Another sleepless night.
Maupassant and Albert stood in the living room, yawning, dark circles under their eyes.
Albert complained,
"I was just starting to feel sleepy when those little rascals' lights woke me up."
Maupassant also expressed his weariness, saying he had never hated a song so much, especially after having it sung off-key outside his window for most of the night.
Lionel also came into the living room; he had somewhat adapted to the noisy environment, and although his sleep quality was mediocre, at least he got a full night's sleep.
Maupassant asked,
"Have they been like this for the past few days?"
Lionel nodded,
"They need some action to boost their morale. Otherwise, it's going to be tough for me and tough for them for a whole month."
After a simple breakfast, Lionel took Sophie and the others out again.
This time, they didn't wander around all day.
Instead, after lunch, they went directly to Émile Zola's Médan villa.
The "Young Guards" also surrounded the villa, staring intently at its gate.
Inside the villa, Zola eagerly said to Lionel,
"Why don't you just stay here? Don't go back. You can go then on the day of the trial..."
Lionel looked at the young people lurking outside the window and shook his head,
"I cannot bring trouble to you. No matter where I appear, once they know, they will stick to me like glue."
Zola knew he was speaking the truth, but out of a friend's loyalty, he continued to persuade,
"But it's too dangerous for you to continue staying in Villeneuve.
Their goal is to torment your mind, break your will, and make you lose your sanity before the trial, so you won't be able to perform in court.
To achieve this, they will do anything – if the current methods don't work, they'll try another until you go mad."
Lionel nodded,
"I know, so, Émile, I'd like to entrust Alice and the others to you for a while, let them stay here.
These cadets' target is me. As long as I'm in their sight, they won't trouble Alice, Sophie, or Patty."
Émile Zola quickly agreed,
"The ladies can stay here as long as they wish. But you... have you seen what Guy brought you?
We've discussed it, if you want to leave there, you can try this method."
Lionel replied,
"We'll try it..."
It wasn't until dusk that Lionel stepped out of the Médan villa gate, but this time, he was alone.
The "Young Guards" members tracking him immediately grew tense, constantly peering behind Lionel.
Lionel walked past them expressionlessly, as if passing by a few clay sculptures.
One of the young men couldn't help but stop Lionel,
"Where are the others?"
Lionel glanced coldly,
"They are guests at Monsieur Zola's place – what, are you going to surround this place too?"
The young man was stumped by the rhetorical question and could only say awkwardly,
"Of course not... Our target is only you, Sorel."
Then he added, feigning courage,
"You'd better not play any tricks, Sorel, we're watching you!"
Lionel ignored them, boarded the carriage directly, left Médan, and headed straight for Villeneuve.
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The day passed, and the clamor outside the villa did not subside with the gradually darkening sky; instead, like the muddy currents of the Seine, it surged even more violently in the darkness.
The young members of the "Young Guard of the French Republic" lit more torches and windproof lamps, their flames flickering, casting shifting light and shadow on their excited faces.
But tonight they were not singing; instead, they kept whispering to each other, exchanging glances.
The veterans from Les Invalides had not left, standing like sculptures weathered by war, occasionally punctuated by a few coughs.
Their tents were pitched close to the edge of the cadet camp, as if forming a barrier.
And the circus, from who knew where, its colorful canvas gently billowing in the night wind, with faint growls of wild beasts coming from within.
They did not hang colorful flags, light gas lamps, or make a ruckus to attract spectators; it was as if they were merely undergoing ordinary rest.
Lionel stood behind the curtains of the second-floor study, calmly observing everything.
Sophie, Alice, and Patty had been entrusted to the care of the Zolas.
Originally, he hadn't wanted to be so hasty, but a note hurriedly handed to him by a waiter during lunch changed his plans.
He was very familiar with the handwriting on the note, and regarding his personal safety, he believed he could fully trust its content.
That's why he hastily sent Sophie and the others to Médan.
Now, only he, Maupassant, and Albert remained in the villa.
After nightfall, Lionel even left the villa and specifically talked with the veterans, trying to persuade them to leave, but the veterans insisted on "protecting" him.
Lionel could only send them some more food.
He also noticed that the reporters from various newspapers who had been sporadically stationed there seemed to have disappeared tonight.
He didn't know if it was because the incident had been ongoing for several days and there was no new news, or for some other reason.
