Lionel peered into the laboratory:
"Professor Bobuchet isn't here?"
Pierre Curie cautiously replied,
"The professor went to dinner, he might be back in a while..."
Lionel smiled—"might," meaning it was unlikely he'd return.
He whispered,
"Mr. Curie, I heard that here you can get some experimental supplies that are hard to find on the market, like chemical reagents and such..."
Pierre Curie's face visibly panicked, and he quickly distanced himself:
"That's a rumor... Besides, this is a 'Physics Laboratory,' didn't you read the sign?"
Lionel quickly said,
"Don't be nervous, I was just asking..."
Pierre Curie was both a genius who earned his master's degree at 18 and an eccentric who loved to break traditional research paradigms.
He always liked to conduct experiments he was interested in outside of his professor's requirements.
He even had a small private laboratory in his apartment, which consistently led to his expenses exceeding his income.
So, he occasionally took on "side jobs," helping Sorbonne students concoct strange but harmless contraptions.
Of course, such things were intolerable to Professor Bobuchet, his mentor and direct superior, who believed Pierre Curie should not waste his talent on these unorthodox pursuits.
Lionel took out his badge and student ID, handing them to the other man.
Seeing that Lionel was indeed a Sorbonne student, Pierre Curie finally relaxed:
"Alright, but why did you come to the lab? If Professor Bobuchet sees us, we'll both be in trouble."
Lionel seized the opportunity to invite him:
"Then how about we go to 'Procope' for a cup of coffee?"
"Procope" was the name of a cafe next to the Faculty of Science, which had hosted masters like Voltaire, Rousseau, and Hugo, and was also a favorite spot for Sorbonne faculty and students.
Pierre Curie hesitated for a moment, then nodded:
"Wait for me."
He then returned to the lab, finished up his work, and carefully checked that all the instruments were turned off, to prevent the million-franc laboratory from blowing up while they had coffee.
Fifteen minutes later, the two were sitting at a small round table at "Procope," each sipping a cup of coffee.
Lionel was no longer in a hurry, observing this both fortunate and unfortunate scientist with interest.
Thinking of his and his famous wife's story, he couldn't help but lose himself in thought.
Pierre Curie couldn't help but ask first,
"What exactly do you want?"
Lionel snapped back to attention:
"I want to get some 'copper chloride.' Can you help me get it?"
Pierre Curie was startled:
"What do you want it for?"
Although his major was physics, his brother Jacques Paul Curie had once been a chemistry teaching assistant at a medical school, and Pierre had helped his brother organize lecture notes there.
Moreover, a genius like him would have been proficient in both physics and chemistry during his basic education, only specializing in physics later.
Lionel revealed a mischievous smile:
"I want to make a burning flame turn green."
…
It was 8 o'clock in the evening when he parted ways with Pierre Curie.
The two had a simple meal at the cafe for dinner.
Although Lionel was a liberal arts student in his previous life, he had the foundation to get into Yan University, so he still remembered some basic physics and chemistry knowledge, as well as interesting experiments his teachers had done.
Therefore, his conversation with Pierre Curie was very pleasant.
He occasionally mentioned strange knowledge and speculative theories that astonished the other man.
Although Pierre Curie considered these to be nonsense, he was, after all, the first Sorbonne liberal arts student he had met who had such a deep understanding of natural science.
Even stranger was why Lionel specifically reminded him when they parted:
"Be sure to watch out for passing carriages when crossing the road."
Of course, Lionel couldn't explicitly say that, a year after achieving fame, the old man would have his head crushed by a carriage wheel because he didn't look both ways when crossing the street.
Returning to Mrs. Martin's apartment, there was no longer the aroma of stew, nor Petit's star-like eyes and crisp "Young Master Sorel."
There was only the dark corridor, cold air, and persistent, lingering odors in every corner.
Lionel knew that lecturing these poor souls struggling on the brink of subsistence, who could lose their lives at any moment, about morality was not only foolish but inherently immoral.
He could only save himself, Petit, and the Sorel family far away in the Alps.
This weekend, he had to find a suitable house no matter what—not only to keep himself away from the risk of illness but also to provide Petit with a clean environment to recuperate after being discharged from the hospital.
Such residences were usually only available in "Haussmannian" residential apartments that had completed urban renovation, mostly concentrated in the aristocratic, wealthy, and middle-class areas from the 1st to the 9th arrondissements.
In these places, an apartment with two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a separate bathroom, and other complete facilities typically cost no less than 100 francs per month, not including meals.
In addition, there would be an extra cost for personal items to be acquired after moving into the apartment.
6,000 francs seemed like a lot, but it was really just an entry ticket to a middle-class life in Paris, with little left after deducting family debts.
If he couldn't continuously earn enough wealth later, he would, at most, live worse year after year, just like the protagonist in Balzac's Père Goriot.
Lionel's desire for "fame" and "money" burned with unprecedented intensity.
He lit a candle, took out manuscript paper, and luxuriously brewed himself a cup of black coffee.
Then, like Balzac after his recent bankruptcy, he wrote furiously under the flickering candlelight, transcribing The Old Guard, which he had just completed today.
At this moment, he even felt that every letter he wrote now produced a "clink" sound, like copper coins and silver francs colliding.
The next morning, Lionel arrived at the Sorbonne 20 minutes earlier than usual and waited at the door of Dean Duen's office.
Around 9 o'clock, Mr. Duen arrived at his office and seemed very surprised to see Lionel:
"Why are you here?"
Lionel pulled out the transcribed novel manuscript from his pocket, handed it to the dean, and said in an unusually polite tone:
"This is the manuscript you requested; I have finished writing it and am giving it to you today."
Mr. Duen took the manuscript, frowned, thinking that this student might have been a bit hasty, completing a novel in just a few days.
Was he being perfunctory?
But since the dean's task was completed, it was no longer his concern, so he accepted the manuscript and nodded:
"Very good, off to class you go."
(End of Chapter)