Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 16 Agreement
It was already dark when a lamplighter walked by outside the café. He was dressed in a uniform that resembled that of a priest. He used a long pole to precisely tap the top of the lamppost, and a gas lamp lit up.

The warm, yellowish-white light streamed through the window, mingling with the lights in the café. It wasn't as dim as candlelight, which cast flickering shadows; nor was it like the ubiquitous electric lights that illuminated everything.

Looking at Lionel's particularly striking silhouette in the lamplight, Sophie's heart skipped a beat, but she didn't agree: "My mother cooked for me at home... I have to go back to be with her soon, she'll be lonely without me..."

Lionel looked disappointed, but didn't insist that we stay. Instead, he called over a waiter: "Can you pack our dinners here? Please pack one for each of us."

The waiter answered crisply, "Of course, sir. However, we are not a restaurant that specializes in formal meals, so we only serve light meals. Today's menu is 'Normandy soft cheese,' 'olive sauce bread,' 'country-style baked chicken with vanilla butter,' and 'passion fruit mille-feuille,' each for 1 franc."

If you'd like to add 5 satays, we also have a complimentary "soft red wine" to go with your meal, from Bordeaux, which you can pack in a small bottle to take home..."

As expected of the financial district, even a "simple meal" costs 1 franc.

Sophie panicked: "No, no..."

But she couldn't refuse Lionel's offer and accepted his kindness.

Then the two got down to business.

Sophie took out a piece of paper and handed it to Lionel: "I checked all the 'Emil's' in the company, and eliminated those who were too old, worked in Paris every day, or had no travel experience... In the end, there were only two 'Emil's' who were likely to be there."

One is Émile François Dubois, 35, who works as a clerk in the South American branch; the other is Émile Alexander, 29, who joined the company last year and is the manager's secretary in the overseas business department.

However, neither of them would likely have time to go to the Alps for any business. You see, although we have an office there, it's very small, our agricultural products and goods purchases are very consistent, and the mail sent there is almost regular; there's simply no need to send anyone to be stationed there.

Moreover, you said your hometown isn't "Gap" (the capital) or "Ambrosial," but "Laranée," where there isn't even a train station...

Listening to Sophie's methodical explanation, Lionel thought to himself that she was truly a talent—not only could she proactively filter information, but she could also perform basic analysis, saving him a lot of effort.

Is it difficult to talk about these things? It might not be difficult for professional women in the 21st century, but in the 19th century, women were generally considered to be ignorant, lacking in judgment, and full of emotional impulses.

Even though Sophie has received some education, judging from her family background, she is probably not very knowledgeable.

Lionel had met some other "intellectual women" like her who were literate in this era, but most of them seemed reserved and dull. Sophie's rationality and composure impressed him.

Sophie analyzed for a while, but when she found that Lionel didn't move, she looked up and saw him looking at her with those gentle eyes. She blushed again and asked, "...Was there something wrong with what I said?"

Lionel shook his head: "No, you're absolutely right. Is it now almost certain that 'Emil' is a fraud?"

Sophie hesitated for a moment, then finally nodded: "It's definitely a scam. Although 'Aubier' has tens of thousands of employees worldwide, everyone is very busy. No manager would have time to leisurely stroll through the Alps."

"I'm relieved to hear your words!" Lionel put away the papers Sophie had brought. "It's getting late. Where do you live?"

Sophie glanced at Lionel, then lowered her head again: "In the 10th district, on Langley Street."

Lionel laughed: "Then we're neighbors—I'm in District 11, Obokamp Street."

Sophie was somewhat surprised, because Sorbonne students rarely lived in such a remote and chaotic place as District 11; but considering Lionel's family background and his current attire, it seemed quite reasonable.

Only then did the waiter pack up the two meals that Lionel had ordered. The two got up, put on their coats, and left the "Sunset on the Seine" café, each carrying a paper bag. At this moment, light snow began to fall, and all the streetlights were lit, stretching along the wide avenues of Paris into the endless distance, illuminating buildings such as the Stock Exchange and the Paris Opera House in a magnificent and picturesque light.

But if you look further away—for example, the tenth and eleventh districts where the two of them live are almost adjacent to the bustling second and third districts—they appear much dimmer.

Not far from the café was the boarding point for public carriages. The two waited for a while, and the carriage that was going to pass through Rue de Langley arrived first. At this time, there were very few passengers on it.

Sophie declined Lionel's offer to take her home and got into the car herself, but just as the conductor was closing the door, she couldn't help but turn back and say, "If you want to know anything else, just ask me."

Lionel nodded, as if he had made an agreement with the other party—then watched the carriage gradually disappear into the lights.

Half an hour later, the carriage stopped at the Langley Street station. Sophie got off and walked along the alley with only dim kerosene streetlights, turning all the way until she finally stopped in front of an old wooden mud-walled house.

Sophie took out her key, opened the door, and found only cold darkness inside.

She lit a candle, illuminating a corner of the room, revealing the rough, heavy outlines of the tables and chairs, as well as the fireplace that hadn't been used in a long time.

But today, Sophie felt a warmth here that she had never felt before.

She took out the light meal from "Seine Sunset" from the paper bag, and looking at the beautifully made "Passion Fruit Mille Crepe," she couldn't resist taking a bite first...

"It's delicious, Mr. Sorel! This is the best thing I've ever eaten in my life! What's it called?"

Petty's eyes shone brightly, like two tiny stars in the dimly lit hallway flickering with candlelight.

“I think it’s called ‘Passion Fruit Mille Crepe’?” Lionel patted Petty’s head—although she was 10 years old, she looked only 7 or 8, with her head appearing especially large on her thin, bony shoulders.

Petty looked at the mille-feuille that had been bitten, feeling a little reluctant, and asked, "I want to save it for Lyon; he'll be back on Sunday."

Lyon is Petty's younger brother, eight years old this year. His parents sent him to work as an apprentice with a tanner, and he can only come back once in a long while.

Lionel shook his head: "The mille-feuille will go bad by Sunday—but that's okay, I'll bring back something even better on Sunday."

Patty was so surprised she almost jumped for joy: "Really?"

Lionel nodded seriously: "Really!"

After finishing his appointment with Petty, Lionel returned to his little attic—unusually today, Mrs. Martin didn't mock him.

For several days in a row, instead of eating the landlord's meals, he brought back "feasts" from outside. The rumor that "the poor country bumpkin from the Alps has made a fortune" has already spread throughout this dilapidated apartment building.

Although Mrs. Martin did not believe that Lionel could make a comeback, she became much more cautious.

"My connection with this world is growing deeper..." Lionel said to himself.

Whether it's Petit, with whom he has a "teacher-student relationship," Sophie, who has "helped him," or the Sorel family in the Alps, whom he hasn't actually "met" yet but has already spent several days working on, all of them are tightening his ties with the world.

Sometimes, he would even have a kind of hallucination, wondering if the short half-life of that young Chinese man in the 21st century was just a crazy dream of Lionel Sorel.
But now is not the time to discuss such philosophical questions. He needs to write a letter to his family and send it by telegram tomorrow!
(End of this chapter)