Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 29 Cough

In order to use Mrs. Martin's kitchen, Lionel and Petty ate their meals half an hour to an hour after the end of their meal plan each day, a little earlier at noon and a little later in the evening.

Petty has a good talent for cooking. Although she can only stew everything in an iron pot at the moment, she is already quite skilled in the use of side dishes and spices.

The apartment's tenants have gotten used to the pungent aroma of meat over the past two days, but no one dares to cause any trouble and can only swallow their saliva.

To them, Lionel was no longer the country bumpkin from the Alps who could be mocked and bullied at will, but a promising young talent who was about to rise to prominence.

Offend him now, and you never know when you might get into trouble!

The way he addressed him as "Young Master Sorel" was now completely respectful, with none of the previous mockery remaining.

Even Petit held a different place in their hearts—she was a maid worth 15 francs a month and could also cook delicious meat soup!

If young master Sorel really becomes successful in a few years, Patty might become his head maid, perhaps earning 100 francs a month, more than her father who works as a maid.

Mrs. Martin didn't even press for next month's rent, as if she knew Lionel wouldn't be staying there for long, and instead looked at the young man with a complicated expression.

Lionel and Petty were slurping up pasta at the table Mrs. Martin had just cleared. Petty chattered on as she ate, reporting, "Master Sorel, the beef at the market was 5 soles more expensive per kilogram today, so I didn't buy any. I bought duck instead..."

"Young Master Sorel, the manuscript you asked me to copy today has many letters that are connected together. I can't quite tell which one it is. Could you teach me how to recognize them later?"

“Young Master Sorel, besides pasta, could we buy some spaghetti? I used to eat spaghetti made by my grandmother back in my hometown of Brion, and it was delicious. I saw it for sale at the market today; it only costs four sous per kilogram!”

“Young Master Sorel, may I also stay in the attic? Don’t worry, I can just sleep under the desk. It’s too noisy at night…”

“Young Master Sorel, actually… cough, cough, cough…”

As Petty was speaking, she suddenly started coughing, which lasted for quite a while before gradually stopping, and her face turned sickly red.

Lionel put down his fork: "Slow down, don't choke."

Petty nodded repeatedly, patted his chest a few times to steady his breathing.

Lionel hesitated for a moment, glanced into the living room, and, noticing that Mrs. Martin was not by the fireplace, whispered to Petty, "There's no need to move to the attic yet—I'll look for a new apartment this week, and then you'll have your own room."

Upon hearing Lionel's words, Petty's eyes widened in disbelief. After processing the overwhelming information about "new apartment" and "her own room," she was about to exclaim with joy.

Lionel put a finger to his lips, signaling Petty to keep quiet. Petty managed to swallow her words, but then coughed a few times.

Once her breathing had calmed down, Petty suddenly looked concerned: "Young Master Sorel, you must take care of yourself and not overwork yourself!"

Lionel: "Hmm?"

Patty's little face turned serious: "Mom and the neighbors say that those baronesses and rich ladies have huge 'demands,' and even the strongest young men can't keep up with their demands."

Lionel: "..."

Petty's little mouth hadn't stopped, chattering like a little adult: "Mom also said that there used to be a young man in this apartment who was as tall as you, a porter at a freight company, as strong as a bull."

But after he became involved with the wife of Mr. Lids, a port freighter, he quickly became thin and died the following winter.

Lionel: "..."

Seeing that he didn't speak, Patty thought she had hit the nail on the head, so she quickly comforted him: "Young Master Sorel, it's actually quite nice to live here. We don't have to rush to move, which saves us a lot of rent."

"I can really sleep under the table, just give me an extra blanket... We don't need to eat meat every day, I think once every two or three days would be enough..." Unable to listen any longer, Lionel pushed the noodles aside and asked Petty, "Do you even know what 'need' means?"

Patty shook her head, looking confused, then nodded: "I heard those ladies are all very fat, one of them weighs more than five Pattys, you'll need to push them around..."

Lionel quickly stopped Petty from continuing, then rubbed his forehead, looking at the little man in front of him with a complicated expression. After a long while, he finally spoke: "Don't you think this is, well, 'shameful'?"

Patty looked puzzled: "Why is it a 'scandal'? Isn't Miss Meryl on the third floor doing the same thing? It's just that she doesn't have your luck; her customers are only dockworkers, and sometimes my father goes to her room too..."

My mother used to call me a "little bitch" all the time, saying she'd sell me to a brothel. I heard a prostitute there could earn 150 francs a month, and she didn't even have to practice ballet..."

Lionel: "..." He realized he had overestimated the moral standards of the general public living in this area and in these apartments.

Lionel quickly interrupted Petty: "You must remember what I'm about to say, Petty."

Seeing how serious Lionel was, Petty quickly put down his fork, got off his chair, and stood up.

Lionel's tone was more serious than ever before: "Pettit, the way you just described—exchanging your body for money—I, Lionel Sorel, will never do it, in the past, present, or future, because it's not respectable. I have my own ways of making money, but it's definitely not this."

Petty was also frightened and didn't dare to breathe, nodding repeatedly.

Lionel continued, "Miss Meryl on the third floor is forced into this line of work by the need to make a living. I don't think it's shameful, but it's certainly not something to be proud of. I believe that if given the chance, she would do her best to get out of her current situation."

Petty continued to nod.

Lionel concluded by saying, "You will be an outstanding woman in the future, literate and eloquent, earning far more than 150 francs, and everyone who meets you will call you 'Dear Lady Petit'."

You will not become a prostitute, and this is not discrimination against them, but rather an opportunity for you to choose a different path. If you choose this path, you should be prepared to become 'the respected Ms. Petty,' rather than thinking that being a prostitute is acceptable.

Can you do it?

Petty only half understood the last two sentences, but since it was Lionel who said them, she still nodded firmly: "I can do it, Master Sorel!"

Lionel was relieved and let Petty sit down, then quickly ate the rest of the noodles and duck.

That evening, as usual, Lionel sent Petty home to sleep early, while he lit a candle and began to write.

He stood up, shaking his aching hands, after the candle had burned down to more than half its length.

Handwriting is really inefficient, especially now that he has to complete three drafts at the same time.

One was a provincial travelogue written for Le Bourgeois, which required at least 150 lines per week;
One was "The Old Guard," written for the Sorbonne Faculty Journal. The number of lines was undetermined, but it should be no less than 500-600 lines.
Of course, there is also "Decadent City". Although it took four months to create, it was actually very tight considering the length.

"I wonder if typewriters are still around? How much do they cost?" Lionel wondered, then prepared to extinguish the candles and go to sleep.

Just then, the sound of footsteps going upstairs came from downstairs, and soon they arrived at the door of the attic where she lived.

"Young Master Sorel, are you resting?" a disheveled woman asked from the doorway.

When Lionel saw who it was, his heart sank; she was Petty's mother.

The woman's face was indistinct in the candlelight, and she said in a slightly trembling voice, "Patty started coughing not long after she got home tonight, and it hasn't stopped since; I touched her forehead, and it was as hot as a newly lit stove..."

(End of this chapter)