The carriage traveled for another considerable period over bumpy terrain, the sound of wheels and hooves forming a monotonous rhythm.
Lionel leaned back in the straw pile, silently facing Baptiste, Jeannot, and Luc, his inner struggle far from settled.
Finally, the carriage slowly came to a halt.
Outside, there was the clamor of human voices, the neighing of livestock, and the salty scent of the sea.
"We've arrived, Calais."
"Little Foot" Jeannot nimbly squeezed out of the carriage, pulling back the rear cover.
Blinding sunlight and the smell of fish surged in together.
Lionel followed, getting out of the carriage, and found himself inside a spacious warehouse.
Sunlight streamed in diagonally from high windows, forming shafts of light in the dusty air.
Several caravans were parked in the warehouse, their sides painted with lions, elephants, trapeze artists, and the cursive lettering "Lebrun Brothers Circus."
The doors of other caravans also opened one after another, and more people stepped out.
Most of these people had various obvious "defects":
A woman of unusually corpulent build, like a mountain of flesh; a tall, thin man with exceptionally long arms; a young girl whose face was covered with a large birthmark...
They looked at Lionel curiously, their gaze friendly.
At this moment, two people emerged from the largest caravan—or rather, a conjoined twin with two heads sharing one torso.
They wore black suits, their faces similar, both bearing the steadiness and experience characteristic of middle-aged men, but their eyes held shrewdness.
The head on the left spoke, his voice resonant:
"Mr. Lionel Sorel, welcome. I am the elder brother, Auguste Lebrun."
The head on the right continued:
"I am the younger brother, Louis Lebrun."
Then both spoke together:
"On behalf of all members of the 'Lebrun Brothers Circus,' we express our highest respect to you."
The two bowed slightly.
Lionel quickly returned the bow:
"Gentlemen Lebrun, thank you very much, and your troupe members, for risking your lives to save me."
Auguste smiled:
"You are too modest. It is our honor to do something for you. We, who have been played tricks on by fate, understand the power of your open letter more than anyone."
Facing such direct and sincere admiration, Lionel shook his head:
"I merely wrote what I believed to be true and necessary. It is a pleasant surprise to me that it could be of help to you all, and I dare not claim it as my own merit."
He paused, his tone firm:
"However, I have decided that I will not leave France before the trial on September 1st. I will stand in court and state my views! Just like that open letter, I will not shirk my responsibility!"
The Lebrun brothers' smiles froze, and they exchanged glances, both seeing the dilemma in each other's eyes.
Auguste frowned:
"Mr. Sorel, this might not be quite what the 'mission' we received entails."
Lionel was very surprised:
"Mission? Someone else is directing you to do this?"
Louis nodded, frankly admitting:
"Indeed, someone provided us with information, routes, and necessary arrangements. But please believe that this is precisely what we wanted to do as well. We are cooperating with them."
Lionel pressed:
"Who is the other party?"
Just then, a small door on one side of the warehouse opened, and several figures walked in.
Leading them was a man around forty years old, of medium build, with a thick mustache on his upper lip, exuding vitality.
He walked directly up to Lionel and extended his hand:
"Mr. Lionel Sorel, it's a pleasure to meet you. I am Paul Lafargue, from the Workers' Party."
Paul Lafargue?!
Lionel's heart jolted, and he quickly shook his hand:
"Mr. Lafargue, I've long admired you. It was you..."
Lafargue frankly admitted:
"Yes, it was us, in cooperation with the Lebrun Brothers Circus, who brought you out of Villeneuve."
Lionel still felt confused:
"Why a circus? The Workers' Party..."
Lafargue smiled:
"If we had acted directly, it would have been too sensitive. The government would think we were brewing some major operation...
The members of the Lebrun Brothers Circus are also oppressed. During the Commune, many people escaped by mingling with them."
Lionel nodded:
"I understand. But I still have to say, thank you for your kindness. But I cannot leave like a fugitive!"
Paul Lafargue shook his head:
"Mr. Sorel, your idea is very brave, and very classical.
Ten years ago, or even five years ago, the court might indeed have been your platform, earning you applause.
