Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 374 Just call me Friedrich!
In Médan, Émile Zola's villa, the atmosphere in the living room was as heavy as an impending storm.

When Albert arrived, Maupassant, Daudet, Huysmann, Paul Alexis, and others were already there, each with a gloomy expression on their face.

Sophie and Alice sat on the sofa in the corner, holding each other's hands tightly; Patty huddled next to Alice, her big eyes filled with unease.

No one was in the mood for conversation, and everyone kept glancing towards the door, but several hours passed and the figure never appeared.

Yusman broke the silence first: "Where on earth did Leon go?"

Maupassant instinctively reached for his beard, but his hand grasped nothing, so he could only scratch his head instead.

His face was full of frustration: "Damn it! Our original plan was to move in the middle of the night, when those little brats were most tired!"

Who knew...who knew a carriage would suddenly appear and throw everything into chaos!

Albert took a big gulp of coffee, trying to calm his anxiety: "I've heard that the Youth Guard was in chaos last night too, and they didn't catch Leon either."

It seems Leon has indeed escaped successfully. But why didn't he come here as planned? The police also say they haven't seen Leon.

Zola frowned: "He managed to escape but didn't come to rejoin us? The situation in Vernev is complicated—the riverbank, the roads, the woods… he might be lost?"

Sophie looked up: "Is he hurt? Or... has he run into some other trouble?"

Silence fell over the living room once again, and ominous speculations silently spread through the air.

Patty buried her face in Alice's skirt and began to sob softly.

Time passed slowly in anxious waiting. As noon approached, the sound of hurried hoofbeats and knocking came from outside the villa.

A servant led in a postman in uniform.

The postman pulled out a telegram: "Excuse me, is this Mr. Émile Zola? There is an urgent telegram that needs to be delivered to him immediately."

Zola immediately stood up, took it, and quickly opened it, drawing all eyes to his face.

Zola announced with a sigh of relief, "It's Lionel! From Calais! He's alright!"

He then glanced at the gist of the message: "He said he was safe and sound, had left France safely, and was on his way to London. He told us not to worry."

Maupassant exclaimed, “London? What’s he going to London for?”

Zola continued reading: "He said that if anyone wanted to contact him during this time, they could send a telegram to the Good Words magazine and have it forwarded by Dr. Norman MacLeod."

The news was indeed a relief; at least Lionel is safe.

But everyone has one question – why did Lionel suddenly go to London?

--------

Meanwhile, in Paris, at Madame Rothschild's private residence.

The air was filled with the scent of expensive perfume, but it couldn't dispel the icy atmosphere.

Mrs. Rothschild sat gracefully in her gilded armchair and asked calmly, "Sophia, why did you suddenly act ahead of schedule last night?"
My manpower became so scrambled that I couldn't even recognize Lionel properly.

A look of grievance and indignation flashed across Sophia's face: "Madam, this is not my fault! Last night, one of my suitors—who is an officer—specifically told me the news."

He said there were people in the Youth Guard who would take 'radical actions' in the middle of the night! I had no choice but to launch the operation ahead of schedule! Who knew...who knew we'd arrest the wrong person!"

She felt a surge of anger at the thought of Maupassant, whom she had thrown off the carriage.

Mrs. Rothschild gave a cold laugh: "Excessive action? It seems everyone has secret information these days!"

She slowly stood up, walked to Sophia, and looked down at her: "I don't care what method you use, find Lionel's exact whereabouts immediately."

If anything happens to him as a result... I wouldn't mind if all the 'understandings' we've reached before were completely nullified.

Sophia's face paled slightly. She pursed her lips, then finally lowered her head. "I understand, Madam. I will do my best to investigate." ————————

As Jules Ferry listened to the report from Interior Minister Ernest Constance, his furrowed brows relaxed slightly.

He specifically confirmed, "So, it seems that Lionel Sorel is probably no longer in Paris, or at least not in Verneve?"

Constantine cautiously replied, "Yes, the Youth Guard lost several carriages, the scene was chaotic, and our men did not find any trace of Sorel."

He seems to have disappeared. I guess he might have gone to stay with his friends, or with some powerful figures who would take him in…”

Jules Ferry seemed relieved: "Disappeared? Good, very good."

His biggest fear was that Lionel would actually stand in the dock, leaving him with the infamous reputation of persecuting intellectuals.

Now he can see clearly that those "fervent supporters" are either trying to bring him down or are just fools who have been incited.

Now that Lionel is "missing," he can take advantage of the situation.

He turned to Count Edmond de Rohan, who was standing quietly to the side: "Rohan, please immediately send an urgent document to the schools in Paris and other places, and solemnly declare the discipline!"

They were instructed to strictly control the students and absolutely prevent any recurrence of incidents like the 'Lyon Elementary School' or the 'Youth Guard'! Students should stay in the classroom!

Count Rohan bowed slightly: "Yes, Prime Minister."

Jules Ferry then said to Ernest Constance, "Also, the local police chief of Vernef is seriously negligent and should be replaced immediately!"
"Constantine, you personally oversee the investigation to find Lionel Sorel as soon as possible—at least to give the public a satisfactory explanation."

Ernest Constant stood up: "Yes, I'll take care of it right away."

Jules Ferry walked to the window and looked at the Parisian sky, which remained a clear blue. It seemed that the turmoil could be put to rest for the time being.

----------

While Paris was in turmoil over Lionel's disappearance, he was already shrouded in the fog of London.

In Calais, after in-depth conversations and deliberation with Paul Lafargue, he finally accepted their arrangement and crossed the strait by fishing boat.

At this moment, he was sitting in a carriage heading towards central London.

In my ears, the sounds of the city were even more bustling than those of Paris; under my nose, I smelled the familiar scent of the Thames.

The carriage eventually stopped on a street near Regent's Park.

The driver, who also acted as a guide, led him to knock on the door of an unassuming house.

A maid came out and opened the door. After giving a few instructions, the guide took his leave of Lionel.

The maid then led Lionel into the interior of the house, to the living room.

The living room was simply furnished, with books and newspapers piled everywhere. A small fire burned in the fireplace, dispelling the damp chill characteristic of London.

An old man sat on an old sofa.

He had a large beard that was half white and half black, like a lion's mane, which almost covered the lower half of his face.
His hair was mostly black, except for his temples, which were almost entirely white, but it was neatly combed; he had a pipe in his mouth, from which smoke was rising.

Upon seeing Lionel, he stood up and gave a friendly smile: "Ha, look who's here? The best young writer on both sides of the Channel today!"

Welcome, Lionel Sorel!

Lionel was somewhat surprised to see the old man: "It's you?"

The old man laughed heartily: "Couldn't it be me? Alright, please sit down, Lionel."

Don't be shy, just call me Friedrich!

(End of this chapter)