The bells of Notre Dame Cathedral sounded especially heavy in the late July morning mist, as if still mourning the horrifying tragedy of the previous day.
As the first rays of sunlight penetrated the glass windows of Saint-Lazare Hospital, a single patient room was filled with the pungent smell of disinfectant mixed with decaying flesh.
Édouard-Benoît de Villeneuve lay on a cold iron bed, the right side of his face covered with thick linen gauze, and a pale yellow liquid oozing out, soaking the pillow.
He occasionally made unintelligible gurgling sounds, sometimes suddenly sat up and screamed, his fingers clawing at the air in vain, as if still trying to escape the bone-chilling burning pain.
"Inject him with ten grains of morphine," the doctor said to his assistant, taking off his blood-stained gloves.
When the needle pierced his skin and the medicine was slowly pushed into his bloodstream, Villeneuve suddenly became quiet, his murky left eye staring fixedly at the ceiling.
"It was the Bishop… and that priest…" his voice was hoarse.
"They said… as long as I acted convincingly… I could go to Toulon… instead of a mental asylum…"
Inspector Claude pushed open the door and walked in at that moment, just in time to hear this fragmented confession.
He gestured for his subordinates to guard the door, then took out a notebook from his briefcase: "Mr. Villeneuve, can you be clearer? What did the Bishop and the priest tell you?"
But by then, the morphine had begun to take effect, and Villeneuve's eyes became unfocused again: "The holy water… it should have been warm water…"
He suddenly chuckled, which pulled at his wound, and he gasped: "They wanted me to shout… to shout the words of those demons… saying that… the faithful would believe it…"
— — — —
Although confessions should be strictly confidential, there were many doctors, nurses, and his own money-grubbing subordinates present.
The reporters waiting at the hospital entrance almost effortlessly extracted Édouard-Benoît's few confessions with francs that very night.
The next day, a more turbulent public opinion storm erupted in Paris than before.
Le Petit Journal published a full-page sketch of Villeneuve's bandaged face, with the headline printed in crimson ink:
"Witness from Hell! The Truth in the Holy Water Bottle!"
The report vividly described the inspector's interrogation process, particularly emphasizing the "secret agreement between the Bishop and the swindler," but was vague about the source of the strong acid.
LUnivers's reaction was rather embarrassed; it only published a small statement on its third page:
"The unfortunate accident that occurred during yesterday's ceremony was caused by demonic interference with the sacred rites. The Church will cooperate with the secular judicial investigation."
But readers were more interested in its front-page article, "On the Similarities Between Symptoms of Madness and Demonic Possession."
The author of this report attempted to argue that "mentally deranged individuals often imitate the words and actions of demons," but it was generally interpreted by readers as an attempt to cover up the truth.
The most biting commentary, not surprisingly, came from "Le Figaro".
The chief editor, Jules Claretie, finally found an outlet for his frustration and wrote without reservation:
"When holy water turns into strong acid, when exorcism degenerates into murder, we finally see clearly — some individuals, cloaked in sacred attire, commit deeds more despicable than demons.
Beneath the dome of Notre Dame, how many illicit dealings are hidden?"
— — — —
Bishop Gibel paced back and forth in the temporary prayer room, his eyes bloodshot.
Father Fourcade slumped in an oak chair, his eyes filled with hollow fear.
The holy bottle, specially brought from Rome, 600 years old and said to have been touched by the blood of a saint, had long become police evidence.
"Absolutely cannot admit it," the Bishop's voice was extremely low: "A madman's ramblings, coupled with journalistic embellishment, do not constitute any evidence."
Just this morning, two policemen came to Notre Dame and announced the police's decision: Bishop Gibel and Father Fourcade, due to their involvement in the investigation of a deliberate injury case, were not to leave the Notre Dame area from that day forward and were to be available for questioning at any time.
This was already the result of the Church's strenuous efforts to mediate, otherwise, the two should now be in the detention room at "36 Quai des Orfèvres."
After all, besides them, all other personnel who might have had contact with the holy bottle were there.
— — — —
Ernest Constans, the Minister of the Interior of France, received a letter of gratitude from the Sherbatov Family family, personally delivered by Sofia.
The proud young Russian noblewoman smiled: "My mother is very relieved that the truth has finally come out. Whether that swindler was instructed or truly mad, it proves that he was not possessed by a demon.
Uncle Kangstan, thank you for your help! The Sherbatov Family family never forgets kindness…"
Ernest Constans looked at the woman in front of him, barely in her twenties, and suddenly understood why her mother had summoned her to Paris.
Now that the biggest obstacle to Baroness Alekseyevna's "crisis of faith" had been removed, all he, as Minister of the Interior, had to do was to use his hand of power to push things along, just a little nudge…
Thinking of this, Ernest Constans showed a benevolent, elder's smile: "You're welcome, my dear Sofia, it is my duty to clear your mother's name.
Please convey my respects to her…"
— — — —
Early August, the first voting day for the Parliament's bill.
The previously deadlocked debate, after the exorcism ritual turned into a farce, completely swung in favor of Minister Jules Ferry.
The La République reported the grand parliamentary session in a full-page article:
"Education Reform Takes a Crucial First Step, Great France Chooses Reason."
The article detailed the voting process — 327 votes in favor, 112 votes against.
The most important clause of the bill stipulated that "each province must establish at least one normal school for boys and one normal school for girls," and allocated 5 million francs for school building construction.
Even more revolutionary was the reorganization plan for the Higher Education Council.
A reporter from the Journal des débats described the moment of the vote thus:
"When the Speaker announced that 'religious representatives withdraw from the committee' passed with 298 votes, many old parliamentarians took off the crosses from their chests, while young parliamentarians sang the 'Marseillaise'."
The new committee would consist of 15 university professors, 8 secondary school teachers, and 5 education officials, responsible for developing a unified national curriculum standard.
La Croix strongly protested the passage of the bill.
The front-page editorial, "This is the Tyranny of the Majority," lamented:
"When teachers replace priests, and blackboards replace altars, where will the soul of France find its resting place?"
However, due to the lingering effects of the exorcism ritual, the sales of this newspaper plummeted by 30% within a week, and it could no longer evoke enough sympathy.
The busiest department was the Ministry of Interior.
Minister Kangstan signed the appointment letters, dispatching thirty inspectors to various provinces to supervise the construction of normal schools.
The Minister told his secretary: "Tell them, by this time next year, I want to see chimneys smoking and students enrolled."
This powerful statement was naturally also published in the newspapers.
— — — —
Lionel was reading these news articles in his living room, with two letters by his side.
The first was from Albert:
"Dear Leon:
The Rohan family has prepared a loggia and wine in the Loire Valley, looking forward to you spending August with us.
There are fresh mushrooms in the forests here, and streams that do not smell."
His father, Count Rohan, had become the chairman of the Higher Education Council and was at the height of his success.
The second was an invitation from Mrs. Rothschild:
"Dear Leon:
If you are tired of the hustle and bustle of Paris, you might as well accompany me to Naples.
My villa at the foot of Mount Vesuvius has a private beach, and you can taste real Italian ice cream."
Alice curiously leaned over, pointing at the headline in the newspaper: "This… what does this mean?"
Lionel smiled slightly: "This means more girls can go to school. This year, girls receiving education can only recite prayers under the supervision of nuns;
By next year, their textbooks will contain Newton's theorems and Lavoisier's chemical formulas."
Petty didn't understand any of this, only lamenting: "Young Master, it's really hot lately…"