Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 123 "The Necklace"? The Necklace!

An hour later, Lionel appeared on Lane Crawley Street in the 10th arrondissement right on time, holding a bunch of sweet peas; then, based on his memory, he made a few turns in the alley and finally stopped in front of a small yard with a fig tree in front of it.

This is Sophie Deneuve's home.

Although it has a small courtyard, the house is only one story and is quite old; the walls are plastered, and many of the gaps between the bricks are cracked, with moss and vines growing on them.

The roof is a steep, gabled wooden structure covered with old slate tiles, and the windows are old-fashioned wooden dormer windows with peeling paint on the window frames.

The surrounding environment, while not as bad as Obercamp Street, was not much better.

The last time Lionel escorted her back, he only went as far as the door, and it was at night, so he couldn't see clearly. Therefore, he was somewhat surprised this time.

The neighbors had clearly noticed this young man who seemed out of place in his surroundings. Pairs of eyes peered at him, and whispers mingled like a swarm of bees gathering nectar nearby.

Lionel didn't care; he noticed a rope hanging above the gate, indicating it was an old-fashioned pull-cord doorbell.

As the crisp sound of the doorbell rang through the courtyard, the door of the small house opened a moment later, and Sophie appeared before Lionel. She was wearing a casual light-colored dress, revealing her fair neck and delicate collarbone.

Upon seeing that it was Lionel who had come to visit, she was both pleasantly surprised and a little flustered, but she couldn't help but smile: "What brings you here?"

Lionel handed over the sweet peas in his hand: "I'm going to a ball, and you're the only dance partner I can think of."

After explaining the situation, Sophie's eyes first lit up with a shy yet proud light, then dimmed: "That's the Earl's ball. I don't have a suitable dress, and I'd embarrass you if I went..."

Lionel couldn't resist joking, "You may not have one, but Printemps certainly do... just don't borrow the 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."

Knowing her personality, Lionel didn't press the issue, but instead extended another invitation: "Do you have anything else planned for today? I'd like to go to a dance class with you..."

Then, with an awkward smile, he said, "I can't dance, but Albert introduced me to a teacher..."

Sophie couldn't help but cover her mouth and chuckle, a mischievous glint in her eyes: "So even the renowned Mr. Lionel Sorel has things he doesn't know?"

Lionel candidly joked, "On the dance floor, I'm probably more clumsy than Benjamin Bouton when he first took his first steps."

Then he made an exaggerated staggering motion, which made Sophie laugh out loud.

The two took a horse-drawn carriage and arrived at the second floor of an elegant apartment building on "Avenida Italiana".

This is the etiquette classroom of the Rohan family, Miss Odette de Villere's personal classroom, the "Academy of Deportment and Grace".

A faint fragrance wafts through the air. The room is spacious and bright, with gleaming hardwood floors and a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror that covers the entire wall.

Miss Odette de Villere was a woman of about forty years old, in excellent shape, wearing a well-tailored dark gray silk dress, her hair neatly styled in a bun.

Her face wasn't stunning, but her demeanor was calm and noble. Every movement she made, whether walking or standing, seemed calculated, fluid, silent, and elegant.

“Mr. Sorel, and this lady, welcome.” Miss Devillers’ voice carried just the right amount of friendliness and distance.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, she got straight to the point: "Time is tight, so let's start with the most basic social dances. Polkas and waltzes are essential at the balls at the Earl of Rohan's manor."

Today we'll practice the polka first; its rhythm is more upbeat and relatively easier to master.

She gestured for the two of them to stand in the center of the room, facing the huge mirror.

Miss Devillers stood before them and demonstrated the starting stance and hand position for men and women, emphasizing the word "light": "Sir, your hands are guides, not restrainers; Miss, your support is trust, not a burden."

Keep your posture upright, but don't be stiff like a guard. Imagine yourself as... well, a willow tree swaying in the wind.

