusing the 3000 francs right in front of him, and even returning the 300 francs advance.
He even immediately wrote another letter, but received it back that same afternoon. The post office's return receipt stated: "Address canceled."
"What a cunning old fox!" Garibuer commented, then asked Pierre, his personal valet standing before him: "Are you sure it was only that young man throughout?"
Pierre nodded and added: "I tracked him twice in total. The first time, two months ago, he went to an old, dilapidated apartment in Eleventh District, where the landlady looked like a witch from a knight's novel.
This time, he didn't go to Eleventh District but headed towards the Fifth District. However, there were too many carriages on the way, and I was stuck for a while, and the public carriage he was on disappeared.
I could only estimate, based on the public carriage's route, that he probably went to Boulevard Saint-Germain, An Tan Street, or Boulevard Haussmann."
Garibuer asked again: "Are you sure he's a Sorbonne student named Lionel?"
Pierre replied: "His neighbor in that Eleventh District apartment told me! But as soon as I tried to ask more, that old witch chased me out."
Garibuer fell into contemplation. Eleventh District was basically a slum, so it wasn't strange for a poor university student to live there. Boulevard Saint-Germain and An Tan Street were places where the middle class gathered, so that "Lionel" definitely couldn't afford to live there.
The only possibility, then, was that "An Honest Parisian" lived there, or at least they met there.
Paris has twenty thousand cafes; one could easily use any of them to pass on information and mail, and no one would ever notice.
Garibuer had been under immense pressure these past two days—
He visited Bishop Gibert twice, but was told each time that the bishop was accompanying the cardinal on a diocesan inspection and was not at the cathedral.
He also visited Chief Gigo and was not turned away, but the meeting was in a public reception room rather than an office.
Furthermore, he sought out several council members he knew; they either avoided him or gave only official platitudes. Only one honestly stated: "You should go hide in London or Berlin."
All signs pointed to the worst possible outcome.
However, the Easter Holiday gave him two weeks to breathe; during these two weeks, even if Napoleon IV brought the British army across the Channel, French civil servants would not give up their vacation.
Garibuer could calmly leave Paris with his money—the only regret was not being able to take the second part of "the decadent city."
It was unknown when he would return, and whether he would still be able to contact "An Honest Parisian" by then was also an unknown.
He then took out a piece of paper, quickly wrote a few lines, put them in an envelope, and handed it to Pierre:
"I'm leaving for England in a few days. The newspaper will operate as before; you maintain it for a while. If it really can't continue, close it down.
If the police come looking for me, give them this letter."
Pierre, long accustomed to such things, tucked the letter into his embrace and bowed to Garibuer: "Yes, master!"