Everyone at the school gate was stunned by Lionel's words, and then a tsunami-like burst of laughter erupted.
This sarcasm, which was not new in the 21st century, had the effect of throwing a bomb into a crowd in the 19th century, almost making everyone who heard it laugh madly.
Even the coachmen, disregarding their masters' dignity, couldn't help but burst into laughter, resulting in several horses getting their hooves tangled and nearly colliding.
It wasn't until a booming voice rang out that everyone reined in their smiles: "This is Sorbonne! What kind of behavior is this!"
Because the speaker was none other than the Dean of Sorbonne, the famous classical literature scholar, and expert in Latin and Greek literature, Henri Patin.
He was a stern old man with a high, shining forehead and gleaming white temples, standing beside his carriage, scolding the crowd.
As Dean and scholar, his annual income exceeded 50,000 francs, not including the output from his farm and wine cellar, so he rode in a four-seat Berlin-style carriage pulled by two horses, with a black walnut carriage body, leather seats, all the brass fittings on the carriage were gleaming, and the bell was even gold-plated.
The crowd quickly dispersed like birds and beasts, rushing into their classrooms to the sound of the class bell.
Lionel and Albert also wanted to leave, but Henri Patin called out to them: "Albert, Lionel, you two, come to my office after class." Henri Patin was not only the Dean but also responsible for the classical literature courses in the Faculty of Arts, so he recognized both of them.
Upon hearing this, the two could only respond dejectedly, with their heads bowed: "Yes, Mr. Dean!"
Arriving in the classroom, neither of them had the mood to listen to the lecture—especially Albert, who sometimes hung his head and shook it, and sometimes looked at Lionel.
His expression was even more unpredictable, at times fierce, at times dejected.
Lionel, however, ignored Albert, but also couldn't absorb any of the content, to the point where the professor reminded him twice not to zone out: "Lionel, you bumpkin from the Alps, you have no right to daydream in this sacred classroom!"
Well, in 19th-century universities, this was hardly considered "personal attack," nor would any student complain to the teacher because of it.
These past two days, facing Albert's bullying, Lionel had firmly fought back—not only because he couldn't stand such treatment, but also because after carefully sifting through the original owner's memories, he discovered a crucial point:
Albert de Rohan, though a noble scion, was outwardly strong but inwardly weak; he wasn't as powerful as he appeared.
His father, Viscount Edmond de Rohan, was a staunch "Royalist" backbone, once holding the important position of Deputy Minister in the Ministry of Finance in the MacMahon government.
But with the Republican Party's landslide victory in the new Senate elections last January, President MacMahon resigned, and France's republican system was thoroughly established, leading to the downfall of the "Royalists."
In other words, the Rohans family had lost political influence, and Viscount Edmond even left Paris, lying low in his estate in Burgundy to avoid being targeted by the newly ascended, wealth-hungry new elites.
Albert was not the eldest son in the family either; he had two older brothers and two older sisters above him, not only was he not entitled to a title (which, of course, was not recognized under the republican system), but the property he could inherit was also extremely limited.
Therefore, he could only ride a relatively inexpensive light carriage like a "Buggy," rather than a more luxurious and respectable carriage like a "Coupe" or a "Cabriolet."
The reason he seemed so ostentatious was not only because he was accustomed to being overbearing when his family was in power, but to some extent, it was also a form of self-preservation—after all, at Sorbonne College, there were now many people with stronger backgrounds and more prestige than him.
He needed to show everyone that even if his family was far from the center of power, they still possessed strength that could not be underestimated.
This could be seen from his choice of primary bullying target—Lionel, the bumpkin and bookworm from the Alps.
He had no confidence in bullying others!
Moreover, the timing of his bullying Lionel was also very intriguing—it was precisely after his father was ousted from the Ministry of Finance that Albert suddenly shifted from confronting everyone he disliked to targeting Lionel and other poor students.
Clearly, he was using these "vulnerable groups" to establish his authority!
The original owner of Lionel's body was a proud, timid, self-pitying, and overambitious but untalented person, and he was inexplicably bullied by Albert for over a year at Sorbonne.
Who is Zhang Chaohua, who now occupies his body? He is a seasoned literary youth who grew up reading the famous writer Zhang Chao's renowned work, "A Youth Like You." How could he not understand the essence of such a bully, who is outwardly fierce but inwardly weak?
Now that even Albert's Viscount father is treading carefully, he doesn't believe Albert can really do anything to him.
After all, although he came from a family of minor provincial officials, entering Sorbonne to study meant he had one foot in the door of France's "quasi-elite class."
If anything happened to Lionel, the Rohans family would probably be turned upside down by the new Republican elites who would come sniffing around.
This was Lionel's confidence.
Albert's behavior also confirmed his own guess—now he should be even more afraid than him.
Once the "parents are called in," Lionel's father is far away in the Alps, at most he would send an apology letter; Albert's father would probably cut his youngest son's expenses.
At that time, he might not even be able to ride a "Buggy"...
While Lionel and Albert were "each with their own schemes," Lionel's submission letter had already been placed on the desk of Gabriel Mariel, the owner of The Hubbub, thanks to Paris's efficient "city postal" system.
As newspaper owner, editor-in-chief, and primary columnist, he relied on his keen market intuition, unprincipled writing style, and all-out marketing tactics to make The Hubbub the leader among all cheap tabloids, selling 120,000 copies per issue in Paris alone.
The Hubbub was a thorn in the side of all upright gentlemen in France, and the church had repeatedly applied for its ban. According to a certain priest who was keen on updating the "blacklist," "even a glance is equivalent to signing a contract with Satan to sell your soul!"
But thanks to Gabriel's extensive connections and adept maneuvering, The Hubbub always managed to avert disaster.
Usually, it was just a few days of "suspension for rectification," and then it quickly "returned to normal"!
Gabriel read hundreds of submission letters every day, most of which he just glanced at before throwing them into the wastebasket beside him.
The envelope signed "An Honest Parisian" was roughly torn open by him, and two pages of manuscript paper were pulled out. Gabriel first casually glanced at them, then his eyes widened as if he had discovered a great treasure.
After he finished reading the two pages of the letter, Gabriel slumped into his office chair and, after a long while, shouted: "Pierre, you damned lazy ass, get in here now!"
