On the first Saturday evening of June 1879, 77 Champs-Élysées, the Rohan family mansion, was the dazzling focal point of Paris.
The moment Lionel Sorel entered the ballroom, arm-in-arm with Sophie Deneuve, he immediately captured the gaze of most guests.
Lionel was tall and handsome; Sophie was even more radiant—her simple, well-fitted pale gold taffeta evening gown accentuated her snow-white skin; the diamond necklace on her slender neck shimmered under the crystal chandeliers like an endlessly flowing starlight.
Whispers spread like ripples:
"Who is that enchanting lady?"
"The diamonds around her neck… My God!"
"Is that Monsieur Sorel by her side? The Lionel Sorel?"
Albert de Rohan came forward like a proud peacock, his face flushed with excitement:
"You two tonight are simply… simply illuminating the entire ball!"
He exaggeratedly bowed and kissed Sophie's hand.
Just then, Maupassant emerged from seemingly nowhere, swaying a glass of red wine:
"Leo! No wonder you wouldn't go out philandering with us… My goodness, another… truly a beautiful and charming young lady!"
Had he not, with quick wit, changed his words on the spot, Lionel would have almost strangled him.
At that moment, Lionel keenly felt a complex gaze fixed upon him.
He looked up to see Madame Rothschild, arm-in-arm with a dignified middle-aged gentleman, walking through the crowd towards them.
Madame Rothschild wore a deep purple velvet gown that evening, luxurious and elegant, with an emerald necklace around her neck, its glow calm and understated.
"Good evening, Monsieur Sorel."
Madame Rothschild's voice was still melodious, yet carried an inexpressible emotion.
Her gaze lingered briefly on Sophie:
"Monsieur Sorel, won't you introduce this young lady?"
"Sophie, Sophie Deneuve; Sophie, this is Madame Rothschild and her husband."
Lionel's voice showed no hint of anything unusual.
Sophie curtsied gracefully, with natural poise:
"Good evening, Madame, Monsieur. It's an honor to meet you both."
Madame Rothschild offered a smile full of hidden meaning:
"Mademoiselle Deneuve, you are truly… impressive this evening."
She turned to Lionel, a subtle hint of teasing in her tone:
"Not only are you an eloquent writer, but your taste in dance partners is also remarkably unique.
It seems 'The Conscience of Sorbonne' not only comprehends human nature but also understands the true essence of beauty."
Sophie's smile remained poised, and her response was still impeccably polite:
"You flatter me, Madame. It is Leo who gave me the opportunity to experience such a wonderful evening."
Just as Lionel felt a prickling sensation on his scalp, a girl of only seventeen or eighteen, wearing a light pink gauze dress, timidly approached him, her cheeks flushed with nervousness and excitement:
"Good evening, Monsieur Sorel… I am Émilie de Rohan, Albert is my brother.
I am a devoted reader of yours, and I absolutely love Letter from an Unknown Woman!"
Madame Rothschild laughed:
"It seems Monsieur Sorel has quite a few admirers… I wish you all a pleasant evening."
With that, she took Monsieur Rothschild's arm and departed.
Lionel breathed a sigh of relief, looking at the young girl, his voice gentle:
"Good evening, Émilie, thank you for your kind words."
Émilie's face flushed even deeper.
She quickly glanced at Sophie, but bravely continued:
"I… I also try to write some stories, but I always feel they are very childish.
I wonder… I wonder if I might have the honor, in the future, of inviting you… and this young lady, to stay a few days at our castle in the Loire Valley, to offer me some writing tips?"
Lionel felt Sophie's grip on his arm tighten, and he quickly and politely declined:
"It's wonderful that Mademoiselle Émilie is interested in literature… but there's no need for such trouble, you can have Albert bring your manuscripts to me…"
Émilie's face clouded over, and just as she was about to speak, a part of the ballroom lights suddenly dimmed.
Her words, on the tip of her tongue, had to be swallowed back.
Like a startled fawn, she returned to her mother's side with her brother.
Above the dance floor, the host of tonight's ball, the imposing Count de Rohan, descended the double-winding marble staircase with steady steps and approached the orchestra conductor's stand in the center of the hall.
