To use Madame Martin's kitchen, Lionel and Petty ate their daily meals half an hour to an hour after the regular meal service ended, earlier at noon and later in the evening.
Petty had a good talent for cooking; although at the moment she only knew how to stew everything in an iron pot, her use of side dishes and spices was already quite skillful.
The tenants of the apartment had grown accustomed to having their nostrils bombarded by the aroma of meat these past two days, but no one dared to make trouble anymore.
They could only constantly swallow their saliva.
To them, Lionel was no longer the Alpine bumpkin they could mock and bully at will, but a promising young man about to soar to greatness like a phoenix.
Offending him now, who knew when misfortune might strike!
One after another, "Young Master Sorel" was uttered with utmost respect, entirely devoid of the past teasing.
Even Petty's status had changed in their eyes—she was a maid worth 15 francs a month, and she could stew delicious meat broth!
If Young Master Sorel truly became successful in a few years, Petty might become his head maid, perhaps earning 100 francs a month, even more than her father, who worked as a domestic helper.
Madame Martin had not even pressed for next month's rent, as if she knew Lionel wouldn't be living there much longer, looking at the young man with a complex gaze instead.
Lionel and Petty slurped spaghetti at Madame Martin's freshly cleaned dining table.
Petty chattered away with updates as she ate:
"Young Master Sorel, today beef at the market was 5 sous more expensive per kilogram, so I didn't buy it, I bought a duck instead..."
"Young Master Sorel, many of the letters in the manuscript you asked me to copy today are joined together.
I can't quite make out which ones they are.
Will you teach me how to recognize them later?"
"Young Master Sorel, besides spaghetti, can we buy some thin noodles?
I used to eat thin noodles made by my grandmother back home in Brienne, they were very tasty.
I saw some for sale at the market today, only 4 sous for a kilogram!"
"Young Master Sorel, can I also live in the attic?
Don't worry, I can just sleep under the desk.
It's too noisy at home at night..."
"Young Master Sorel, actually... cough, cough, cough-cough..."
As Petty spoke, she suddenly started coughing and continued for a while before gradually stopping, her cheeks flushing with an unhealthy redness.
Lionel put down his fork:
"Slow down, don't choke."
Petty nodded repeatedly, patted her chest a few times, and steadied her breathing.
Lionel hesitated, glanced at the living room, and, seeing that Madame Martin wasn't by the stove, quietly said to Petty:
"Moving to the attic won't be necessary for now—this week I'll look for a new apartment, and then you'll have your own room."
Hearing Lionel's words, Petty's eyes widened in disbelief.
After digesting the too-new information about a "new apartment" and "her own room," she was about to cry out in joy.
Lionel raised a finger to his lips, signaling Petty not to make a fuss, and she barely managed to swallow the sound, but then coughed several times again.
Once her breathing had settled again, Petty suddenly showed a worried expression:
"Young Master Sorel, you must take care of your health, don't overwork yourself!"
Lionel: "Hmm?"
Petty's little face became serious:
"Mom and the neighbors say that baronesses and wealthy ladies have great 'needs,' and even the strongest young men can't handle their demands."
Lionel: "..."
Petty's little mouth didn't stop, chattering away like a little adult:
"Mom also said that there used to be a young man as tall as you in this apartment, a porter for a shipping company, as strong as an ox.
But ever since he got involved with Mr. Leeds, the port freight dealer's wife, he quickly became thin and died the following winter."
Lionel: "..."
Petty saw that he wasn't speaking, thought she had hit a nerve, and quickly comforted him:
"Young Master Sorel, actually, living here is quite good.
We don't need to move in a hurry, this way we can save a lot on rent.
I really can sleep under the desk, just give me an extra blanket...
We don't even need to eat meat every day, I think once every three... two days would be fine..."
Unable to listen anymore, Lionel simply pushed his noodles aside and asked Petty:
"Do you understand what 'needs' are?"
Petty shook her head in confusion, then nodded:
"I heard those ladies are very fat, one of them weighs more than five Pettys combined, you need to push them..."
Lionel quickly stopped Petty from continuing, then held his forehead, looking at the little person in front of him with a complicated expression.
After a long while, he spoke:
"Don't you think this is, well, a 'scandalous thing'?"
Petty looked confused:
"Why is it 'scandalous'?
Isn't Miss Meryl on the third floor doing the same thing?
It's just that she doesn't have your luck; her customers are only the dock workers, and sometimes my father also goes to her room...
Mom used to often call me a 'little bitch' and said she would sell me to a brothel.
I heard a prostitute there can earn 150 francs a month, and doesn't even need to practice ballet..."
Lionel: "..."
He realized he had still overestimated the moral standards of the general public living in this area, in this kind of apartment.
Lionel quickly interrupted Petty:
"What I'm about to say now, you must remember, Petty."
Seeing Lionel so serious, Petty quickly put down her fork and stood up, her bottom leaving the chair.
Lionel's tone was more serious than ever:
"Petty, this way of exchanging one's body for money that you just spoke of, I, Lionel Sorel, will not engage in it—in the past, present, or future—because it is not decent.
I have my own ways of earning money, but absolutely not this one."
Petty was startled, not daring to breathe loudly, and kept nodding.
Lionel continued:
"Miss Meryl on the third floor is forced by life to engage in this trade.
I don't think it's shameful, but it is certainly not a glorious thing.
I believe that if she had the opportunity, she would definitely try her best to escape her current situation."
Petty continued to nod.
Lionel finally said:
"You will be an outstanding woman in the future, literate, articulate, and able to write, earning far more than 150 francs.
Everyone who meets you will address you as 'respected Miss Petty.'
You will not become a prostitute.
This is not discrimination against them, but you have the opportunity to choose a different path from theirs.
If you choose this path, then you should have the awareness to become a 'respected Miss Petty,' instead of thinking that being a prostitute is alright.
Can you do that?"
Petty half understood, half didn't understand the last two sentences, but since Lionel said it, she still nodded firmly:
"I can do it, Young Master Sorel!"
Only then did Lionel feel relieved, letting Petty sit down and quickly eat the remaining noodles and duck meat.
In the evening, Lionel, as usual, sent Petty back to sleep early, and then lit a candle to begin writing.
It wasn't until more than half of the candle had burned down that he stood up, shaking his aching hand.
The efficiency of handwriting was truly not good, especially since he now had to complete three manuscripts simultaneously—
One was "A Parisian Honest Man's Provincial Travels" for The Din, requiring at least 150 lines per week;
One was "The Old Guard" for the Sorbonne Academy Journal, with an unspecified number of lines, but likely no less than 500-600 lines;
And of course, "The Decadent City," although there were four months for its creation, considering the length, it was actually very tight.
"I wonder if typewriters exist yet? How much do they cost?"
Lionel mused, preparing to blow out the candle and go to sleep.
Just then, thumping footsteps came up the stairs from downstairs, quickly arriving at the door of his attic room.
"Young Master Sorel, are you resting?"
A woman with messy hair stood at the door and asked.
Lionel's heart sank when he saw who it was; it was Petty's mother.
The woman's face was hard to make out in the candlelight, and he only heard her say in a slightly trembling voice:
"Petty started coughing not long after she came home tonight, and it hasn't stopped until now; I touched her forehead, it was as hot as a freshly lit stove..."
(End of chapter)
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