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At this time, Garion, who went to Baudelaire's residence, did not know that the police had rummaged through his rental house inside and out. However, apart from rummaging through a pile of pirated books and shabby clothes, no valuable information was found.

With the exception of a Communist manifesto, it is impossible to link the owner of the rental house with the revolutionary party.

The police searched inside and out, but every search disappointed them. The room was so clean that there was not even a trace of surgery.

The sheriff first questioned the landlord, Mrs. Florent, but the other party was very uncooperative and did not know anything. And holding up the photo of the wanted post, he said eloquently, "Sir, what does the revolutionary party have to do with me?" My tenants are serious people, and they are definitely not revolutionaries! And the person you're talking about, I haven't seen at all! ”

"Besides, you trespassed into the house, believe it or not, I will sue you!"

"Shut up!"

The sheriff interrupted him and asked sharply, "Where do you work as a tenant?" Let me know the details! ”

Mrs. Ferrorand put on a fierce look and said, "You go to the customs to find someone, how do I know what he is doing at the customs." ”

There was no way, the sheriff could only angrily find the woman who reported the case, but the other party was also divided, and the specific details could not be explained. This made him frown very dissatisfied.

"That is, you don't know if the wanted Blanqui is here?"

The sheriff suppressed the anger in his heart and patiently questioned her.

"Yes, sir, for sure."

The woman nodded desperately, and the fat that was about to come out of her whole body swayed in agreement, for fear that she would miss the bounty of a thousand francs, and hurriedly told all the situation.

"My man had a private operation last night, which was to remove the bullet from the arm of the prisoner on the wanted list, and it was in this house, sir, he must be there! It must be hiding somewhere! ”

The sheriff interrupted her with a rough wave of his hand, and asked impatiently, "What about your man?" Where is he the doctor? How could you have done this in private? ”

The woman hesitated for a long time before she whispered, "Sir, my man...... It's a veterinarian......."

The sheriff froze for a moment, then glared and said, "You repeat it again?" What kind of doctor is your man? ”

"It's a veterinarian......"

The sheriff angrily pulled out a pistol and pointed it at her head, and the woman suddenly turned pale, let out a pig-like wail, and shouted loudly.

"Bastard, are you entertaining me! A veterinarian performs an operation? Believe it or not, I'm going to make a hole in your head first? ”

"Help, sir, don't kill me."

The woman was so frightened that she wept bitterly, the snot on her face kept shaking with the horizontal flesh, and she shouted hoarsely, "Really, I don't lie to you, that man was here the night before yesterday, and you all sent someone over yesterday." He couldn't have moved after the operation! I swear to God! ”

The sheriff thought about it and it made sense, so he put away his gun, turned his head and said to the police officer next to him, "Search, give me a careful search." Search this place inside and out, send someone for me to arrest the young man, and get him back for me. ”

The officer whispered, "What if I catch the wrong person?" ”

The enraged sheriff gritted his teeth and said, "I'd rather kill a thousand by mistake than let go of a fellow revolutionary party!" ”

After a bumpy journey through municipal repairs, Galian and Zola finally reached their destination. A humble classical building, a baroque building made of marble from the French Revolution, with its cumbersome circles, plum blossoms and round-petaled crosses flaunting the wealth of its owner – but it was a flash in the pan that many of the great nobles who flaunted their wealth during the French Revolution were finally guillotined by the people.

By this time, the old building had been leased, and Michel guided Garion and Zola towards Baudelaire's house. Before I even reached the door, the sound of laughter in the house was already in my ears.

Michelle knocked on the door, and a woman with a pipe opened the door, her gaze lingering for a moment on Michelle's body, and then looking at Garion and Zola behind her.

Garion noticed that the other party was not wearing the popular crenolin skirt in society, but instead was dressed in neat men's clothes, even in France now, it is a shocking dress.

He had only one woman in mind, the "Waltz" George Sand, who had smitten half the men of Parisian high society.

"Hello Madam, I'm Garion."

Garion very politely took off his hat in salute.

"You're the Galian that Baudelaire often mentioned."

The woman smiled and said, "Hello, I'm George Sand." ”

George Sand was obviously very satisfied with the young man in front of him, and hurriedly beckoned them to enter.

Zola stood in the doorway, hesitating. Garion took his hand and walked in.

It wasn't until he walked in the door that he was surprised to find that this building, which had been in the past half a century, was not as dilapidated as he imagined. Instead, it is embellished like a small palace by Baudelaire. There is no obstacle from the living room to the study. A thin red gauze blanket covered the desk, covering all the work items on the desk, including manuscript paper, books, pens, and dictionaries.

The living room becomes a symposium with each other.

Mr. Dumas's premature bald Mediterranean hairstyle attracted Garian's attention, and he and Flaubert were somewhat similar in appearance, although Flaubert was not present today, otherwise Garion would have liked to see if it was like a photograph left over from history. He sits on the sofa and likes to squint at the things around him, whether he is talking to the people around him for a word or two.

The young man standing diagonally across from Garion also looked at him with a curious gaze, and after being aware of Garion's gaze, he hurriedly waved his hand at him in embarrassment. It wasn't until George Sand uttered the name Verlaine out of his mouth that it dawned on him.

The people standing in this house almost include important writers from the past to the future.

This scene reminds Garion of a scene from "Sunday at Flaubert's House".

"By the way, why didn't I see Mr. Baudelaire?"

Garian asked curiously, "Today is his literary salon." ”

"Monsieur Baudelaire has just left for a while, and he'll be back later."

After a round of introduction, George Sand turned his head, stared at Garion in front of him, and asked softly, "Okay, you're done with your questions, it's time for me to ask you questions." How did you write "Afternoon of the Faun"......"

George Sand looked at Garion with a strange look in his eyes, which made his hair stand on end. This woman was the magical woman who fascinated Napoleon's own brother, Jérôme Bonaparte, and more than half of the room was her former or current admirer and suitor.

However, no matter how beautiful and delicious a woman is, after she is over forty years old, Garion can only stay away.

At this time, the voice that suddenly remembered at the door interrupted the conversation between the two.

Baudelaire walked in with a white wine in his hand.

"Your most respected guest, Lord Baudelaire, is here, Garion, author of The Faun's Afternoon."

Baudelaire and Turgenev, who were standing in the doorway, looked at the young man with their backs to him at the same time, and he was about to nod in greeting, but suddenly stopped.

The figure slowly turned its head, and an incomparably familiar face appeared in front of him.

The resolute face that wrote "Generation" on the corner of St. Anthony Street.

The appearance of the revolutionary poet he will never forget.

The figures of the two seemed to slowly overlap each other, and finally became the same person.

Baudelaire suddenly remembered G, isn't it the abbreviation of Garion's surname?

Baudelaire took a deep breath of cold air and said slowly, "So it's you?" ”