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The platform of the Gare Montparnasse in Paris welcomes a steam train from the Loire, the thick black smoke windows spew white smoke of steam, and the steel gears cheer all the way to the platform. The countryman on the train poked his head out of the window and looked curiously at the golden city.

Candles adorn the bustling city, hiding filth in the shadows behind the flames.

At this time, Joseph Swan had just invented the prototype of the incandescent lamp, not to mention Edison's later improvements to the light bulb, and most of the time, candles and kerosene lamps still played an irreplaceable role in daily life in the nineteenth century.

Michelle picked up his briefcase, put back on his top hat on the leather-padded seat, stood up and bowed slightly to the countryman in the Calvanio jacket opposite, "Then Mr. Garrian, we say goodbye." My address is on the business card, so you can come to me if you need it. ”

Garion picked up his suitcase, nodded to the other party, and waved his hand, "Okay, goodbye Mr. Michelle." ”

"Goodbye."

The two waved goodbye on the platform, and at this time Garion followed him into the platform, the afterglow of the setting sun spreading on everyone's faces, filled with the joy of anticipation. Garion followed the surging crowd toward the thriving city of hope. Many of the people crowded in it thought they could earn a lot of francs here, but in the end they found themselves only working a sweat on construction sites or being exploited by the capitalists in factories for a pitiful salary.

"It's the sun at dusk, but they think it's the dawn."

The words flashed through Garian's mind, and when he turned back, Mr. Michelle's figure had disappeared into the surging crowd.

This sentence always feels like a hint at the grandeur of the Second French Empire.

By this time, Michel had already walked out of the Montparnasse train station, and his assistant Felix was standing at the gate waiting for him. After seeing the president walking towards him, he took the briefcase very consciously.

"What's the situation in the publishing house lately?"

Michel's first concern, of course, was the operation of the publishing house.

Assistant Felix carried his bag in his left hand, pushed his glasses, and began to report to President Michelle.

"After the president went on vacation, we have been negotiating with Monsieur Dumas to acquire the rights to his novels. But the other party's offer is a little unacceptable, and it is still deadlocked. By the way, the Arcot publishing house has also been paying attention to this Monsieur Dumas, and if I don't find a way to take it down as soon as possible, I'm afraid it will ......."

"That's your business, continue to negotiate, Monsieur Dumas's copyright will be taken down anyway."

Michel sighed, since the French newspaper industry began to develop, the competition for the publication of the rights to the novels of well-known authors has become increasingly fierce, Michel Press pressed the price of the book to 2 francs, and the Agote publishing house directly priced the book to 1 franc.

This kind of price war was not uncommon among publishing houses in the nineteenth century. The first is that the remuneration of writers has risen, and the second is that the prevalence of piracy has led to the fact that publishers have had to lower the price of single books. Fortunately, France at this time had formed a large middle class, and their greatest hobby in their spare time was reading, so the number of books sold made up for the loss of low prices.

Michelle remembered the young people she encouraged to write books on the train, remembered the new project she had been planning, and said to herself, "We at Michelle Publishing House should not limit our eyes to a few great writers, but should train new talents ourselves." ”

The assistant looked a little embarrassed, and reminded the other party in a low voice, "President Michelle, if we train new talents, the risk may be much higher than negotiating copyright with current writers. ”

Michel pressed the edge of his top hat and said in a deep voice, "Of course, I don't need to remind you, but for Alexandre Dumas's millions of francs, the cost is certainly much smaller, and we should change our thinking and not just talk about copyright from the writers of today." ”

The assistant followed behind him and did not speak again.

Garrian became a stranger who entered Paris, disappearing into the narrow station house with the "army of migrant workers" entering the city, appearing at the end of the rue de Rennes through the large box door, and surrounded by many Bretons who had come to Paris from the west of France in search of work.

A carriage approached him slowly, and the coachman sat on the roof of the carriage next to the other passengers, holding the reins of three horses in one hand and waving a whip in the other. Stopped in front of the gates of the Gare Montparnasse train station.

By this time, the city's horse-drawn carriages were already in operation, and they were the most primitive means of public transport, but they were prohibitively expensive, but they did not lead to rue Saint-Anthony, but to Place Denfer-Lochelot, in the Latin Quarter.

And it costs 30 centimes to sit in the interior of the car, and even the roof costs 15 centimetres, thinking that it is not very cost-effective, Garian picked up his suitcase and planned to walk to St. Anthony Street.

As he searched his way through the city of Paris, he felt the arrogance and malice of the classes.

Instead of answering the question, the elegantly dressed gentleman looked at him with a frown, then quickened his pace and whispered a word of scolding the hillbilly, with the nobility and superiority of the townspeople.

In the end, he was guided by a kind coachman and walked all the way east, arriving before the twilight.

By the time it was seven o'clock in the evening by the time it had crossed all of Paris from the west to the east. Finally came to the end of St. Anthony Street. But the scene I saw in front of me was a little stunned.

Located to the east of Place Bastille, the St. Anthony neighborhood in Paris dates back to the Roman Empire and has long been the only road to the east of Paris and the place where the French kings of the Middle Ages had to pass on their way to and from the Château de Vincenci in the eastern suburbs of Paris. At the same time, due to its proximity to the Seine River and the convenience of transporting timber, the bag developed into a manufacturing and sales center for the manufacture and sale of fine wooden furniture for the royal family. Before and after the French Revolution, it became the base of the middle and lower class working citizens.

Garian vaguely remembered that there was a description in Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities, "The St. Anthony's district, full of poverty, a crooked and narrow street full of foul stench, with irregular rough stones, showing all kinds of sharp corners, as if intent on harming all creatures that approached them." ”

At this time, St. Anthony's Street was even worse than Dickens's environment.

Dilapidated, low-stunted houses continue to expand outwards from the street, overflowing, eroding, damaging and engulfing the area. The urban planning of Paris was terrible, with the buildings of the old town clash with the newly established streets, and the newly established districts are like tall and solid walls that imprison St. Anthony like chains. The dense dilapidated buildings are squeezing each other in the cage, piling up, like water in a reservoir, and thus beginning to develop into the sky, upstairs and buildings, layer upon layer, as if the liquid flow is under pressure, constantly spraying upwards, scrambling to be the first.

The uneven muddy ground, where brand-new leather shoes can leave bad dirt marks, has created a bustling lower class, surrounded by hawkers, fresh eggs or scarred fruit, creating a lively scene on St. Anthony's Street.

Garian carried his luggage to the rental billboard of the house, and there was a large crowd of onlookers, all looking for a house to stay, and the wooden boards were densely plastered with advertisements for rent, some of which had long been yellowed and curled, swaying in the wind. After all the cheap, unheated rooms and the ridiculously expensive ones, there are few houses left that can be rented.

Pulling a piece of paper out of his coat pocket, Garion jotted down the heated house numbers with water storage, he didn't want to be like Marquez and almost freeze to death in an unheated rental house, all he copied down were furnished and heated rooms.

After copying it, he picked up the suitcase and got out of the crowd, and exhaled deeply. It feels like returning to the scene when I was working hard in Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou and Shenzhen.

Garian gritted his pen as he looked at the first name and smiled.

"Okay, let's start with you."