He cleared his throat, and the music and conversations gradually quieted.
"Ladies, gentlemen, friends,"
Count de Rohan's voice was clear and steady:
"Thank you all for gracing my humble abode with your presence tonight.
While enjoying the wine and music, please allow me a moment of your time to announce something I believe is of paramount importance to the future of France.
I, Louis Philippe de Rohan, and my family—
Will unreservedly support the public education reform soon to be implemented by His Excellency Minister Jules Ferry!
Especially the universal free public primary education!"
A murmur of discussion rippled through the hall.
Count de Rohan raised his voice:
"We firmly believe that every child in France, regardless of their background, rich or poor; regardless of whether they live in the city or the countryside; regardless of whether they are boys or girls, has the right to an education!
Only then can France cultivate knowledgeable and moral citizens, and achieve liberty, equality, and fraternity!
To restrict access to education is to limit the future of France!
We support Minister Ferry, and we support this great cause!"
Applause immediately followed, sparse at first, it quickly grew fervent.
Count de Rohan raised his hand to signal for quiet, and his gaze suddenly turned to Lionel in the crowd:
"Here, I especially want to thank a young man. His works have, in a unique way, touched the hearts of countless people.
Monsieur Lionel Sorel, you, who came from a public school in the Alps to study in Paris, would you be willing to share your thoughts on this matter with us?"
Though being called out was somewhat sudden, Lionel was not entirely surprised—Albert had hinted at it multiple times since the day he invited him, and the Count's words today finally clarified the reason.
Lionel took a deep breath, took a few steps forward, and stood before the crowd, his voice clear and calm, yet loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Thank you for your praise, Count. Education should never be the privilege of a few, but a flame that illuminates every life.
Knowledge teaches us tolerance, kindness, and understanding of others.
When children read historical stories in their textbooks, when they read about the sights and customs of distant lands, when they read about the mysteries of science, the world within their hearts will also grow larger.
Free primary education is not just about teaching children to read and count; it is about sowing the seeds of reason and kindness.
It cannot instantly eliminate injustice in the world, but it can ensure that the next generation will possess France's most precious gift—a broader, warmer heart."
Lionel's speech contained no bombastic slogans, yet its unique humanistic perspective moved many.
After a brief silence, applause, even more fervent and sincere than before, resounded through the hall.
Then, the dance music began again.
Lionel extended his hand to Sophie, and the two glided into the dance floor.
The polka had a brisk rhythm; though Lionel's dancing was not exceptionally graceful, his steps were steady; Sophie followed lightly, like a golden cloud.
…
The ball ended.
Lionel walked Sophie towards their rented four-wheeled carriage.
Just as they were about to get in, he suddenly lowered his voice and leaned close to Sophie's ear:
"Quick, check if your diamond necklace is still there!"
Sophie paused, startled, then hastily felt her neck, before reassuringly patting her chest, and then gently punched him:
"You scared me to death! It's fine! You can return it to Madame Rothschild tomorrow!"
Lionel was taken aback:
"How did you know…?"
Sophie ignored him and got into the carriage.
Lionel could only follow.
The carriage wheels rolled over the cobblestones of the Champs-Élysées, making a rhythmic sound.
The carriage interior was dim, with only the occasional gas streetlights casting their silhouettes.
Sophie leaned on Lionel's shoulder, silent for a moment, then softly spoke:
"That's a woman's intuition. Madame Rothschild… and the little princess of the Rohan family…
Our Monsieur Lionel is quite the darling of Parisian high society now."
Lionel quickly began:
"Sophie, I…"
His words remained unfinished.
Sophie suddenly looked up, and in the dim light, accurately found his lips, silencing all his unspoken explanations with a soft but resolute kiss.
After a long moment, their lips parted.
Her fingers lightly brushed Lionel's cheek, her voice low but clear:
"No need to explain, Leo. I know who you are."
She leaned back against his shoulder, no longer speaking.
The carriage drove deeper into the night.
Lionel gazed out at the dazzling Paris through the window, feeling that the city had never been as gentle as it was tonight.
(End of Chapter)
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