An hour later, Lionel appeared punctually on Lankelei Street in the Tenth Arrondissement, holding a bouquet of sweet peas; then, relying on his memory, he made several turns in the alley before finally stopping in front of a small courtyard with a fig tree by the gate.
This was Sophie Denave's house.
Although it had a small courtyard, the house itself was only one story and quite old; the walls were plastered, but many gaps between the bricks had cracked, allowing moss and climbing vines to grow.
The roof was a steep, A-frame wooden structure covered with aged slate tiles, and the windows were old-fashioned wooden dormers with peeling paint on their frames.
While the surrounding environment wasn't as bad as Oberkampf Street, it wasn't much better either.
The last time Lionel had brought her home, he had only gone to the door, and it was at night, so he hadn't seen it clearly, which explained his surprise now.
The neighbors had clearly noticed the young man who seemed out of place in the surroundings; eyes peered at him, and whispers sounded like a swarm of bees collecting honey nearby.
Lionel didn't mind; he saw a rope hanging above the courtyard gate, indicating an old-fashioned pull-cord doorbell.
As the crisp sound of the doorbell echoed through the courtyard, the door of the small house opened a moment later, and Sophie's figure appeared before Lionel. She was wearing a casual, light-colored dress, revealing her fair neck and delicate collarbones.
Seeing Lionel, she was both surprised and flustered, but a smile couldn't help but bloom on her face: "Why are you here?"
Lionel offered her the sweet peas: "I'm attending a ball, and you're the only dance partner I could think of."
After he explained the situation, Sophie's eyes first showed a shy yet proud sparkle, then dimmed: "That's a Count's ball. I don't have a suitable dress, and I'll only embarrass you…"
Lionel couldn't resist a joke: "While you might not have one, 'Printemps Department Store' certainly does… just make sure not to borrow a diamond necklace from 'Mrs. Forestier.'"
Sophie didn't know who "Mrs. Forestier" was, but she still shook her head: "You don't need to worry about it, I'll prepare the dress myself."
Lionel knew her personality and didn't press further, instead extending another invitation: "Do you have any other plans today? I'd like to go to a dance lesson with you…"
He then gave an embarrassed smile: "I can't dance, and Albert introduced me to a teacher…"
Sophie couldn't help but cover her mouth and chuckle, a hint of mischief in her eyes: "So, the famous Mr. Lionel Sorel also has things he can't do?"
Lionel self-deprecatingly admitted: "On the dance floor, I'm probably clumsier than Benjamin Button was when he first learned to walk."
He then made an exaggerated stumbling motion, which made Sophie laugh out loud.
The two took a hansom cab to the second floor of an elegant apartment building on "Boulevard des Italiens."
This was the Rohan family's etiquette classroom, Miss Odette de Villers's private studio, the "Academy of Poise and Grace."
The air here was filled with a faint, sweet incense, the room was spacious and bright, with polished hardwood floors, and a huge floor-toceiling mirror occupied an entire wall.
Miss Odette de Villers was a woman around forty years old, exceptionally well-preserved, wearing a well-tailored dark grey silk dress, her hair impeccably styled in a bun at the back of her head.
Her face wasn't stunning, but her demeanor was calm and noble; every movement, whether walking or standing, seemed calculated, fluid, silent, and elegant.
"Mr. Sorel, and this lady, welcome." Miss de Villers's voice carried just the right amount of warmth and distance.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, she went straight to the point: "Time is short, so we'll start directly with the most basic social dance steps. For Count Rohan's ball, the polka and waltz are essential.
Today, we'll practice the polka first; its rhythm is livelier and relatively easier to master."
She gestured for them to stand in the center of the room, facing the large mirror.
Miss de Villers stood before them, demonstrating the starting posture for gentlemen and ladies, the hand positions, and specifically emphasized the word "light": "Sir, your hand is a guide, not a restraint; Miss, your reliance is trust, not a burden.
Keep your body upright, but not stiff like a guard. Imagine yourselves as… well, a willow tree swaying in the wind."