Next, she began to break down the basic steps of the polka, a light 2/4 time jump slide: "One, two, slide! One, two, slide! Pay attention to the rhythm, it's 'boom-cha-cha,' not 'thump-thump-thump!'"

She tapped her feet to the rhythm, her steps gliding lightly across the polished floor like a weightless feather.

The demonstration seemed simple, but when it was Lionel and Sophie's turn to try it out, the situation was completely different. Lionel felt as if his hands and feet were newly fitted prosthetics, stiff and unresponsive.

He couldn't keep up with the light "boom-cha-cha" rhythm, his steps were as heavy as if he were mopping the floor, and he almost tripped over himself and Sophie when he turned around.

Miss De Villeret's voice remained calm: "Mr. Sorel, relax your shoulders. You're not riding a wild horse, but... inviting the breeze to dance. Shift your weight naturally with your steps, like this..."

She demonstrated the slide again, and it was so smooth it was enviable.

Sophie tried her best to cooperate with Lionel's clumsy guidance, her cheeks slightly flushed from trying to suppress her laughter and from nervousness.

She has a good sense of rhythm and has already mastered the dance steps, but she still seemed a little lost under Lionel's inconsistent pace and intensity.

Miss Devillers turned to Sophie, her smile encouraging: "Miss Deneuve, you've followed very well. But remember, in the polka, the man is the commander, even if this commander..."

He is still getting to know his army. Trust him, put your hand in his, give him your weight, and let him take on the responsibility of guidance.

All you need to do is stay light and enjoy the gliding experience.

The practice continued. The room echoed with Miss Devillers' clear commands, Lionel's heavy footsteps, Sophie's occasional suppressed giggles, and Lionel's frustrated whispers…

……

Stepping out of the apartment, the evening breeze brushed against their sweat-dampened foreheads. Lionel looked at Sophie beside him, and the two exchanged a glance, unable to suppress a laugh. This half-day of "torture" had, unwittingly, brought them closer.

Lionel chuckled self-deprecatingly, "Looks like I'm the one who'll embarrass you at Count Rohan's ball."

Sophie smiled and said, "It's alright, we weren't exactly nobles to begin with..."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"So, you already have a dance partner?" Mrs. Rothschild's tone was somewhat disappointed.

Lionel sat opposite her, with a dazzling crystal chandelier overhead and exotic decorations all around him; he even saw a traditional Chinese ink painting; the air was filled with a sweet fragrance.

Madame Rothschild leaned languidly against the cushion, dressed only in a light-colored silk loungewear set, with a ribbon loosely tied around her waist, revealing a lace blouse underneath; the hem of her skirt hung casually down to the ground.

She held an ivory-handled feather fan in her hand, gently waving it and occasionally fanning her breath toward Lionel across from her.

She invited Lionel to her mansion on Boulevard Saint-Germain today because she heard he would be attending the Rohan family ball and wanted to invite him as her dance partner, to formally demonstrate her status as Lionel's patron to Parisian social circles.

Unexpectedly, Lionel said he already had a dance partner.

Lionel's tone was calm: "Her name is Sophie, an ordinary girl who helped me before..."

Mrs. Rothschild couldn't help but want to say, "I've helped you too..." but she quickly restrained herself.

Although she was resentful, Lionel's lack of blind obedience only made her more fascinated—suddenly, she understood why Baroness Alexievna had been deceived by that imposter.

But hers was fake, mine was real.

Mrs. Rothschild gave a cryptic smile: "An ordinary girl? Then wait a moment..."

He got up and left the living room, returning shortly afterward with a wooden box covered in silk: "Open it."

Lionel had a bad feeling, but he still took it and opened it:
Inside was a breathtaking, exquisite, and luxurious diamond necklace, its brilliance dazzling and mesmerizing.

"She must not have suitable jewelry, right? Bring this necklace to her; she won't lose to any lady at the ball." Mrs. Rothschild's tone was firm and unwavering.

A row of beads of sweat appeared on the back of Lionel's neck.

(End of this chapter)