Petty's eyes flashed with a momentary light when she saw Lionel, but it quickly dimmed.
Her pale lips trembled, but she ultimately did not speak.
It was her mother who spoke instead:
"Isn't this Young Master Sorel?
Where are you off to today to make a fortune with some wealthy lady?"
Lionel knew she was unhappy with him because every time he brought Petty food, he insisted Petty eat it right there and not take it home.
Most residents in the apartment building speculated about this young man who suddenly stopped eating the meal packages provided by the landlady, Mrs. Martin.
The prevailing consensus was that he had likely hooked up with some wealthy lady.
Although Lionel was a poor student, he possessed a well-built physique developed in the Alpine wilderness and a handsome face with Southern features.
With these assets, and given the environment of debauchery at the Sorbonne, it was not surprising that he might have caught the eye of a classmate's parent.
Lionel had initially intended to harden his heart and leave directly.
After all, he hadn't received Gabrile's money yet, and he only had about 100 francs in cash—too little to step forward and play the hero.
But now...
Lionel stopped, turned around, and stared intently at the sturdy, robust middle-aged woman—she had messy, reddish-brown hair, a large, swollen red nose that immediately screamed "drunkard"; her apron was greasy and stained all over, its original color indistinguishable.
She held a broom, but in reality, Petty did almost all the housework besides cooking, and the broom's main use was for beating her daughter from one place to another...
This was the norm for poor families in Paris; kinship was practically a luxury for them.
Children usually started helping with chores at six, boys were sent off as apprentices before the age of ten, and girls would be sent out as maids or into factories when they reached ten or twelve.
However, none of that was too terrible.
The truly cruel parents would send their daughters to places like ballet schools, or similar institutions.
In those days, wealthy men could secure a seat at the Paris Opera, allowing them free access backstage to meet actresses or dancers; the Opera even provided discreet, luxurious private boxes for their pleasure.
Providing sexual services was practically considered a "duty" for the ballet girls.
By sending a daughter to become a ballet dancer, if she caught the eye of a "patron," he would not only pay for her living and training expenses but also provide substantial rewards to the family.
They often contracted syphilis or other infectious diseases common among courtesans before the age of 20, leading to a gradual breakdown of their bodies and eventual death in the prime of their youth.
Petty's mother felt prickly under Lionel's gaze, but she wasn't truly intimidated.
She paused, then flashed a vulgar smile:
"What is it, Young Master Sorel?
Have you taken a liking to this little bitch too?"
As she spoke, she yanked Petty's arm outward, letting the sunlight hit her bloodless face and messy hair.
She then turned to the middle-aged woman from the 'Swan Castle' and said,
"See, Mother Grete?
Even this honor student from the Sorbonne thinks our Petty is beautiful.
Do you still think 10 francs a month for 'nourishment' is too much?"
Mother Grete shot Lionel an angry look.
She genuinely didn't want to lose Petty, who was such good material.
Although Petty looked malnourished right now, judging by her superior bone structure, face shape, and excellent body proportions, she was a natural-born ballerina.
In just a few years, she could become a money tree.
She gritted her teeth, ready to agree.
"Fifteen francs.
Fifteen francs a month,"
Lionel's voice echoed through the apartment stairwell, making Petty's mother, Mother Grete, the onlookers including Mrs. Martin, and the other tenants all freeze.
This was a price Mother Grete absolutely could not accept, and Petty's mother absolutely could not refuse.
Petty's eyes instantly lit up again, shining brighter than the morning light streaming in from the narrow skylight.
Lionel reached into his pocket, pulled out various coins roughly totaling 15 francs, and tossed them at Petty's mother's feet:
"You start working today.
I expect the room to be tidy when I return tonight.
Can you do that?"
He nearly laughed out loud himself—his attic room was small enough only for a rat to live in, and the clothes he was wearing were practically all the clothes he owned.
Watching the woman hastily crouching on the ground to pick up the money, Lionel took his key out of his pocket and handed it to Petty:
"You start working today.
I expect the room to be tidy when I return tonight.
Can you do that?"
Petty clutched the key with the force of her entire life and nodded with the same intensity:
"Yes, Young Master Sorel!"
Lionel nodded back:
"Good.
I have things to do, so I'm leaving now."
With that, without waiting for anyone else's reaction, he quickly descended the stairs with a thump-thump-thump and was gone.
Mother Grete from the 'Swan Castle' quickly rushed after him, called out to Lionel, and threatened fiercely:
"Do you know who the boss of the 'Swan Castle' is?"
Lionel turned and smiled:
"Why don't you tell me?
I'm about to meet the owner of the largest circulation newspaper in Paris; I think he'd be very interested in the answer to that question."
Mother Grete was startled.
Does this kid know the owner of Le Petit Journal or Le Figaro?
He looked too poor, but that previous snobbish woman had said he was a top student from the Sorbonne...
Her follow-up threat was choked back.
Lionel paid no attention to what the woman, whose profession bordered on being a madam, was thinking.
He strode away from Rue Oberkampf and went to the public carriage stop on Rue du Marché to wait for a ride.
Half an hour later, he arrived at the Café de Flore, located at the corner of Boulevard Saint-Germain and Rue Saint-Benoît.
It was a Saturday morning.
Although the sun was already high, it wasn't yet the time for lingering over coffee, so there were only a handful of customers in the café.
A broad back, puffing on a cigar and occasionally glancing around, quickly caught his attention.
Lionel walked straight to the opposite seat and sat down:
"Good morning, Mr. Maurier."
He also pulled out a thick envelope from his coat and placed it on the table.
Gabriele Maurier looked at the young man sitting opposite him, first showing surprise, then an expression of dissatisfaction:
"Damn it, his pen name is 'An Honest Parisian,' but he himself is anything but honest!
How much did he pay you to come here?"
The young man in front of him looked barely over 20, with a youthful face and shabby clothing.
He absolutely couldn't be the kind of old lecher who would write "The Priest's Joke" and "Hélène Hanging from the Grape Trellis."
Lionel was noncommittal:
"If you are unwilling to speak with me, I'll take this draft back..."
He made a gesture to retrieve the envelope.
Gabriele quickly pressed down on Lionel's hand:
"Talk, we'll talk!"
Lionel smiled and withdrew his hand.
He had achieved his goal.
Gabriele breathed a sigh of relief, quickly tore open the envelope, and pulled out the letter to read.
(End of Chapter)
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