Then, she began to break down the basic steps of the polka, a brisk 2/4 time hop-slide: "One, two, slide! One, two, slide! Pay attention to the rhythm, it's 'hop-cha-cha,' not 'thump-thump-thump'!"
She tapped out the rhythm with her mouth, her feet gliding lightly across the polished floor like a weightless feather.
Watching the demonstration seemed simple, but when it was Lionel and Sophie's turn to practice, the situation was entirely different.
Lionel felt as if his limbs were newly attached prosthetics, stiff and unresponsive.
He couldn't keep to the lively "hop-cha-cha" rhythm, his steps were heavy as if dragging the floor, and he almost tripped himself and Sophie when turning.
Miss de Villers's voice remained calm: "Mr. Sorel, relax your shoulders. You are not taming a wild horse, but rather… inviting a gentle breeze to dance. Your center of gravity should shift naturally with your steps, like this…"
She demonstrated the slide again, with enviable fluidity.
Sophie, meanwhile, tried her best to coordinate with Lionel's clumsy lead, her cheeks slightly flushed from holding back laughter and from tension.
She herself had a good sense of rhythm and had already mastered the steps, but under Lionel's sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes heavy, sometimes light leading, she also appeared a bit flustered.
Miss de Villers turned to Sophie, her smile encouraging: "Miss de Nav, you are following very well. But please remember, in the polka, the gentleman is the commander, even if this commander…
…is still getting acquainted with his army. Trust him, give him your hand, give him your center of gravity, and let him bear the responsibility of leading.
You just need to remain light and enjoy the feeling of gliding."
The practice continued. The room echoed with Miss de Villers's clear commands, Lionel's heavy footsteps, Sophie's occasional muffled chuckles, and Lionel's frustrated whispers…
…
Stepping out of the apartment, the evening breeze brushed their sweaty foreheads. Lionel looked at Sophie beside him; they exchanged glances and couldn't help but laugh. This half-day of "torment" had subtly brought them closer.
Lionel self-deprecatingly said: "It seems I'll be the one to embarrass you at Count Rohan's ball."
Sophie smiled: "It's alright, we're not nobles anyway…"
— — — —
"So, you already have a dance partner?" Madame Rothschild's tone was a little disappointed.
Lionel sat opposite her, beneath a dazzling crystal chandelier, surrounded by exotic decorations; he even saw an ink wash painting. The air was filled with a sweet, cloying fragrance.
Madame Rothschild reclined languidly on a cushion, wearing only a light-colored silk house dress, a ribbon loosely tied around her waist, with a lace chemise vaguely visible underneath; the skirt casually draped to the floor.
She held an ivory-handled feather fan, gently fanning herself, occasionally directing her breath towards Lionel opposite her.
She had invited Lionel to her mansion on Saint-Germain Street today because she had heard he would be attending the Rohan family's ball and wanted to invite him as her partner to formally introduce her role as Lionel's patron to Parisian society.
She hadn't expected Lionel to say he already had a dance partner.
Lionel's tone was calm: "Her name is Sophie, she's a very ordinary girl who helped me out before…"
Madame Rothschild almost said, "I helped you out too…" but immediately restrained the impulse.
Although she felt a pang of resentment, Lionel, who wasn't solely reliant on her, only made her more fascinated—suddenly, she understood why Baroness Alekseyevna had been deceived by that impostor.
"Only, hers was an act, mine is real."
Madame Rothschild showed a smile of ambiguous meaning: "An ordinary girl? Then wait a moment…"
Saying this, she rose and left the living room, returning shortly with a silk-covered wooden box in her hand: "Open it."
Lionel had a bad feeling, but he took it and opened it nonetheless:
Inside was a captivating, exquisitely luxurious diamond necklace, dazzling and mesmerizing.
"She certainly doesn't have suitable jewelry, does she? Take this necklace to her; at the ball, she won't be outshone by any lady." Madame Rothschild's tone held an undeniable resolve.
A line of sweat beads formed on the back of Lionel's neck.