On the first Saturday night of June 1879, at 77 Champs-Élysées, the Count Rohan's mansion was the focal point of Parisian brilliance.
When Lionel Sorel, arm in arm with Sophie Denave, stepped into the ballroom, he immediately captured the attention of most guests.
Lionel was tall and handsome; Sophie was even more radiant—her simple, fitted light gold taffeta evening gown made her skin appear as white as snow; the diamond necklace on her slender neck sparkled like an endless stream of stars under the crystal chandeliers.
Whispers spread like ripples:
"Who is that charming lady?"
"The diamonds on her neck… My God!"
"Is that Mr. Sorel beside her? That Lionel Sorel?"
Albert de Rohan approached them like a proud peacock, his face flushed with excitement: "You two tonight are simply… simply illuminating the entire ball!"
He exaggeratedly kissed Sophie's hand.
Just then, Maupassant appeared from nowhere, a glass of red wine in his hand: "Lionel! No wonder you wouldn't come carousing with us… Heavens, another… what a beautiful and charming lady!"
If he hadn't quickly changed his words on the spot, Lionel would have almost gone over and strangled him.
At that moment, Lionel keenly felt a complex gaze upon him.
He looked up and saw Madame Rothschild, arm in arm with a dignified middle-aged gentleman, walking through the crowd towards them.
Madame Rothschild was wearing a deep purple velvet gown tonight, exuding luxury and grace, with an emerald necklace around her neck that glowed with a calm, understated brilliance.
"Good evening, Mr. Sorel." Madame Rothschild's voice was still pleasant, but with an unexplainable emotion.
Her gaze lingered on Sophie for a moment: "Mr. Sorel, aren't you going to introduce this young lady?"
"Sophie, Sophie Denave; Sophie, this is Madame Rothschild, and her husband." Lionel's voice showed no hint of anything unusual.
Sophie curtsied gracefully, her demeanor poised: "Good evening, Madam, Sir. It's an honor to meet you both."
Madame Rothschild's lips curved into a meaningful smile: "Miss de Nav, you truly are… impressive tonight."
She turned to Lionel, a subtle hint of teasing in her tone: "Not only is your literary talent outstanding, but your taste in dance partners is also so unique. It seems 'Sorbonne's Conscience' not only understands human nature but also deeply comprehends the true essence of beauty."
Sophie's smile remained proper, and her response was still impeccably polite: "Madam, you flatter me. It is Lionel who gave me the opportunity to experience such a wonderful evening."
Just as Lionel felt his scalp tingle, a young girl of only seventeen or eighteen, dressed in a light pink gauze dress, timidly approached Lionel, her cheeks flushed with nervousness and excitement: "Good evening, Mr. Sorel… I am Emilie de Rohan, Albert is my brother.
I am a loyal reader of yours, and I absolutely love "letter from an unknown woman"!"
Madame Rothschild chuckled: "It seems Mr. Sorel has quite a few admirers… I wish you all a pleasant time."
With that, she linked arms with Mr. Rothschild and left.
Lionel breathed a sigh of relief, looking at the young girl, his tone gentle: "Good evening, Emilie, thank you for your appreciation."
Emilie's face flushed even redder. She quickly glanced at Sophie, but bravely continued: "I… I also try to write some stories, but I always feel they are very childish.
I wonder… I wonder if I might have the honor in the future to invite you… and this young lady, to stay at our castle in the Loire Valley for a few days, to give me some writing tips?"
Lionel felt Sophie's grip on his arm tighten, and he quickly and politely declined: "It's a good thing that Miss Emilie is interested in literature… but there's no need for such trouble, you can have Albert bring your manuscript to me…"
Emilie's face fell. Just as she was about to say something, a portion of the ballroom lights suddenly dimmed, and the words on the tip of her tongue had to be swallowed back. Like a startled fawn, she returned to her mother's side with her brother.
Above the dance floor, the host of tonight's ball, the stern-faced Count Rohan, walked with steady steps down the marble double-helix staircase to the orchestra conductor's stand in the center of the hall.
