The days at Meitang Villa were like a stolen period of tranquility for Alice and Petty.
Compared to the stuffiness and clamor of Lafayette Street, this place felt like another world.
The villa was surrounded by lush green gardens, and the air was filled with the scent of roses, lavender, and freshly cut grass.
The Zola family's cook was a kind, plump Norman woman who, every day, prepared delicious apple tarts, stewed lamb, and fresh vegetable soup in various ways for those staying there.
Petty was like a bird released from its cage; she chased butterflies in the garden, helped the gardener pick beans, and even assisted the cook in preparing meals.
Her talent for cooking, without exception, also astonished the cook.
Alice, on the other hand, enjoyed this rare leisure.
In the mornings, she would sit under an oak tree with a book to read, and in the afternoons, she would practice writing in the cool living room.
Here, no one questioned her past; she was just an ordinary girl from the Alps, temporarily staying there.
That afternoon, the butler brought a letter:
"Mademoiselle Alice, sent by Monsieur Lionel Sorel from the Alps region."
Alice excitedly took the thick envelope, and Petty, curious, leaned closer:
"Is it Young Master Sorel's letter? What did he say? Are the Alps fun?"
Alice carefully tore open the seal; inside was a thick stack of manuscript pages.
With a touch of curiosity, she began to read "My Hometown."
At first, she was only drawn in by Lionel's depiction of the familiar mountain scenery, but as she delved deeper into the reading, the experiences of the Luntu family, the decline of the small town...
That pervasive sense of alienation and powerlessness surged into her heart like a tide.
She seemed to see her own parents, her neighbors and fellow villagers, and the eternally clear sky of the Alps with its peaks perpetually covered in snow...
Every detail in Lionel's writing touched the softest part of her heart.
When she read Luntu's respectful yet distant "Master," and the "pathetic thick wall," Alice's vision completely blurred.
Tears flowed silently, dripping onto the manuscript paper.
She wasn't crying for herself, but even more for all the people on that land, like Luntu, like her parents, who were weighed down by life and forgotten by their era.
Lionel's words outlined the desolation beneath Montiel's tranquil facade, and also released the homesickness she had suppressed for so long.
Petty was terrified, dropped her handkerchief, and hugged Alice's arm:
"What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell somewhere? Or has something happened to Young Master Lionel?"
Alice shook her head, choked with emotion, unable to speak, and simply held Petty tightly in her arms.
After a long while, she slowly calmed down, wiped away her tears, and smiled at Petty:
"I'm fine, Petty. It's just... I just miss home.
Leon is also fine, he... he's doing well."
A strong impulse rose within her.
This novel shouldn't only be seen by her; it should meet readers sooner.
Parisians would know that in the distant Alps, there was still such a world, such a group of people.
This transcription, she realized, wasn't just for Lionel or herself, but for her hometown...
----
August in Paris was nothing but sweltering heat and suffocating stench.
The "Colonial Communications Office" of "Orbigny Trading Company" on the first floor was even more stiflingly hot; the only window could only be half-opened to keep out flies, mosquitoes, and dust.
Sophie Deneuve wore a high-collared long-sleeved shirt and an ankle-length skirt, her back already soaked with sweat.
Although it was nearing closing time, she was still engrossed in sorting a batch of cargo manifests from Algeria, and the incessant harassment from flies and insects made her somewhat agitated.
Just then, a staff member from the mailroom brought her a letter.
Seeing the free-flowing handwriting on the envelope, Sophie's heart suddenly skipped a beat, as if a cool mountain breeze had instantly dispersed the stifling atmosphere there.
She carefully opened the letter and began to read it greedily.
Lionel vividly depicted the scenery of the Alps:
[...The sky here is as clear and bright as a sapphire; in comparison, the Parisian sky always seems veiled by a layer of gray mist.
In the early morning, the valleys are filled with milky white mist, like a fairyland...
At night, the star-filled sky hangs low, as if one could reach out and pluck the stars...
The air in the mountains is crisp and pure, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers; every breath feels like cleansing one's lungs...]
Sophie felt as if she could see the continuous green mountains through the words and feel the refreshing coolness that permeated her being.
Sophie's lips curled up unconsciously; she was happy that he could temporarily escape the hustle and bustle of Paris, and also drawn to the vast and vibrant world he described in his writing.
She thought of Lionel's popularity in high society, knowing that he was steadily entering Paris's elite cultural circle, and she felt immense pride.
Just then, from outside the office door, came the unrestrained chatter of two male colleagues who had just returned from coffee, probably assuming Sophie, like other colleagues, had long since slipped away.
"Honestly, Mademoiselle Deneuve's eyes, when she looks at someone, they're like rippling water, capable of ensnaring one's soul..."
"Oh, come on, she's certainly a beauty, no doubt, but that's all.
Think about it, with her parents gone, how much dowry could she possibly have?
She probably couldn't even put together a decent set of silver cutlery!"
"Tsk, what a shame... such beauty and intelligence, if only she had been born into a wealthy merchant's or judge's family..."
"Then it wouldn't be for us to think about! At most... heh heh, perhaps just suitable to be some gentleman's mistress. Haha..."
The smile on Sophie's face instantly froze; the coldness of reality immediately extinguished her earlier joy.
Lionel was rapidly rising, but what about her?
She only had a dilapidated old house of little value, still in the 10th arrondissement; her savings were a meager 500 francs.
She thought of that diamond necklace worth at least 40,000 francs, of the faint smile on the lips of the distinguished Madame Rothschild, of the innocent young girl from the Rohan household...
She had almost no "capital" to match a promising young talent like Lionel — beauty was not worth much in high society.
Wealthy Parisians, if they wished, could have an unlimited number of mistresses.
Sophie Deneuve suppressed the fear and inferiority that welled up within her; she took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.
She was Sophie Deneuve, a woman capable of establishing herself in Paris through her own abilities.
Looking at Lionel's letter again, Sophie's gaze became firm once more.
----
Monsieur Paul Pigot, editor-in-chief of "Le Petit Parisien," also received a letter from Lionel.
He had been in quite a good mood lately.
The newspaper's circulation was steadily rising due to "The Strange Case of Benjamin Button," whose novel setting and dramatic plot greatly appealed to urban readers.
So when he received Lionel's letter, he was very surprised.
Previously, Lionel had submitted two weeks' worth of serials at once, saying he was going back to the Alps – how could he have returned so quickly?
He curiously opened the envelope; inside was a neatly and elegantly transcribed manuscript, titled "My Hometown."
With a hint of skepticism and anticipation, Paul Pigot began to flip through it.
After reading just a few paragraphs, he was captivated by the calm, powerful realistic style.
This was completely different from "The Strange Case of Benjamin Button," which he was familiar with and had a metropolitan, fantastical romance feel.
As he read deeper, the expression on his face changed from curiosity to surprise, then from surprise to solemnity, and finally transformed into deep admiration.
"Jean-Malo, quickly take down that novel by Maupassant and replace it with this one! Our 'Plutos' has sent a new manuscript!"
(End of Chapter)
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