Beside the banner, there were also a few young girls, holding slightly wilted bouquets of wildflowers, gazing at him shyly and curiously.
Around the platform were citizens who had come to watch the spectacle after hearing the news, whispering and pointing, their faces beaming with an excited sense of shared pride.
Lionel was completely bewildered.
He had anticipated that the telegram might inform his family of his return date, but he never expected the news to spread so quickly and widely that such a considerable welcome ceremony awaited him.
He was the only one to alight at this station, so a bouquet was quickly thrust into one of his hands.
The girls, neither in unison nor loudly, awkwardly chanted:
"Welcome! Welcome!..."
An old man with a full beard and decent clothes came forward:
"Monsieur Sorel! Welcome! Welcome back to Laragne!
I am André-Savart de Martino, the mayor of Laragne."
Mayor Martino tightly grasped Lionel's free hand, shaking it vigorously:
"This is truly an honor for our Laragne! We have never had such a distinguished personage, so renowned in national newspapers, emerge from our town!"
Lionel was a little flustered:
"Monsieur Mayor... you are too kind. This... I am truly overwhelmed."
He was accustomed to the elegance and reserve of Parisian salons and was quite unaccustomed to such direct and simple provincial enthusiasm.
Mayor Martino beamed:
"It is only right! It is only right! Your achievements are not only the pride of the Sorel family, but of the entire Laragne region!
We've heard that in Paris, you sit as an equal with great literary figures like Flaubert and Zola, and even ministers and counts praise you highly!"
Only then did Lionel realize.
He had underestimated the speed at which news traveled in small towns in this era, and also underestimated what his current fame meant in his hometown.
His stories, appearing in newspapers circulated from Paris, and spread by word of mouth through merchants and postal carriers, had likely been embellished, transforming him into a legendary figure.
For a remote, quiet little town like Laragne, almost forgotten by the times, a 'locally born' Parisian celebrity was undoubtedly a powerful stimulant.
Lionel glanced into the crowd:
"My father... he..."
Mayor Martino interjected:
"Oh! Old Joseph, your father, was overjoyed to know you'd be arriving today! He originally intended to come and meet you himself...
But I thought, Monsieur Sorel is now an important person, and his first encounter upon returning home should properly be welcomed by me!
So I took it upon myself to organize this small welcome ceremony; I hope you don't mind.
Madame Sorel is at home preparing a sumptuous dinner! I have already arranged a carriage; it will take you back to Montiel right away!"
Without further ado, the mayor took Lionel's not-so-heavy travel bag, handed it to an attendant nearby, then enthusiastically linked his arm with Lionel's, practically escorting him out of the station amidst the crowd.
The banner-holding youths and flower-offering girls followed closely behind, while the onlookers buzzed with comments and exclamations of admiration.
"Look! That's the Sorel family's son!"
"So young! I heard he earns ten thousand francs a year in Paris!"
"Ten thousand francs! My God, how much is that..."
"Look at his bearing, truly a man who's seen the world..."
"I heard that even Parisian noblewomen vie to invite him to their salons!"
"What's a salon?"
...
These whispers clearly reached Lionel's ears, making him feel less like a returning wanderer and more like a rare animal brought out for display.
Outside the station, sure enough, a four-wheeled carriage, noticeably more spacious and cleaner than an ordinary hansom cab, was parked, bearing the emblem of the Laragne municipal government on its body.
The coachman, wearing a brand-new hat, respectfully opened the carriage door.
"Please, Monsieur Sorel, step into the carriage. This carriage will take you directly back to your residence in Montiel."
The mayor personally helped him into the carriage, as if he were some frail nobleman.
Lionel, resigned, could only thank him again and got into the carriage.
The mayor then leaned into the carriage window and said one last thing:
"If you happen to meet any important figures in Paris, don't forget to mention my name..."
The carriage finally started, left the bustling station square, and turned onto the country road leading to Montiel.
Lionel leaned back in his seat, let out a long sigh, and gazed at the rapidly passing, incredibly familiar fields and forests outside the window, his heart filled with mixed emotions...
Two hours later, the carriage entered the district of Montiel.
The low stone walls, the crooked wooden fences, the old oak tree at the entrance of the town... every detail awakened Lionel's deeply buried memories.
A few children playing by the roadside saw the carriage decorated with the city emblem, immediately stopped their frolicking, stared curiously, then dashed away, likely to spread the news.
The carriage finally stopped in front of the Sorel family's familiar, slightly dilapidated two-story stone and timber house.
It seemed to have been somewhat renovated since he last remembered it, the walls freshly whitewashed, the windows clean.
However, the scene in front of the door made him pause again.
His father, Joseph Sorel, was wearing his best black suit, his tie meticulously tied, yet he appeared somewhat stiff and uncomfortable.
His mother had also changed into a dark long dress, worn only on festive occasions, her hair neatly combed.
His elder sister, Yvette, stood behind them in a simple elegant dress, her face seeming paler than before, gazing at the carriage with complex emotions.
All three of them stood at the doorway, as if preparing to welcome an important guest, rather than a returning son and brother.
What made Lionel even more uncomfortable was that at the doorways and windows of their neighbors, and even outside the small tavern across the street, quite a few people had gathered, silently watching their side.
Their gazes were no longer the mocking kind of old, looking at 'that bookworm from the Sorel family', but a mix of awe, envy, and scrutiny...
Perhaps even a hint of barely perceptible jealousy.
The coachman alighted and respectfully opened the carriage door for him.
Lionel took a deep breath, trying to appear natural, and stepped out of the carriage.
He tried to keep his voice steady:
"Father, Mother, Yvette, I'm back."
His mother was the first to give in, stepping forward, her eyes instantly reddening:
"Lionel! My child!"
But her hands nervously rubbed her apron; she wanted to embrace him but seemed to hesitate.
His father, Joseph Sorel, appeared even more reserved; he stepped forward, extended his hand, as if to shake hands, then thought better of it, finally just patting Lionel heavily on the shoulder:
"It's good you're back, good you're back. You must have had a tiring journey."
His eyes darted away, seemingly unable to meet his son's gaze for long.
"Lion..."
Yvette called softly, her voice catching. She quickly lowered her head and wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.
At this moment, the neighbors began to slowly gather around, full of enthusiastic greetings and compliments, filling Lionel's heart with a complex mix of emotions.
He had returned home, to the land where he was born and raised, and met his family whom he had 'missed day and night'—
However, he was no longer 'the Sorel family's bookworm'; he was 'Lionel, the famous writer, the Conscience of the Sorbonne'.
He tried to smile, nod, and respond to every neighbor, supported his mother, and, together with his father and sister, walked towards the familiar front door of their home.
Just then, he saw his best playmate from childhood, Lantou, the blacksmith's son, slowly approaching.
Lantou was still wearing his coarse working clothes, a simple, honest smile on his face, but he didn't playfully punch Lionel's shoulder as he used to.
Hiding behind Lantou was a child of only three or four, timidly poking his head out.
"Hey! Lantou—you're here?..."
Lionel tried to recapture the feeling of their younger days.
Lantou stopped, a look of joy and shyness on his face, his lips moved, but no sound came out.
His demeanor finally became respectful, and he distinctly called out:
"Young master..."
Lionel seemed to shiver.
He knew that a pathetic thick wall had already separated them!
Lantou turned back to the child and said:
"Come, bow to the young master..."
(End of this chapter)
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