Although there was a lot of speculation about who wrote the instantly popular "Internationale", the bustling Paris had nothing to do with Gallian for the time being, and some even thought that the person who wrote the Internationale, like the author of the "Marseillaise", was a sign of a great change in France.

The north-west train from Paris follows the gentle flow of the Seine, passing through the birds of Nantyre, Rouvier and Sauterville, before crossing the mountains and mountains to the destination of the journey, the station on the right bank of Rouen.

The whistle sounded, and the advancing steel wheel slowly stopped, eventually stagnating on the tracks. The doors of the train slowly opened, and people came out of the carriages with laughter and laughter to the city.

Unlike the peasants who set foot in Paris with their dreams, nine times out of ten they got out of the carriage were gentlemen and ladies dressed in noble clothes, carrying their luggage and laughing in the direction of the exit. They are just tourists in their spare time.

The train station connects the fate of Rouen and Paris, and is an important railway junction in the north-west, with direct connections to Lille, Caen, Amiens and other places, in addition to daily trains in the direction of Paris.

As the train stopped, Zola and Garion's conversation on the train was coming to an end.

"The Seine runs through the city, and on the right bank of the Seine is the Old Town, with many church buildings, and when there is, Rouen's operas are among the best in France."

Garion walked out of the train station with his suitcase in hand, a lively city that may not resemble the glittering Paris, but with many old buildings.

Rouen's main thoroughfare, the rue de Joan of Arc, leads south to the Seine, while the right-bank railway station is at the northernmost end of the road.

Galian and Zola wandered slowly around the city, down the rue Joan of Arc until they reached Notre-Dame Cathedral and the Place Vieux de Rouen, where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake.

The traveler stopped to look at the statue in front of him, and the beautiful girl on horseback held the flag in her hand with her left hand, and pulled the reins with her other hand, looking resolutely into the distance.

Someone placed flowers in front of the statue.

"Four hundred years ago, Joan of Arc was burned to death by the British in this square. Later, in order to commemorate the hero, a bronze statue was erected here. ”

Garian muttered to himself, "I'm a little curious, will someone erect a statue of those who were executed by the Second Empire in the future?" ”

"Perhaps."

Instead of paying attention to the statue of Joan of Arc, Zola, already hungry, turned his head and asked, "But shouldn't we now find a place to settle down and visit Monsieur Flaubert?" ”

Garian glanced at the statue of Joan of Arc, and he had a vague thought in his heart, but he didn't say it in the end, but said softly, "Forget it, let's go, find a place to stay." ”

A pedestrian walkway through the old downtown area, and a lively market square is right in front of you. Garian asked the passers-by where there were hotels nearby, and instead of the citizens of Paris, he greeted them warmly, saying, "There are hotels on the sidewalk through the old city, and on the side of the lively market square." It's a good deal to eat. ”

The two of them walked through most of the city under the scorching sun with their luggage, and finally found a hotel to stay in. Garion handed his luggage to the hotel attendant and paid him a tip.

Then the two of them come to the restaurant and sit down, and the cheap price of the restaurant makes Garion doubt his life. However, he was relieved when he remembered the historical comparison of prices in Paris with those of other cities.

Even a petty bourgeoisie can live well in other cities.

They ordered a roast, a brisket stew, and were forced to add a lemon oyster at Zola's strong request and coercion.

"Oysters are one of the most famous dishes in northwestern France, with more than half of the oysters caught in the Bay of Seine going to restaurants each year, and they must be fresh to taste fresh."

Zola carefully inserted his knife into the wriggling body of the oyster, then dipped the oyster in the lemon juice that had been placed on the side, and put it in his mouth to chew slowly.

Garion looked at the other man's appearance and felt a wave of stomach acid. In particular, the other party pointed to the white oysters placed on the crushed ice and encouraged him to try them.

He hurriedly waved his hand and declined the offer.

"Thank you, Zola, I try not to eat creatures that don't have a nerve center, especially if they're alive...... I really don't dare to put it in my mouth......"

Zola still had oysters in his mouth and said vaguely, "But don't you often say that true warriors dare to face the bleakness of life? ”

The corners of Garion's mouth twitched, and he said slowly, "No, I just can't accept this kind of thing, and it has nothing to do with my bleak life. ”

He knew that he couldn't continue to dwell on this topic, so he quickly changed the topic.

"But then again, Monsieur Flaubert hasn't moved since Madame Bovary was published three years ago."

Zola asked curiously, "So what does Monsieur Flaubert usually live by?" I mean, in the last three or four years? Is his manuscript fee enough to go without food or drink for three or four years? ”

"It's not."

"It was a large inheritance from his father, and after the death of Mr. Flaubert's father in 1845, he accepted a large inheritance, and lived with his mother and niece in the Villa Cruisse on the outskirts of the city, where he lived with his mother and niece," he said. Located on the banks of the Seine, this villa is a beautiful and tranquil villa that Flaubert fought hard all his life. Only then can he have no quarrel with the world, close his door and concentrate on creation. Monsieur Flaubert could not have worried about life in his life. ”

After listening to the explanation, Zola paused, thinking of his miserable life, he couldn't help but clench his fork and said indignantly, "It's good to be rich." ”

Garion added, "Well, being rich means being able to do whatever you want, do you think rich people are happy?" Wrong, we can't imagine the happiness of rich people at all. ”

Stirred up by Zola, he also opened the conversation box and broke out more gossip, "Actually, Mr. Flaubert's father did not agree with his ideals at first, and thought that it was useless to be a writer. You don't know, I don't know, but the body can't do without it, just as the human soul can't do without poetry! ’”

"Really?"

Apparently attracted by the little gossip, Zola continued, "And then?" What's next? ”

Just as Garian was about to speak, the man sitting next to him suddenly asked, "Excuse me, are you talking about Monsieur Flaubert?" ”

Garion looked up and saw an elegant man in his thirties put down the fork in his hand and looked at Garion curiously.

The man asked again, "Do you know him?" ”

Instead of answering the question directly, Garion stared into the other person's eyes and asked vigilantly, "May I ask who you are?" ”