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Back in the room, Albert and Maupassant both appeared restless; they seemed to have sensed the change in atmosphere.
Albert irritably tugged at his collar,
"Damn it, are these little rascals really planning to make a move tonight?"
He had just shaved off his meticulously groomed beard of nearly a year, his chin was smooth, making him look several years younger and revealing a dandyish appearance once more.
Maupassant stroked his beard, sighing,
"I didn't think they would actually dare to do this?
To inflict violence upon a writer, to kidnap, even to harm... this is no longer the France I know!"
Lionel turned around and looked at his two friends.
On the living room table lay three similar dark cloaks, their large hoods, when pulled down, were enough to conceal most of a face.
Two were specially brought by Maupassant, and one was Lionel's own riding cloak.
Draped in cloaks, under the cover of night, no one would be able to distinguish who the real Lionel was.
Lionel's voice was low,
"Are you sure you want to do this? Your safety..."
Albert patted his chest,
"Don't worry, Lio, when it comes to driving a carriage, I got plenty of practice in Algeria!
They're looking for Lionel Sorel, what does that have to do with me, Albert de Rohan?"
Maupassant checked the pistol tucked into his waistband,
"Don't worry, they'll give up the chase when they see it's not you, besides, I have this!"
Time passed minute by minute in anxious waiting.
The clamor outside the villa rose and fell, like tides.
Finally, the sky outside the window completely plunged into inky blue, only the blurry outlines of distant Parisian lights remained, and the clock's hands were just pointing to ten o'clock at night.
Maupassant took a deep breath,
"It's dark, we must leave now! If we wait, they'll make the first move!"
Albert also nodded,
"There are two carriages in the backyard stable now. Soon we'll split up, charge out first, and go in two separate directions. They will certainly chase us separately, and then there will be a gap here at the villa..."
Maupassant took over,
"We'll meet at Médan, Émile's villa, arriving no later than tomorrow morning.
In any case, whether you choose exile or to appear in court, you cannot remain surrounded by these fanatics."
Lionel had just opened his mouth, still wanting to say something, when suddenly—
"Bang!"
A huge crash suddenly came from the front yard, followed by the grating sound of wood breaking and a chorus of exclamations, curses, and shouts!
Maupassant turned back, surprised and uncertain,
"What's going on? What are they doing?"
Albert reacted quickly,
"They've made their move! This is a kidnapping! They're going to kill! Hurry, let's go!"
Lionel's heart tightened; he also believed it was the Young Guards, unable to hold back, launching their assault.
Plans never keep up with changes! With no time to think, Maupassant shouted in a low voice,
"According to the plan, split up and go!"
Albert and Maupassant donned their cloaks, rushed out of the living room, and ran towards their respective carriages.
However, the chaos in the front yard spread to the backyard with astonishing speed.
A large, luxurious golden four-wheeled carriage crashed through the wooden fence connecting the front and back yards, bursting in with wood splinters flying everywhere!
The four black steeds pulling the carriage foamed at the mouth, their hooves frantically clattering on the flagstone ground, making crisp sounds.
Several "Young Guards" members and police officers who tried to block them were easily pushed aside, and the scene completely spiraled out of control.
"Lionel Sorel?!"
A muffled, thunderous female voice exploded from the driver's seat of the golden carriage.
A maid, stout as a mountain, leaped from the coachman's seat.
Her gaze, like lightning, instantly locked onto a black figure fleeing in panic.
Startled by the imposing voice, the black figure instinctively responded,
"I am!"
Hearing this, the maid strode forward and easily tucked the black figure under her arm, as if carrying a sack of flour.
"Hey! Let go of me! What are you doing..."
The black figure's startled cry was drowned in the commotion.
The maid ignored him, shoved him into the golden carriage's room-like compartment, then flipped herself onto the coachman's seat and gave the reins a fierce shake.
"Giddy up!"
The golden carriage turned around, crushed the splinters on the ground, and with a speed unbefitting its size, again broke through the chaotic crowd, galloping towards the main road.
"Sorel escaped!"
"Chase that golden carriage!"
Someone in the Young Guards shouted.
Immediately, several light carriages were hurriedly driven, hotly pursuing the disappearing golden carriage, their hoofbeats and wheel sounds quickly fading into the distance.
But here in the backyard, the chaos had not subsided.
Just as the golden carriage drew away some of the attention, a completely black four-wheeled carriage appeared silently like a phantom by the courtyard wall on the other side.
