Lionel turned around and, sure enough, it was Guy de Maupassant's familiar big beard.
Mr. Flaubert's direct disciple and a well-known veteran patron of Parisian brothels, he was also on deck at the moment, flirting with two exquisitely dressed and adorned women.
However, the two women were clearly not interested in Maupassant and did not accept his invitation, turning their heads and returning to the cabin.
Maupassant, however, was not at all disheartened and immediately turned to look for his next target—he quickly spotted Lionel.
"God! My dear Leon! What are you doing here?" Maupassant strode across half the deck and, without a word, gave Lionel a tight hug.
Although Lionel knew that syphilis was not transmitted through such ordinary contact, he still held his breath for a few seconds.
Maupassant was in high spirits, and his voice was exceptionally vibrant: "Has the wave of fate washed you onto this old boat too?
I thought you were hiding in some country castle or were held up by some muse in a salon!"
As he spoke, he looked Lionel up and down, a look of envy in his eyes.
Although Lionel didn't know why Maupassant had such an expression, he still smiled and responded, "Yes, fate's arrangements are always unexpected, aren't they? France is so big, and yet we can meet on this ship."
Then his smile became mischievous: "What, you can't stand the Seine River anymore either?"
The mention of the Seine River immediately ignited Maupassant's fury, and his complaints poured out like a floodgate opening, non-stop: "Damn the Seine River! It's not a river; it's a gigantic, open cesspool!
The whole of Paris is suffocating and rotting in its stench! Those idiots in the city hall!"
He became more and more agitated as he spoke, waving his arms: "When I went out yesterday, that smell… it was like falling into a pile of rotting internal organs! If I stay any longer, I'll have to bathe in perfume!"
Lionel listened for a full three minutes before he had a chance to interject: "It sounds like the situation where you are is particularly bad?"
Maupassant sighed: "The smelliest stretch of the river is right outside my window—but I paid an extra 20 francs a month for this view when I first rented that apartment.
The day before yesterday, they even fished out a dead baby, bloated like a rotten sack of flour… it was a nightmare!"
Then he started complaining again: "Those guys who still live in Paris and refuse to leave. Artists, critics, prostitutes, and councilors, each one more fanciful than the last.
They imagine the Seine River is only temporarily stinky, they imagine the council will vote for the budget they want, they imagine cholera can read and will avoid powerful families…"
As the two were talking, the ship swayed gently, and footsteps could be heard from the edge of the deck.
Lionel looked back and saw Alice and Petty walking over, staggering while holding onto the railing. Although their faces were still somewhat pale, they had clearly begun to adapt to the up-and-down motion.
"How are you two doing?" Lionel asked.
Maupassant caught a glimpse of Alice, whose face was half-covered by a veil, and his words stopped abruptly, his gaze hooked as if by a fishing line.
In that instant, his beard seemed to straighten a bit: "Leon… are you traveling with an angel?" His voice was low, but his eyes were burning.
"Friends," Lionel replied calmly.
"Then I must thank God for making me take an extra step today." Maupassant quickly stood up, took off his hat, and bowed to Alice and Petty: "Ladies, Maupassant, Guy de Maupassant, an amateur writer, occasionally a dreamer."
Alice had not yet recovered, merely nodding and smiling softly; it was Petty who burst out laughing: "You speak so interestingly! My name is Petty! Young Master, I'm much better now."
Maupassant raised an eyebrow keenly: "Young Master? So my friend here is a noble in your household?"
Petty said unceremoniously: "Not a noble, but a master."
"Oh!" Maupassant looked at Lionel again, his eyes no longer envious but jealous—Lionel had only published one novel so far, so why could he afford a maid and travel with such a beautiful girl…
Everything was left unsaid.
Alice forced a smile and took Petty's hand: "My name is Alice, I'm from Leon's hometown—Petty, let's go to that side of the deck, so we don't disturb Leon and Mr. Maupassant."
Maupassant quickly extended his hand: "We were just chatting, it's no trouble at all—Leon, let me treat the three of you to oysters!"
Lionel looked at Petty and Alice, who had just thrown up their lunch, and nodded.
Maupassant was overjoyed and, leading the way, walked to the other end of the deck.
In a corner there, was a stall made of rough wooden planks, where a wrinkled, hunched old sailor was prying open oysters with a rusty knife.
His knife was nimble; with a gentle twist at the seam, it clicked open, revealing the moist, slippery flesh.
A lady, accompanied by her male companion, was currently eating these oysters—she ate very elegantly, holding the oyster shell with a delicate handkerchief, extending her mouth forward to avoid staining her gown; then her mouth moved quickly and slightly, sucking in the juice and oyster meat, finally tossing the oyster shell into the sea.
This sophisticated way of eating attracted Alice and Petty—the former curious about the posture, the latter about the taste.
After the people in front finished eating, Maupassant leaned forward: "Open a dozen oysters for me!"
The old sailor didn't even lift his head: "2 francs a dozen, sir."
Maupassant pulled out a 2-franc silver coin and tossed it to the old sailor, then tossed him a 10-sou copper coin as a tip.
Only then did the old sailor say gratefully: "God bless you, generous sir!" His movements in opening the oysters became more careful, not letting his dark fingers touch the tender white oyster meat.
Maupassant and Lionel each only ate one symbolically, and Maupassant began to complain again: "Leon, my life now is a stagnant pool—writing reports, copying documents, listening to old men babble all night about 'fiscal restraint'…
I'm going crazy. Mr. Flaubert tells me to write some novels, but writing needs a source, and I've looked all over the office, and besides pencils and ledgers, where is the source?"
Lionel looked at Maupassant, then at the old sailor opening oysters beside him, and suddenly had an idea: "Do you know Rodin?"
Maupassant was startled: "Rodin? You mean the sculptor, he often appears at Mallarmé's salon, doesn't talk much, and has a look like he despises everyone… I know him, but I'm not close to him."
Lionel said earnestly: "Rodin once said something I think is very true—'Life does not lack beauty, but eyes to discover it!'"
Maupassant showed a puzzled expression: "Did that guy really say something so philosophical? But what does that have to do with my lack of novel material?"
Lionel sighed, silently repeating "I didn't mean to… I didn't mean to…" in his heart, walked over to the old sailor, and asked him: "Old sir, is your name Jules D'almanse?"
The old sailor's oyster knife paused in mid-air, and he looked up at Lionel: "Of course not, sir, my name is Antoine Mathieu, you've got the wrong person."
Lionel showed a confident smile and pulled out another 10 sous, handing them to him: "No, your name is 'Jules D'almanse,' your home is in Le Havre, but you just returned from America not long ago…"
The old sailor was stunned, but immediately reacted, took the copper coin, and lowered his head to continue opening oysters: "Call me whatever you like, sir, I am Jules D'almanse, my home is in Le Havre, and I just returned from America…"
Lionel nodded with satisfaction: "Good, now you are my uncle…"
Seeing Lionel's actions, Maupassant, Alice, and Petty were all bewildered, three Louis XVI's completely clueless.