Chapter 27: Provocation

Lionel looked at Albert silently, his expression calm and his gaze clear.

The smile that had nearly reached the corners of Albert’s mouth faded, replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and indignation. "You..."

"So, you are still relying on such tedious methods to prove your courage, are you?" Lionel closed his notebook.

Now it was Albert’s turn to be stunned. A flash of embarrassment crossed his face as his scheme was laid bare, but the pride of an aristocrat forced him to hold Lionel’s gaze.

Lionel shook his head and stood up. He was already a few centimeters taller than Albert and broader in the shoulders. Positioned on the upper tier of the lecture hall, he looked down at Albert with a sense of condescension. "Is courage so cheap in your world? Is simply staring at the motionless bones of the dead in the 'Old Mine' what you call bravery?"

Albert’s pale face flushed a deep red. He gritted his teeth, his voice strained: "What is the point of all this talk? Do you dare or not? Ha, you commoners..."

"I’ll go. Just name the time," Lionel interrupted Albert’s long-winded speech, agreeing unexpectedly.

"But I have a condition," Lionel added in a flat tone. "After we go, I will not join your group, and you are not to bother me again."

Albert’s face flared red once more. To have his inner calculations exposed by Lionel time and again—it was a feeling that any "insider" would surely understand.

Now it was Lionel’s turn to wear a look of disdain. How could he be fooled by the tactics of university cliques in Europe, who used "dare-devil" challenges to "recruit" (or rather, psychologically manipulate) new members?

Having failed to gain the upper hand over Lionel on several previous occasions and owing a favor to the Dean, Albert had decided to "generously" accept Lionel as his subordinate. This would both restore his lost face and allow him to display his "aristocratic grace."

As the tide of republicanism swept across France, noble titles were no longer recognized by the government, nor did they carry any institutional privileges. Yet, the long weight of history still exerted a massive cultural inertia. Even though the superficial distinctions of lineage were denied, both aristocrats and commoners still generally acknowledged that they did not belong to the same social stratum.

With their wealth dwarfed by the rising bourgeois merchants and their cultural influence surpassed by artists of common origin, the aristocrats had few fig leaves left to cover their pride—and "courage" was considered one of them.

They stubbornly believed that this virtue was something merchants and commoners lacked—for instance, they would never die for honor! Thus, until the end of the 19th century, Frenchmen born into aristocratic families or those aspiring to the "aristocratic spirit" remained obsessed with the barbaric tradition of dueling.

Unable to endure the stifling atmosphere of the conversation any longer, Albert spat out coldly, "Fine. Sunday, 10:00 AM. Meet me at Place Denfert-Rochereau in the 14th Arrondissement."

This was the maintenance entrance to the former stone mines, managed by the Quarry Bureau, which gave the catacombs, or "Old Mine," its nickname. Students, geology apprentices, doctors, or those with connections could pay a small fee to enter semi-legally, though the area for exploration was limited and they were frequently chased out by patrolling priests.

"Let’s go at night instead. Still 10:00, but let’s meet at 'Hell Street' in the 14th," Lionel said suddenly as Albert turned to leave.

Albert spun around abruptly, glaring at Lionel with a menacing air. "Do you think I’m afraid? Do you think I don't dare?"

Lionel watched the fuming Albert quietly. He said nothing, yet it seemed he had said everything.

"Hell Street" was an exceptionally narrow alley in the slums of the 14th Arrondissement, barely 40 to 50 centimeters wide. The nearly three-kilometer-long street was squeezed between rows of houses with almost no gaps, allowing one only to walk from one end to the other. Yet, these buildings had narrow doors or small windows carved into their walls. It was said that whatever you desired could be bartered for through these openings, making it one of the most famous underground black markets in Paris.

Some of these houses had cellars that breached the mine shafts, providing secret access to the catacombs. Many occult enthusiasts and explorers in Paris preferred entering the underground from here to venture into the vast, ghostly world below. Of course, there were other illegal entrances to the Paris catacombs, such as the sewers of the Bièvre River or the shafts on Rue Thomire-Issy, but those places smelled foul and lacked guidance, frequented only by criminals and smugglers.

Acting as a guide for the catacombs was considered a legitimate profession on "Hell Street," so the danger was minimal, but going at night was still terrifying for a 19th-century university student.

Albert’s chest heaved rapidly for a moment before he managed to control his breathing. "Fine. Sunday at 10:00 PM. See you at 'Hell Street'." With that, he led his followers away.

Lionel nodded and sat back down, paying no mind to the curious and awestruck gazes of his fellow students. Although materialism was well-established in the 19th century, it was by no means the faith of the majority.

The public—including the vast majority of university students—still believed in the existence of God, angels, and demons; naturally, they believed ghosts and evil spirits existed as well. That was why Albert had chosen the catacombs as a "dare-devil" test. If Lionel turned pale and his legs shook while begging for mercy, Albert would "let bygones be bygones" and "save" the poor commoner. He had not expected that Lionel seemed even bolder than he, who had visited the catacombs several times...

Lionel, however, was not thinking about any of that. He simply wanted to resolve the trouble caused by Albert de Rohan as quickly as possible, perhaps once and for all, so it would no longer affect his life at the Sorbonne.

After class that afternoon, Lionel did not return to his apartment immediately. Instead, he went to the post office on Boulevard Saint-Martin to collect a 3,000-franc advance on his royalties, sent by Gabriel to his anonymous account. This was a massive sum, equivalent to a year's income for an average French middle-class family, and the largest amount of cash Lionel had ever held.

The thin envelope contained two pieces of paper: a bearer check for 1,500 francs and a time draft for the same amount. Lionel tucked the two slips of paper, worth a fortune, back into the envelope and slipped them into his inner jacket pocket. He then took a public carriage to the 2nd Arrondissement, the hub of the financial district.

He efficiently located the Crédit Lyonnais bank, opened an account, and deposited 1,500 francs, withdrawing 200 francs for immediate use. 100 francs were to be sent to the Sorel family in the Alps, bringing the total sent to 200 francs. It was a drop in the bucket compared to their losses, but receiving steady, small remittances would undoubtedly give the Sorel family more confidence in life and help them gradually emerge from the shadows. The other 100 francs were for his preparations to find a new apartment over the weekend; if he found a suitable place, he wouldn't mind paying a deposit immediately.

Having finished these tasks, Lionel felt lighthearted. He took a public carriage back to Madame Martin’s apartment. As soon as he stepped through the door, he smelled the rich aroma of a meat stew.

Pety, still wearing a large apron, hurried out when she saw Lionel. "Master Sorel, I made duck stew with mushrooms today, using the recipe you taught me. But the duck seemed to have a stronger gamey smell than a hen, so I added a bit more thyme and bay leaves. Do you think that’s alright?"

Lionel smiled. "I can tell by the smell that it’s excellent. I’m hungry—let’s eat!"