The carriage door burst open, and two tall, muscular men in servant uniforms jumped out.
Their gaze fell upon another black figure fleeing in a panic.
"Monsieur Sorel?" one of the men asked.
The black figure replied in a low voice,
"I am!"
Without a word, the two coachmen seized his arms, one on each side, lifted him, and threw him into the black carriage.
The door slammed shut with a "bang," and the black carriage immediately started, speeding away in a different direction from the golden carriage.
"Another one! Over there! Don't let him escape!"
The Young Guards split their forces again, and several more carriages sped off in pursuit of the black carriage, leaving the courtyard suddenly empty.
Meanwhile, several more Young Guards members broke into the villa.
Their objective did not seem to be to capture anyone, but rather to greedily eye the furnishings inside the villa.
Then, they noticed the tall young man in the shadows...
A cadet shouted,
"He... he's here! Who was on those two carriages just now?"
The others also noticed this and rushed at Lionel with malicious grins, holding sticks.
Lionel suddenly charged forward, violently knocking aside the two people in front of him, then, relying on the darkness and his familiarity with the terrain, he weaved through the hall, tables, and chairs.
He rushed into the chaotic backyard, heading towards the Seine.
Mist rose from the riverside, carrying the fishy scent of aquatic plants.
Lionel knew there was a small boat tied to the bank there, and he could row away.
If all else failed, jumping into the river and swimming away was also an option—though the smell would be unpleasant.
After reaching the shore, he would head to Zola's Médan villa, and then leave Paris to completely escape the threat of these fanatical young people.
Just as he was about to reach the bank, an unusually tall figure suddenly emerged from the darkness, blocking his path.
Lionel couldn't stop in time and crashed into him, feeling as if he had run into a large tree.
The man was extremely tall, but his spine was severely curved, his entire upper body twisted, and his head was forced to tilt to one side.
He lowered his head, carefully scrutinizing Lionel's flushed face from running and tension, using the faint light reflecting off the water.
He asked gruffly,
"Monsieur Sorel?"
Lionel pressed his lips together, not answering immediately, but in the moonlight, his features were so clear.
The man, however, seemed to confirm something, revealing a somewhat strained but sincere smile,
"It is Monsieur Sorel! We've been waiting all day..."
His tone carried the joy of relief,
"Quick, come with me! Someone's chasing us!"
With that, without waiting for Lionel to react, he bent down and, with his immense strength, easily lifted Lionel by the waist and hoisted him onto his shoulder.
Lionel struggled, his vision spinning,
"Hey! Put me down!"
The giant completely ignored Lionel and strode towards the bank.
By then, several Young Guards members who had reacted were shouting as they chased after him.
"Stop!"
"Put him down!"
The tall man showed no panic.
He quickly walked to the riverbank and tossed Lionel from his shoulder onto a boat that had been waiting there.
He shouted to the boat,
"He's all yours!"
Then he whirled around, blocking the frenzied youths with his mountain-like body.
Lionel arced briefly through the air, landing with a "thud" on the wooden bottom of the small boat.
The back of his head seemed to have hit something hard, and a sharp pain and dizziness suddenly overwhelmed him.
In the moment before his consciousness plunged into darkness, he struggled to lift his eyelids.
In the flickering light of the water, he saw that the rower was an extremely short dwarf, grinning at him, which was very eerie.
A youth sat at the stern, his skin a translucent pallor, glowing faintly in the darkness, also bearing an inhuman smile.
Then, darkness completely consumed his senses.
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The black carriage sped along, bumping and rattling.
A black figure struggled to sit upright, tearing off the cumbersome hood of the cloak.
He angrily shouted at the blurry figure in the carriage,
"Who exactly are you people? Do you know who I am? This is kidnapping! I'll send you all to the guillotine! Let me go!"
The woman opposite him let out a gasp of surprise,
"You're not Monsieur Sorel?"
——————————
Inside the luxurious golden carriage, not even a gas lamp was lit; only passing streetlights occasionally briefly illuminated the darkness within.
Another black figure was thrown in and landed disoriented and muddled, almost passing out.
At this moment, a young woman's proud and cold voice rang out in the darkness, declaring with a condescending tone:
"Didn't you say I was always a Russian? Hmph, so a grand literary figure of France also needs Russians to save him!"
(End of chapter)