Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 372 I'm Going Back to Paris!
With a roar, the door of the golden carriage was violently pushed open, and Guy de Maupassant was thrown onto the hard pavement like a sack of sprouted potatoes.

He was thrown around in a daze, and a sharp pain shot through his head, elbows, and knees, causing him to cry out in pain.

"Get out!!! Never tell anyone about what happened tonight!!!"

Sofia Ivanovna Durova-Sherbatova's angry roar came from inside the car, so sharp it seemed to tear a hole in the Parisian night.

Maupassant immediately fell silent and dared not shout again.

With a flick of the coachman's whip, the horse immediately took off, and the golden carriage quickly disappeared around the corner of the street, leaving Maupassant sitting there dumbfounded.

He rubbed his aching head, grimaced, and got up from the ground, brushing the dirt off his body.

A gust of night wind blew, and he shivered, a sense of regret welling up inside him.

He smacked his lips, savoring the brief but intoxicating warmth of the scent in the carriage, and the intense breath of the Russian noblewoman.

If I hadn't absentmindedly taken off the hood, tonight might have been a completely different story...

"I'm French too! How can I not be a literary giant?" Maupassant screamed inwardly.

Just then, the sound of a carriage came from behind, the horseshoes striking the stone pavement, which was particularly clear in the quiet night.

Maupassant's heart tightened, and he forgot all his regrets. He quickly scrambled into the dense holly bushes by the roadside and held his breath.

He only breathed a sigh of relief after several pursuing carriages passed by.

Then he limped along the main road toward Paris...

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On the other side, the all-black four-wheeled carriage brought Albert de Rohan to the gates of Count Edmond de Rohan's mansion.

The car door opened, and Albert, still shaken, stepped onto the ground.

The woman in the carriage spoke, her tone steady: "Mr. Rohan, please convey Mrs. Rothschild's regards to your father!"

Thank you for his reminder and kindness! And thank you for your courage!

Albert nodded blankly, watching the black carriage silently drive away and disappear into the night.

Albert dragged his weary body into the brightly lit hall and found his father sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, wearing a bathrobe.

He was holding a glass of brandy, seemingly waiting for him on purpose.

Albert's ears burned as he thought about how he had run away from Algeria without telling his father; but seeing his father's expression, he knew he hadn't kept it from him.

Seeing his youngest son's disheveled appearance, Count Rohan showed little surprise, only asking, "You're back? How is Sorel?"

Albert was still somewhat shaken. He poured himself a glass of wine, gulped it down, and then said, "They should have left Vernev by now."

Maupassant and I parted ways, taking almost all of their carriages with us. The rest of the people were also entangled by the veterans…”

Count Rohan clicked his tongue and said, "Really? Some people are just too lucky!"

Albert was baffled. He felt he had suffered terribly that night, let alone been lucky.

He couldn't help but complain, "Father, why do you say that? I almost didn't make it back! You call that lucky?"

Count Rohan took a small sip of his wine, a smile playing on his lips: "You fool, I wasn't talking about you."

Albert was even more surprised, almost blurting out, "Could it be Lionel? Wasn't he even more unlucky? He just wrote a novel..."

Count Rohan's smile vanished instantly, his voice lowering: "Mr. Jules Ferri was lucky, and of course, Lionel was lucky too—"

Okay, stop asking so many questions. Look at you, you're a mess. Go take a shower and get some rest!

Albert was completely confused by his father's nonsensical words, but seeing that his father was unwilling to talk more, he could only bow and take his leave with a belly full of doubts.

He vaguely sensed that the "luck" his father spoke of was not as simple as it seemed on the surface.

He needed to get some sleep quickly before heading to Meitang.

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The sky gradually brightened without anyone noticing, and the faint morning light shone through the gaps in the rough canvas onto Lionel's face.

He slowly awoke from his coma, but the back of his head still throbbed, a reminder of the heavy blow he had received the night before.

He found himself not on the ship, but lying in a dry, warm haystack, the sounds of wheels and horses' hooves filling the air. He opened his eyes abruptly and instinctively looked around.

