The apartment Lionel currently lived in had no visitors other than Lucian, who occasionally dropped by.
Only a few newspaper editors knew this address, and they wouldn't go as far as to visit him at his home.
Lionel walked to the door, looked through the brass peephole, and found it wasn't Lucian, nor a stranger, but his next-door neighbor, Mr. Greenheight.
The portly 'Schneider Electric' salesman stood under the gaslight in the hallway, his face a mix of sorrow, tension, and anger.
Lionel hesitated for a moment, then opened the door.
Before Lionel could even greet him, Greenheight practically shoved his way in, almost knocking him over, then quickly turned to close the door, tossing a travel bag by the entrance.
Lionel quickly waved at Alice and Petty, and they discreetly retreated into the room.
"Mr. Greenheight…" Before he could finish his sentence, Greenheight put a finger to his lips, signaling for quiet.
Once Lionel fell silent, Greenheight pleaded in a low voice, "Mr. Sorel, just let me stay here for a little while, just for a little while, okay?"
Lionel probably guessed what was happening, said nothing, just nodded, and went to the kitchen to pour Greenheight a glass of water.
Greenheight drank the water in one gulp, like a camel that had just crossed the entire desert.
Seeing this, Lionel poured him another glass, which Greenheight also drained in two gulps, before collapsing onto a chair in the living room, panting.
Lionel sat opposite him, and just as he was about to offer comfort, Greenheight began to sob softly.
He looked at Lionel with bloodshot, unfocused eyes, filled with an unbelievable terror and a pain bordering on collapse.
"She… she and Lucian!" Greenheight's voice was a dry, terrifying rasp, as if squeezed from a torn throat.
"My Petite… and that damned actor! They're in there! In my bed! In the bed I paid for!" He trembled as he pointed at the wall separating the two rooms.
Lucian's frivolous words and the scene of him disappearing behind door 503 flashed through Lionel's mind. He wanted to offer comfort but couldn't utter a single word.
"I saw it!" Greenheight craned his neck, about to let out a roar of anger, but immediately suppressed it.
He painfully pounded his chest, making dull thudding sounds: "Right downstairs! She drew the curtains… and that bastard was pressed against her back! Like a dog in heat!"
"Oh God! Why? The larks of Langres Plateau are still in my sights! I rushed back because I was worried about her health!"
"I even… even carried all these things for two whole blocks just to save money on a carriage!"
He pointed at the dusty travel bag by the door, his voice filled with absurd indignation and sorrow.
From Mr. Greenheight's rambling, Lionel roughly understood the whole story:
During the Easter Holiday, Greenheight had arranged with his friends to hunt larks on the Langres Plateau, but his wife, Petite, had declined, citing illness;
Worried about his wife's health, he returned early from the Langres Plateau, only to witness the scene he had just described.
Greenheight had initially wanted to rush into the room and confront the couple, but standing at the door, he lacked the courage to face it all. He happened to see light through the crack of Lionel's apartment door and knocked.
Greenheight stood up, pacing back and forth in the living room like a wounded trapped beast, his heavy footsteps making the floorboards creak.
"Mr. Sorel, tell me…"
He suddenly stopped, staring intently at Lionel, as if searching for answers on the young man's face:
"What did I do wrong to her? Huh? I'm Schneider Electric's most diligent salesman, five thousand francs a year! Five thousand francs!"
"I let her live in the best apartment on An Tan Street, let her use Sèvres porcelain, wear fine linen dresses from Roubaix!"
"That new perfume shop on the Champs-Élysées, 'Madame Butterfly,' a small bottle costs one hundred and twenty francs! She only mentioned it once, said it smelled like early spring violets…
I didn't even bat an eye! Right before I left to hunt those damned larks! Is that damned perfume now smeared on that actor's neck?"
Every wrinkle on Greenheight's face twisted in pain, his voice shattered like a water glass dropped from a rooftop onto the street.
"Every day I came home, no matter how tired, I would detour to the Saint-Honoré Market to buy the freshest roses! Even in winter, the greenhouse ones, as expensive as gold! Just because she liked them!"
"Last winter, she got pneumonia, a persistent high fever, coughing all night, unable to sleep… I knelt by her bed, held her hand, and prayed to the Virgin Mary, over and over again…"
"Is this my reward? In the home I tirelessly worked for and frugally supported, in the big bed I bought, she's fooling around with that slick-haired, smooth-talking, woman-deceiving, vulgar actor?!"
His desperate murmuring didn't end, and Lionel remained silent, quietly listening.
Greenheight desperately clutched his already thinning hair: "What is a man? Mr. Sorel! A man is a candle! Burning from the day he's born!"
"Burning his blood, burning his sweat, burning his life! For what? Just to illuminate the woman beside him! To make her radiant, to make her warm, to make her live like a human being!"
"But what about women? Women are a gust of wind! A light, heartless gust of wind! When they're happy, they dance around the candle, thinking the light is beautiful…"
"When they're unhappy, or they see a brighter candle nearby, or even just a glowing firefly… they just give a gentle blow!"
At this, Greenheight puffed out his cheeks and blew hard into the air: "Poof—! Your decades of burning, all your light, all the heat you accumulated… are instantly, completely gone! Only an ugly, cold puddle of oil remains!"
"Lucian…" Greenheight murmured the name, each syllable like chewing a cold stone.
"That damned, hell-bound actor! He ruined me! He's like a plague! Like a venomous snake! He slithered into my home! With his honeyed tongue and his eyes that specialize in seducing women…"
"Who does he think he is? A cheap actor who struts on stage and earns a living by pleasing others! What does he know about responsibility? About family? About someone sworn to protect for life before God?"
"He only steals! Like a rat, he steals others' most precious things! Then… then, like spitting out a gnawed bone, he carelessly spits it out!"
Lionel suddenly felt a great unease and tried to console him: "Mr. Greenheight, please calm down! Perhaps… perhaps there's some misunderstanding?"
"Misunderstanding?" Greenheight suddenly turned, staring intently at Lionel, a grim, almost ferocious smile appearing on his face.
"What misunderstanding could be worse than what I'm enduring now? My home is ruined! My faith is ruined!"
"My life is trampled in the mud like a complete fool! My good neighbor, tell me, what should I do?"
"Should I cower in a corner like a castrated sheep, licking my wounds? And then watch them continue to revel in my house?"
Greenheight made up his mind.
He wiped his face, clearing away the tears, and his tone returned to calm: "Thank you, Mr. Sorel, you are a good man for listening to my nonsense… Unfortunately, I have nothing to repay you with.
I can only pray that God blesses you!"
Then he picked up the travel bag by the door, left Lionel's apartment, and gently closed the door behind him.
Lionel walked to the door and, through the brass peephole, saw Greenheight stealthily take out a key and open the door to apartment 503.
Before entering, Greenheight seemed to know Lionel was watching him through the peephole, turned, and gave him a smile.