Chapter 578: Yesterday, You Ignored Me. Today, You Can't Reach Me.
"No! Marianne won't leave me!"
Achard ignored Bach's advice and rushed back to the Old Eden Inn in a frenzy, only to find that Mr. Schumann, Marianne's brother, had already left.
From under the door, he retrieved an invitation. Behind it was a letter.
The letter, written by Miss Marianne, explained her decision to prioritize her family and accept Mr. Bourget's proposal. She wished Achard happiness and so on.
It was a very practical choice. Though she had once been enchanted by Achard's charm and intellect, he was, in the end, just a "poor farmer." Her brother had also made it clear that she would receive no dowry if she married him. Ultimately, she chose the wealthy merchant Bourget.
Achard cried his heart out, but instead of drowning his sorrows at a tavern, he packed all his belongings and moved to the French Academy of Sciences, where he buried himself in work to forget his heartbreak.
The next day, the genetics lessons were paused for three days because the Prince had to attend the opening ceremony and demonstration exercises at the Royal Military Academy of France.
"Ah, finally found you," Bach said as he pushed open the door to Achard's temporary workspace at the academy. He gestured to a servant behind him. "He's here, just as I thought."
The servant stepped forward, bowed, and handed Achard an invitation. "Respected Dr. Achard, I am here on behalf of my master, Viscount Edgar Paul de Dicot, to invite you to tomorrow's ball at Versailles."
Achard, still engrossed in observing pollen under a microscope, replied, "Thank the Viscount for his invitation, but please allow me to decline..."
Bach quickly leaned in and whispered, "This is a rare opportunity. Many great scholars will be there, like Mr. Brisson, Count Lamarck, and Mr. Leroy.
"Besides, don't forget what Dr. Marggraf always said—socializing is an essential part of research.
"Come on, just this once. For me."
Worried about his friend's mental state, Bach did everything he could to persuade Achard to attend the ball and take his mind off things.
In the end, Achard reluctantly agreed.
The Next Evening
Achard's carriage stopped in front of the magnificent Versailles Palace at dusk.
Bach, stroking the sleek "Jewel" model carriage, looked amazed. "This is really yours? Oh, my God, you lucky guy! You were rated D-grade right away!"
Achard, still shaken from his heartbreak, hadn't spoken much to Bach since the incident. Bach only now realized that Achard had been officially invited by the Talent Committee.
Bach himself was only an E-grade talent. The standard carriage he had been issued couldn't compare to the luxurious and comfortable "Jewel Model 2" Achard now had.
Achard, distracted and forlorn, allowed his friend to drag him into the grand ballroom. As soon as he entered, he was awestruck by the lavish and opulent surroundings.
Soon, the music began to play, and Achard listlessly made small talk with other guests. He noticed Brisson approaching with a distinguished-looking nobleman in his 40s.
"Viscount Dicot, this is Dr. Achard, the finest vegetable expert from Germany."
The Viscount immediately stepped forward, smiling warmly as he introduced himself to Achard.
For the next hour, the Viscount focused entirely on Achard, neglecting all the other guests.
In truth, Achard was the star of the evening, and the ball had been organized specifically for him.
Viscount Dicot, a close friend of Brisson and a major patron of the French Academy of Sciences, had heard about the Prince's plans to promote beet sugar production.
As a shrewd businessman and investor, Dicot saw a golden opportunity. His previous investment in the Prince's paper mill had quadrupled his wealth in just two years.
This new opportunity was one he couldn't afford to miss.
Dicot had also learned about Achard: his pioneering work in beet sugar production, his recognition as a high-level talent by the Talent Committee, and the week-long genetics lectures personally delivered to him by the Prince.
Although he didn't fully understand genetics, Dicot recognized the Prince's immense regard for Achard.
"Ah, we truly are kindred spirits," the Viscount said warmly, placing a hand on Achard's shoulder as they raised their glasses. "To our friendship!"
Just then, a young woman, about seventeen or eighteen, approached. She was stunningly beautiful, wearing a fashionable lavender gown. She took the Viscount's arm and said sweetly, "Father, why aren't you dancing? Everyone's been looking for you."
The Viscount smiled and introduced her. "Franz, this is my daughter, Ariel."
"Ariel, this is Dr. Achard..."
By 1 a.m., the ball had concluded. Ariel accompanied Achard to his carriage, gave him a sweet smile, and curtsied as she bade him farewell.
Two Weeks Later
Miss Marianne Schumann walked arm-in-arm with her fiancé, a plain-looking paper merchant, as they cheerfully discussed the small villa they would live in after their wedding.
She was immensely pleased with herself for not being blinded by love and choosing the poor biologist. He could never afford such a beautiful house.
A butler knocked lightly on the door and handed Bourget an invitation. "Sir, this was delivered to the estate. It seems Miss Ariel, the third daughter of Viscount Dicot, is getting engaged next week and has invited you to attend."
"Viscount Dicot?" Bourget said, taking the invitation with pride and glancing smugly at his future brother-in-law. "We'll have to prepare a generous gift."
Viscount Dicot was a renowned magnate in the paper industry—a wealthy and influential factory owner.
Bourget had made his fortune transporting products from Dicot's paper mills to Italy. Being invited by him was a significant honor.
"I wonder which lucky gentleman has won Miss Ariel's favor," he said as he opened the invitation. His expression shifted to confusion, then amusement.
"Franz Achard? What a coincidence—he shares a name with that Bavarian fellow who used to chase after you, Marianne. Ha!"
"What?" Schumann froze, snatching the invitation. Her heart sank as she scanned the text, a sense of dread washing over her.
Making an excuse, she left the room, muttering, "It can't be. It can't be him..."
In the following days, a heavy gloom settled over the Schumann household.
One afternoon, Marianne stepped out of her carriage and gazed at the luxurious villa before her—the "Scholar's Palace." The mansion rivaled the finest homes in the "Starry Garden" neighborhood.
Her fiancé's modest little house was a pigsty in comparison.
Her heart screamed in anger and frustration.
She, too, could have lived here, but her foolish brother had ruined everything!
Word had spread that Achard had been rated a D-grade talent by the Talent Committee. His government stipend alone amounted to 7,000 francs a year!
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