Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 472 Provocation! (Third Update)
Upon hearing Lionel's words, Sophie asked in surprise, "What's wrong? Is it that serious?"

Lionel handed her the letter: "Read it yourself."

Sophie took the letter, read it quickly, and frowned.

After reading the last line, she exclaimed, "My God, how could this be?"

Lionel stood up and paced back and forth in the living room in frustration: "It was my oversight! I thought that settling the family in Gap, buying them a comfortable house, and sending them enough living expenses every month would be enough."

I forgot that fame and status bring not only benefits, but also trouble.

Sophie placed the letter on the coffee table: "Do you think those people who went to 'persuade' your father were genuinely concerned for your family, or did they have ulterior motives?"

Lionel shook his head: "Both. Some people think that the Sorel's daughter marrying the son of a small grocer is a disgrace to the Gap high society—if the Gap even has a 'high society'."

Some people might be using this opportunity to build connections and get their own children in; others are simply jealous and can't stand seeing others do well.

He walked back to the coffee table, picked up the letter, and read it again.

Lionel said, "My father was right, he couldn't handle this kind of situation. He was an honest and simple man all his life, and worked as a clerk in the town government for thirty years. His greatest skill was writing neatly and putting documents in the filing cabinet."

Now that he's suddenly become the 'father of a celebrity,' surrounded by all sorts of people making all sorts of suggestive remarks, his mind is starting to go blank."

Sophie asked, "So when do you plan to leave?"

Lionel answered readily: "If we have tickets, we'll leave this afternoon or tonight, and if all goes well, we should arrive tomorrow."

Sophie looked at him worriedly: "Are you trying to help my sister Ivana marry that Marcel Dubois smoothly?"

Lionel shook his head: "That depends on what kind of person he is. My father said in his letter that he was honest, but who doesn't claim to be honest these days?"

No one understands honest people better than me! I want to see him for myself, talk to him, and find out if he really cares about my sister.

Or is it really like those people say, that they're after our family's money and reputation?

He paused for a moment, then continued, "And I also need to meet those suitors who suddenly appeared."

While I believe most of them just want to get involved with me, there might be good candidates among them.

Sophie laughed: "Your mission going back this time is quite important."

Lionel laughed, but with a hint of helplessness: "What can I do? My surname is Sorel."

Sophie then asked, "Do you want me to come with you?"

Lionel stopped what he was doing, thought for a moment, and shook his head: "Not this time, the situation is a bit complicated. You stay in Paris and keep an eye on the business for me."

The tour contract for "The Café", the new orders from the bicycle factory, and the progress of alternating current at Tesla all need to be monitored.

"Mr. De La Ruwak is capable, but some decisions still need to be made by you."

Sophie nodded: "Okay. When are you coming back?"

Lionel glanced at the calendar on the table: "We'll see. If things go smoothly, within a week. In any case, we need to wait for a result regarding Ivana's marriage!"

After lunch, he wrote a letter to the De La Rouvac office explaining that he needed to return to the Alps to handle family matters and that he would probably return to Paris at the end of January.

He also wrote short letters to Zola and Maupassant, saying he would be leaving Paris for a while.

After finishing the letter, Lionel walked to the window, looking at the winter street scene of Paris, lost in thought.

He recalled that three years ago, he was a poor student living in an attic in the 11th ward, worrying about next month's rent.

Now, he has fame, a career, and a lover in Paris.

However, this caused trouble for his family.

Lionel couldn't help but mutter softly, "Fame, huh..."

He turned around and saw Sophie helping him pack his luggage. The soft light shone on her face, making her look exceptionally calm and focused.

A warm feeling welled up in Lionel's heart; at least, he still had her.

He was about to return to the Alps to resolve the troubles he had caused.

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France, Hauts-Alpes, Garp, Rue de Chestnut.

This is a street that is neither too wide nor too narrow. The stone pavement has been worn smooth by the years. On both sides are two- or three-story stone buildings, with shops mostly on the ground floor.

Bakeries, butcher shops, hardware stores, tailor shops... one after another.

The afternoon sun of winter slanted down, casting long shadows on the street.

There's a general store on the street corner.

Above the shop door hangs a faded wooden sign with white letters that read: "Old Man Dubois's Grocery Store".

The shop isn't very big; it has a whole glass window facing the street, and the glass is sparkling clean.

Some samples were displayed in the shop window:
Buckets of flour and sugar, sacks of coffee beans, bundles of candles, several bars of bright yellow soap, and rolls of brightly colored cloth.

The goods are complete and arranged neatly without being flashy, giving the impression of being clean and presentable.

Several wooden barrels were placed against the wall by the door, filled with pickled vegetables and olives, emitting a salty and sour smell.