He cleared his throat, and the music and conversations gradually subsided.
"Ladies, gentlemen, friends," Count Rohan's voice was loud and steady: "Thank you all for gracing my humble abode with your presence tonight.
While enjoying fine wine and music, please allow me a moment of your time to announce something I believe is crucial for the future of France.
I, Louis-Philippe de Rohan, and my family—
Will unreservedly support the public education reform that Minister Jules Ferry is about to implement! Especially the popularization of free public primary school education!"
A murmur of discussion arose in the hall.
Count Rohan raised his voice: "We firmly believe that every child in France, regardless of whether they come from poverty or wealth, whether they live in the city or the countryside, whether they are a boy or a girl, has the right to receive an education!
Only in this way can France cultivate knowledgeable and moral citizens, achieving liberty, equality, and fraternity! Limiting access to education is setting limits on the future of France!
We support Minister Ferry, and we support this great cause!"
Applause immediately erupted, sparse at first, then quickly growing enthusiastic.
Count Rohan raised his hand to signal for quiet, then suddenly turned his gaze to Lionel in the crowd: "Here, I especially want to thank a young man. His works have touched countless hearts in a unique way.
Mr. Lionel Sorel, as someone who came from a public school in the Alps to study in Paris, would you be willing to share your views on this issue with us?"
This direct address, though somewhat sudden, did not entirely surprise Lionel—from the day Albert invited him, he had been repeatedly hinted at, and the Count's words today finally made him understand the reason.
Lionel took a deep breath, walked a few steps forward, and stood at the front of the crowd, his voice clear and calm, yet loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Thank you for your praise, Count. Education should never be the privilege of a few, but a flame that illuminates every life.
Knowledge teaches us tolerance, kindness, and understanding of others. When children read historical stories, distant customs, and the mysteries of science in their textbooks, the world in their hearts will also grow larger.
Free primary education is not just about teaching children to read and count; it is about sowing the seeds of reason and kindness. It cannot immediately eliminate injustice in the world, but it can ensure that the next generation will possess France's most precious gift—a broader, warmer heart."
Lionel's speech contained no lofty slogans, yet its unique humanistic perspective moved many.
After a brief silence, applause, even more fervent and sincere than before, resounded through the hall.
Subsequently, the dance music began again. Lionel extended his hand to Sophie, and the two glided into the dance floor.
The polka had a lively rhythm. Although Lionel's dance moves were not graceful, his steps were steady; Sophie followed lightly, like a golden cloud.
…
The ball ended.
Lionel, arm in arm with Sophie, walked towards their rented four-wheeled carriage. Just as they were about to get in, he suddenly lowered his voice and leaned close to Sophie's ear: "Quick, check if the diamond necklace is still there!"
Sophie was momentarily stunned, then frantically touched her neck, before patting her chest in relief. Then she lightly punched him: "You scared me—it's perfectly fine! You can return it to Madame Rothschild tomorrow!"
Lionel was taken aback: "How did you know…?"
Sophie ignored him and got into the carriage herself; Lionel could only follow.
The wheels crunched rhythmically over the cobblestones of the Champs-Élysées. The carriage interior was dim, with only the occasional passing gas lamp illuminating their silhouettes.
Sophie leaned her head on Lionel's shoulder, silent for a moment, then suddenly spoke softly: "That's a woman's intuition. Madame Rothschild… and the little princess of the Rohan family…
Our Mr. Lionel is quite the darling of Parisian high society now."
Lionel quickly began: "Sophie, I…"
He couldn't finish his sentence. Sophie suddenly looked up, found his lips accurately in the dim light, and sealed all his unspoken explanations with a soft yet firm kiss.
After a long while, their lips parted.
Her fingers gently brushed Lionel's cheek, her voice low yet clear: "No need to explain, Lionel. I know who you are."
She leaned back against his shoulder, no longer speaking.
The carriage drove deeper into the night. Lionel gazed out at the sparkling lights of Paris, feeling that the city had never been as gentle as it was tonight.