Beside the banner, there were also several young girls, holding slightly wilted bouquets of wildflowers, looking at him timidly and curiously.
Around the platform were some citizens who had come to watch the excitement, whispering and pointing, their faces beaming with an excited sense of shared honor.
Lionel was completely stunned.
He had expected the telegram might inform his family of his return, but he never imagined the news would spread so quickly and widely, to the extent that such a sizable welcoming ceremony awaited him.
He was the only one who got off at this station, so a bouquet was quickly placed in one of his hands.
The girls, neither in unison nor loudly, awkwardly chanted: "Welcome! Welcome!… "
A respectable-looking old man with a large beard came forward: "Mr. Sorel! Welcome! Welcome back to Lalagne!
I am André-Savard de Martino, the Mayor of Lalagne."
Mayor Martino tightly clasped Lionel's free hand, shaking it vigorously: "This truly is an honor for our Lalagne!
We have never had such a prominent figure, renowned even in national newspapers!"
Lionel was a little flustered: "Mr. Mayor… you are too kind. This… I am truly overwhelmed."
He was accustomed to the elegance and reserve of Parisian salons, and found this direct and unadorned local enthusiasm quite disorienting.
Mayor Martino smiled broadly: "It's only right! It's only right! Your achievements are not only the pride of the Sorel Family, but of the entire Lalagne region!
We have heard that in Paris, you are on equal footing with great literary figures like Flaubert and Zola, and even ministers and counts speak highly of you!"
Only then did Lionel suddenly realize.
He had underestimated the speed at which news spread in small places in this era, and also underestimated what his current fame meant in his hometown.
His stories in the newspapers that had circulated from Paris, as well as those passed by word of mouth through merchants and postmen, had probably been embellished, already transforming him into a legendary figure.
For a remote, quiet town like Lalagne, almost forgotten by the times, a "locally born" Parisian celebrity was undoubtedly a powerful stimulant.
Lionel glanced around the crowd: "My father… he…"
Mayor Martino quickly interjected: "Oh! Old Joseph, he was overjoyed to hear you were arriving today! He originally wanted to come and pick you up himself…
But I thought, Mr. Sorel is an important person now, and his first return to his hometown must be met by me to show proper solemnity!
So I took the liberty of organizing this small welcoming ceremony, and I hope you don't mind.
Mrs. Sorel is preparing a lavish dinner at home! I've already arranged a carriage; it will take you back to Montiel right away!"
Without waiting for an argument, the Mayor took Lionel's not-so-heavy travel bag, handed it to an attendant nearby, and then enthusiastically linked his arm through Lionel's, almost escorting him out of the station.
The teenagers holding the banner and the little girls who presented the flowers followed closely, while the onlookers buzzed with comments and exclamations.
"Look! That's the Sorel Family's son!"
"So young! I heard he earns ten thousand francs a year in Paris!"
"Ten thousand francs! My God, how much money is that…"
"Look at his impressive demeanor, he's clearly seen the world…"
"I heard Parisian noblewomen are all vying to invite him to their salons!"
"What's a salon?"
…
These whispers clearly reached Lionel's ears, making him feel less like a returning wanderer and more like a rare animal brought out for display.
Outside the station, a four-wheeled carriage, noticeably more spacious and cleaner than a regular taxi, was indeed waiting, bearing the emblem of the Lalagne city government.
The coachman, wearing a brand-new hat, respectfully opened the carriage door.
"Please get in, Mr. Sorel. This carriage will take you directly to the Montiel residence." The Mayor personally helped him into the carriage, as if he were some frail nobleman.
Lionel, helpless, could only thank him again and duck into the carriage.
The Mayor then leaned in through the window and said one last thing: "If you happen to meet any important figures in Paris, don't forget to mention my name…"
The carriage finally started, pulling away from the bustling station square and turning onto the country road leading to Montiel.
Lionel leaned back in his seat, let out a long sigh of relief, and looked out at the familiar fields and forests rushing past the window, a mix of emotions in his heart…
Two hours later, the carriage entered the Montiel domain.
The low stone walls, the crooked wooden fences, the old oak tree at the entrance to the town… every detail awakened Lionel's deeply buried memories.
A few children playing by the roadside saw the carriage decorated with the city emblem, immediately stopped their frolicking, looked on curiously, and then scattered, probably to spread the news.
The carriage finally stopped in front of the familiar, slightly aged two-story stone and wood house of the Sorel Family.
It seemed to have been somewhat renovated since his memory; the walls were freshly whitewashed, and the windows were clean.
However, the scene at the door made him freeze again.
His father, Joseph Sorel, wore his best black suit, his tie meticulously tied, yet he seemed a bit stiff and uncomfortable.
His mother had also changed into a dark long dress, worn only on festive occasions, her hair neatly combed.
His sister, Ivanna, stood behind them, wearing a simple dress, her face appearing paler than before, looking at the carriage with complex eyes.
All three stood at the door, as if preparing to welcome an esteemed guest, rather than a returning son and brother.
What made Lionel even more uncomfortable was that many people had gathered at the doors, windows, and even outside the small tavern across the street, silently watching.
Their gazes were no longer the mocking kind that used to look at "that Sorel Family family bookworm," but a mix of reverence, envy, and scrutiny…
Perhaps even a hint of barely perceptible jealousy.
The coachman jumped down and respectfully opened the carriage door for him.
Lionel took a deep breath, trying to appear natural, and stepped out of the carriage.
He tried to keep his voice steady: "Father, Mother, Sister, I'm home."
His mother was the first to give in, taking a step forward, her eyes instantly reddening: "Lionel! My child!"
But her hands rubbed at her apron; she wanted to hug him but seemed to hesitate.
His father, Joseph Sorel, appeared even more reserved. He stepped forward, extended his hand, seemed to want to shake hands, then felt it was inappropriate, and finally just patted Lionel's shoulder heavily: "It's good you're back, it's good you're back. The journey must have been tiring."
His eyes darted away, as if he couldn't look his son directly for too long.
"Lion…" Ivanna called softly, her voice a little choked. She quickly lowered her head and wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.
At this moment, the neighbors slowly began to gather, showering him with enthusiastic greetings and compliments, stirring a complex emotion within Lionel.
He was home, back to the land where he was born and raised, seeing the family he had "missed day and night"—
However, he was no longer "the Sorel Family family bookworm"; he was "the famous writer, 'Conscience of the Sorbonne,' Lionel."
He tried to smile, nod, and respond to each neighbor, supporting his mother, and walking with his father and sister towards that familiar home door.
Just then, he saw his best childhood playmate, Rentu, the blacksmith's son, slowly approaching.
Rentu was still wearing his coarse work clothes, with a simple, honest smile on his face, and he didn't playfully punch his shoulder as he used to.
Behind Rentu, a child of only three or four years old peeked out timidly.
"Hey! Rentu—you're here?…" Lionel tried to recapture the old feeling.
Rentu stopped, a mixture of joy and timidity on his face, his lips moving, but he said nothing.
His demeanor finally became respectful, and he clearly called out: "Young Master…"
Lionel seemed to shiver. He knew that a tragic thick barrier now separated them!
Rentu turned his head to the child and said: "Come, bow to the Young Master…"