The first thing that caught his eye was a pair of wild beast eyes that gleamed eerily in the dim light, staring straight at him!
Lionel was startled and almost screamed, instinctively shrinking back.

After calming down, he could see clearly that it was a tiger locked in a huge iron cage.

It lay lazily in the cage, its yellow pupils indifferent and lifeless, only occasionally glancing at him, the uninvited guest.

Where am I? A circus? Fragments of last night's memories flood back—the riverbank, the tall, strange man, the dwarf, the pale boy…

Just as they were still confused, a deep, resonant voice came from another corner of the carriage: "Awake? Don't be afraid, Mr. Sorel, that guy is very well-behaved."

Lionel looked in the direction of the sound, and in the increasingly bright morning light, he saw a giant—the same giant who had thrown him onto the ship before he lost consciousness.

Even sitting down, the man resembled a small mountain, with incredibly broad shoulders that seemed to burst through his coat.

The giant introduced himself: "I am Baptiste, or you can call me 'Crooked Neck'. Don't worry, we are here to save you."

Lionel opened his mouth, but before he could process the information, the curtain at the back of the carriage was lifted, and a short, agile figure slipped in.

Immediately afterwards, another figure climbed in from the back carriage—it was the dwarf and the pale-skinned boy.

The dwarf had a wrinkled face, like a miniature version of an old sailor.

He gave Lionel a comical bow: "Good morning, great writer! I am Jeanneau, the 'Bound Feet' of Toulouse, in charge of training monkeys and telling jokes."
—Although my very existence is a joke, haha!

His voice was high-pitched but pleasant to the ear.

The pale-faced boy was much quieter; he huddled in the corner, like a hazy moonlight.

He spoke softly, his voice ethereal: "They call me 'Moonlight' Luke... because I don't look like someone who should be out in the daytime."

He gave Lionel a shy and vulnerable smile.

Baptiste concluded: "'The Lepland Brothers Circus,' we are all of them."

Lionel looked at the three “saviors” who were all different in appearance and seemed to have stepped out of a fantasy novel, and was at a loss for how to react.

The "bound feet" made Noah see his bewilderment; he sat cross-legged on the straw, his head barely reaching Lionel's elbow.

He said earnestly, “Mr. Sorel, we have read your ‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Bouton’ in Le Petit Parish, every single issue.”

He then pointed to Baptiste and Luke: "People like us are born with our fates distorted, and we live amidst the pointing fingers and ridicule of others."

Sometimes I even feel like I'm the one who made the mistake.

"Moonlight," Luke replied softly, his voice almost a whisper: "But your line, 'Freak, is just a line of poetry that fate has written wrong, and love will correct it with its clumsy rhyme,'"

It was like a ray of light, shining into the hearts of those of us whose lives had been miswritten by fate.

Baptiste nodded vigorously: "When the commander read it to us, many people cried."

We never imagined that a gentleman of your renown would be willing to speak up for people like us.

Lionel was speechless.

When he wrote "The Curious Case of Benjamin Bouton" and that letter, he never imagined that it would transform into such a concrete "salvation" at such a moment.

After a brief silence and exchange, Lionel finally asked the crucial question: "Thank you... but where are you taking me?"

"Little Feet" replied cheerfully, "We'll be in Calais soon! There will be someone to meet us there, everything is arranged."

They'll send you to England to lay low for a while!

Lionel was stunned: "England? I wasn't planning on going to England! I have to appear in court! September 1st, Palais de Justice, Paris, I have to attend!"
"Can you take me back to Paris? I want to go back to Paris!"

Upon hearing this, the other three people in the carriage were stunned. They exchanged glances, their faces filled with disbelief.

"Bound feet" made Nuo jump up: "Respond to the lawsuit?! My great writer, have you been hit on the head?"
We went through all that trouble to get you out of the military academy under the noses of the cadets during the chaos, not to send you back to walk right into a trap!

"Moonlight" Luke also said with concern, "Yes, Mr. Sorel, leaving is the best option."

Many of us are like that; if we can't stay in one place, we move on to another.

Lionel was speechless for a moment, unsure how to respond to these people's kindness.

(End of this chapter)