It was a little past three in the afternoon, and there weren't many people on the street, nor were there many customers in the grocery store.

On the steps in front of the shop sat a young man in his twenties, his arms resting on his knees, his hands supporting his chin, his brows furrowed, and the corners of his mouth turned down.

He sat there for a long time, motionless, only occasionally sighing. The sighs were heavy and long, as if he were trying to squeeze all the air out of his lungs.

Footsteps could be heard inside the store.

An old man came out of the door, walked up behind the young man, raised his hand, and lightly patted the back of his head. "Marcel!"

The young man—Marcel Dubois—was startled and nearly fell down the steps; he turned around, looking even more dejected.

"Father……"

Old Man Dubois, hands on his hips, said, "You've been sitting here for almost an hour. So, have you finished all the work in the shop? Have you checked the goods? Have you settled the accounts?"

Marcel lowered his head and remained silent.

Old Man Dubois sat down next to him; the steps were a bit narrow, and the two squeezed together.

The old man took out his pipe from his pocket, filled it with tobacco, struck a match to light it, took a puff, and exhaled grayish-white smoke.

His voice softened slightly: "Still thinking about the Sorel girl?"

Marcel nodded, his eyes fixed on the ground.

Old Man Dubois took another drag of his cigarette and shook his head: "You have to face reality. The Sorel family is different now!"

Old Joseph used to be a clerk in the Montiel town government. Like our family, we were just ordinary people.

But now? His son, Lionel, has become a great writer in Paris, and his news is in the newspapers every day.

I've heard he's connected with counts and ministers. We can't possibly befriend someone like that."

Marcel suddenly raised his head: "But Ivana and I are truly in love!"

Old Dubois scoffed, "True love? Marcel, have you been reading too many novels? You want to be a writer too?"

Marcel tried to argue: "I didn't read the novel! I just like her! And she likes me too!"
We had a lot of fun together! What's wrong with that?

Old Man Dubois shook his head: "There's nothing wrong with it. But marriage is a matter for two families, not just two people."

Look how many eyes are on the Sorel family right now? How many people want to get close to them?
Our family runs a small grocery store, a tiny business. How can you compete with those people?

Marcel opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat and he couldn't say them.

He knew his father was right.

In the past few days, he has personally witnessed those well-dressed young people running towards Sorel's house.

Some were in carriages, some were on horseback, all carrying gifts and speaking sweet words.

Compared to them, I am really nothing.

But he was just not willing to give up.

Old Man Dubois patted his son on the shoulder and stood up: "Alright, stop sighing here and get to work."

A new batch of candles has arrived at the warehouse; go and count them. Also, wipe the shop windows clean; they're covered in dust.

Don't sit at the door with a long face all day; you'll scare away all the customers.

Marcel didn't move.

"Marcel!"

"understood."

Marcel mumbled a reply and slowly stood up.

He had just turned to go into the shop when he heard the sound of horses' hooves from the other end of the street.

A light two-wheeled carriage drove up and stopped in front of the grocery store.

The carriage was pulled by a beautiful chestnut horse with glossy coat; the carriage itself was deep red with a smooth finish and brass inlays on the wheels.

The driver was a young man, about twenty-three or twenty-four years old, wearing a light gray suit, a bowler hat, and holding a riding crop.

He had a handsome face, but his chin was held high, and his eyes were frivolous.

He stopped the carriage by the roadside, jumped off, casually tied the reins to a lamppost, and then walked toward the general store.

When Marcel saw him, his expression changed, and he stopped in his tracks.

Old Man Dubois also saw the newcomer, his brow furrowed, but he quickly relaxed and put on a businessman's smile.

The young man walked to the shop entrance, took off his hat, and twirled it in his hand.

He first glanced at Marcel, a mocking smile on his lips, then looked at old man Dubois.

He greeted him in a lazy tone: "Good afternoon, Mr. Dubois."

Old Man Dubois nodded: "Good afternoon, Mr. Lafon. What would you like? I have a new batch of Bordeaux wine that has just arrived, and it is of good quality."

Adrian Lafont waved his hand: "I'm not buying anything today. I'm just passing by and wanted to say hello."

He turned his gaze to Marcel, looking him up and down: "What's wrong, Marcel? Still worried about not being able to marry a girl from the Sorel family?"

Marcel's face flushed red, and his hands clenched into fists.

Old Man Dubois stepped forward, blocking his son's path.

But his smile remained unchanged: "Young Master Lafon is joking. Let the children handle their own affairs!"

Adrian laughed out loud: "Handle it yourself? Mr. Dubois, if your son could handle it himself, he wouldn't be sitting at the door sighing like a stray dog."

Marcel Dubois, his blood boiling, his face flushed, and he took a step forward.

(Third update, please vote with monthly tickets)

(End of this chapter)