But today, everything is different!"
Lionel felt a hint of unease:
"How is it different?"
Lafargue did not answer directly, but instead asked:
"Was the encirclement by the 'Young Guard of the French Republic' truly just a spontaneous act of youthful hot-headedness?"
Lionel was speechless; those young people were indeed too organized, and the police's connivance was too obvious.
Lafargue continued to pose a sharper question:
"What if I told you that the trial awaiting you might not be a fine or a few months of symbolic imprisonment. But at least three years of hard labor, exiled to a place like Sétif, Algeria? Would you still be willing to go to court and make eloquent speeches?"
Lionel fell silent upon hearing this, the experiences of the past few days flashing through his mind like a revolving lantern.
The newspaper's attacks and slanders, the "Young Guard's" encirclement, harassment, and even assaults...
After a long time, he finally sighed:
"I never thought France would one day become like Russia!
Exiling a writer? They even amnestied Communards before! This is truly..."
At this point, Lionel stopped himself, having thought of a certain possibility.
Lafargue shook his head:
"Mr. Sorel, your experience in struggle is not rich enough. Not exiling writers before doesn't mean they won't now.
Laws are dead, but people are alive, especially when attacking political rivals...
Please, you must believe me, we have very reliable sources in the assembly!"
Lionel still found it hard to believe:
"Aren't they afraid of paying the price? Public opinion won't allow it!"
Lafargue smiled disdainfully:
"Price? To bring down Jules Ferry, any price is worth it, especially a price that doesn't require them to 'bleed' themselves.
Using a young writer like you, with a big reputation but shallow roots, as a pretext, is already the lowest cost and most efficient means they can find.
As for public opinion? Once the verdict is announced and the clamor dies down, how many people will continue to care about the fate of a writer 'punished according to law'?
At most, a few judges with pockets full of francs will resign due to fault! New hot topics will quickly emerge! Parisians will soon forget you..."
Lionel fell silent, realizing he had indeed oversimplified the issue before.
Lafargue further explained:
"Actually, the whole matter has little to do with the right or wrong of colonial policy itself.
This year, Jules Ferry has stripped conservative nobles of their hereditary positions, vigorously expelled priests, and disbanded the Jesuits...
—He has offended too many people! Even making former neutrals uneasy.
They can no longer tolerate Ferry, not even for a day! They hope a Republican like Gambetta will form a cabinet."
He paused before highlighting the key point:
"So, among all the ways to bring down Ferry, which one is more convenient than using Ferry's own stance on colonial issues and your influence to destroy his credibility?
Ferry supports colonialism, while you oppose it. Now public sentiment has been stirred up, the crowd is torn. Can Ferry still say you cannot be tried?
Everything is being done in the name of supporting him! If he opposes your trial, it's tantamount to breaking with his supporters and having to step down;
If you are truly convicted, his political reputation will be completely ruined, and he will also have to step down..."
Lionel was utterly speechless—if that was the case, then the more successful his speech in court, the more successful this conspiracy would be.
Paul Lafargue finally concluded:
"So, Mr. Sorel, leaving now and hiding in England for a while is the wisest choice at the moment.
They will find other ways to bring down Jules Ferry. When everything has settled down, you can return, and it will be safer then.
Your pen should be used in more valuable places, not in a penal colony."
Lionel took a deep breath and asked the question he cared about most:
"Why help me?"
Paul Lafargue smiled:
"On many matters, we can be considered comrades!"
Lionel nodded:
"My identity is so special right now, how can I go?"
Seeing his attitude soften, Lafargue's tone also softened:
"We have made arrangements; you will go by fishing boat, disguised as a sailor.
Countless fishing boats travel the Channel from Calais every day, and inspections are lax. We have also contacted people in England to meet you and ensure your safety.
And there is a gentleman there who also wishes to meet you."
Lionel asked curiously:
"Who?"
Paul Lafargue's smile became meaningful:
"Someone you might have heard of. You will know once you arrive in England."
At this moment, a long whistle sounded from the port, as if a large ship was about to set sail.
(End of Chapter)