After meeting Leo XIII, Lionel stayed in Rome for another week, only returning to Paris in late August.
By this time in Paris, the weather had gradually cooled down, and the stench of the Seine had also subsided.
The train Lionel was on traveled through the tunnels of the Alps, swept past the vineyards of Burgundy, and finally, one afternoon, slowly pulled into Saint-Lazare Station.
The wheels screeched against the tracks, and the cries of vendors on the platform mingled with the hubbub of voices, making Lionel feel both familiar and irritated.
Through the train window, he saw a dense crowd on the platform, at least several hundred people, gathered there, waving flags and banners, their voices booming.
Lionel's heart skipped a beat—could it be… for me?
As soon as this thought popped up, even he found it a bit absurd, yet he couldn't help but feel a flicker of anticipation.
A Study in Scarlet was set to meet readers in Paris in a week.
Perhaps fervent readers or those two newspapers had organized this reception?
That must be it, no doubt!
He straightened his coat, which was slightly wrinkled from the long journey, took a deep breath, and tried to make his expression appear calmer.
Once the train came to a complete stop, he picked up his suitcase and followed the crowd out of the carriage.
As soon as his feet touched Parisian soil, a damp scent filled his nostrils.
Just as he was about to wave and speak—the surge of sound from the platform immediately engulfed him:
"Vaillant! Édouard Vaillant!"
"Welcome home! Long live the Commune!"
"Justice will not be absent!"
"The spirit of the Commune will never die!"
The crowd surged like a tide towards a middle-aged man descending from another train.
They surrounded him, shaking hands, embracing, patting shoulders… Greetings and exclamations never ceased.
Lionel was pushed to the side, becoming an irrelevant spectator.
Only then did he realize with a start that a month ago, the National Assembly had passed the proposal to grant amnesty to Paris Commune members, allowing all exiles and fugitives to return home.
He had even discussed this matter with Monsieur Delaroche on his way to the Montmartre workshop.
The Édouard Vaillant before him was one of the Commune's important leaders, and must have just returned from exile in New Caledonia.
Watching Édouard Vaillant, surrounded by the excited crowd, slowly leave the platform like a moon surrounded by stars, Lionel's fleeting trace of vanity had long since vanished.
It was replaced by a peculiar realization.
For the first time, he so intuitively felt the vast chasm in public sentiment between literary creation and social movements.
Though literature could also stir ripples in the real world, compared to the immense energy mobilized by social movements, it was insignificant.
Flaubert's salon, Zola's Médan, his own serialized novels in newspapers… could certainly influence the thoughts and tastes of some people.
But social activists like Édouard Vaillant, the suffering they endured and the ideals they represented, could directly ignite the passion of more ordinary people.
This torrent formed by their passion could shake the foundations of the entire nation.
The Commune had been defunct for ten years, yet it still possessed such mobilizing power!
This was just Édouard Vaillant; he couldn't even imagine the reception Louise Michel would receive upon returning to Paris.
The woman who declared in court,
"Since every heart that beats for freedom today seems to have a right to a little lead, I demand my share!";
The woman for whom Victor Hugo dedicated a poem, saying she was "greater than men"…
Lionel gave a self-deprecating smile, pulled down his hat brim, silently merged into the ordinary stream of people outside the station, and hailed a cab.
------
Back in his familiar apartment, the welcome from Patty and Alice diluted the emotions brought by the scene at the station.
Patty's cooking had improved; she had learned several new dishes from Monsieur Zola's cook, and the delicious dinner completely soothed his travel fatigue.
Alice, meanwhile, helped him organize the books and notes he had brought back, and told him about the tremendous changes in Montiel—
While Lionel was in Rome, she had also made a trip back to Montiel, and finally seen her parents;
However, she only stayed a week before rushing back.
In the following days, Lionel felt even more clearly the impact of the amnesty on Paris.
It was no longer just a brief political decree in the newspapers, but vivid voices and stories in the cafes.
His frequent haunts, Café Procope, Café de Flore, even the communal table at Hôtel du Prince where he first met Maupassant…
…now often saw middle-aged and elderly people with weathered faces.
They were the center of attention, speaking French with various accents, passionately recounting their lives in exile in New Caledonia—
the torment of tropical diseases, arduous labor, the deaths of comrades, and their profound longing for Paris, for France.
"…Those tropical rainforests, the insects were bigger than your thumb! We cut down trees like convicts, building barracks…"
"So many died… buried in that unfamiliar land, without even a proper tombstone…"
"But we didn't shame the Parisians! Even in that place, we found ways to read, to debate…"
"We never gave up hope! We knew the Republic wouldn't forget her sons forever!"
"Look now, we are back! This is proof! The era of the Republic and reconciliation has arrived!"
The listeners sometimes sighed with emotion, sometimes erupted in indignant curses, and sometimes raised their glasses in cheers for the storytellers' survival and return.
The air was filled with a complex mix of anger and hope.
Artists and poets who, in the past, would wax eloquent about literature, art, and philosophy, now consciously lowered their voices.
The stage of public opinion in Paris now belonged to these miraculously surviving revolutionaries.
All romantic trivialities seemed pale and hollow before this real history of blood and fire.
Georges Charpentier complained a bit, saying that newspaper space was now dominated by political news, and no one paid attention to A Study in Scarlet anymore.
But Lionel didn't care much; instead, he often invited a few friends and quietly sat in a corner, listening to the stories of these survivors.
Even Maupassant, the libertine, admired their will:
"To endure so much suffering and still maintain such faith is truly not easy."
Lionel nodded.
He realized that this amnesty was not just a political reconciliation, but was also reshaping the collective emotion of the French Republic.
------
One afternoon in late August, Lionel was flipping through leisure books in his study, when Alice knocked and entered.
Alice lowered her head, her face flushed:
"Lion, are you free tomorrow afternoon?"
Lionel was a little surprised:
"Tomorrow? I don't think I have anything special planned. Why?"
Alice seemed to gather a lot of courage before saying:
"I… I'd like to ask you to take me to see Monsieur Delaroche."
Lionel was even more surprised:
"Monsieur Delaroche?"
She had indeed met the experienced notary during their last trip to Montmartre.
But why did Alice suddenly want to see him?
He recalled Alice's previous circumstances:
"Is it about your identity papers, or any other follow-up issues?"
Then he felt it was too serious and made a joke:
"Is it the 15 centimes per page transcription fee that's made the accounts so complicated they need a notary?"
Alice's face flushed slightly, but her tone was serious:
"No, Lion. It's… some business matters.
I'd like to consult Monsieur Delaroche for his professional opinion."
Lionel put down the book in his hand completely:
"Business?"
He looked at Alice, as if he were meeting the girl for the first time.
(End of Chapter)