"Tell me your story with him, I'm willing to listen," Lin Hai said.
Marguerite remained silent for a while before speaking softly, "I first met him on the day I married Henry."
Lin Hai was surprised. Was it really like in the movies?
Marguerite continued, "I know that there are many different versions of stories about me and La Môle circulating in the streets and alleys of Paris, but I am not the kind of person they imagine."
Lin Hai understood what she meant. Just by looking into Marguerite's eyes, he knew that she was not the legendary whore. The love between her and La Môle was originally pure and noble, and there was no reason to doubt her chastity. He asked hesitantly, "Did you also experience the St. Bartholomew's Night?"
"Yes, that was a bloody and terrifying night. I never want to remember that night again."
"Did you and La Môle fall in love on that night?"
"Perhaps. My relationship with La Môle was very secretive. Although my husband later found out, he did not hold too much resentment because Henry and I had a political marriage, and there was no affection involved." Marguerite seemed to have hidden a lot and quickly jumped to the end. "It was actually my mother who ordered La Môle's arrest and execution."
"Do you remember how La Môle was executed?" Lin Hai's heart was also tense. He knew he might have touched Marguerite's sore spot, so he paused and said, "I'm sorry, you don't have to say it."
"Let me tell you. It was April 30, 1574, a day I will never forget. La Môle was beheaded in a square in Paris. I was hiding in a small room near the square, and when I saw La Môle again, he was already decapitated. I bribed the executioner and obtained La Môle's severed head. In the dark streets of Paris, wearing a white dress, I hurriedly carried my lover's head. When I arrived at the chapel on Montmartre Hill, my white dress was already stained red with the blood of the head. I felt countless ghosts singing a requiem for us in the cemetery. With tears in my eyes, I buried the head in the ground of the chapel, and my heart was buried with La Môle."
After listening to this long monologue, Lin Hai felt like he had also arrived in Paris in 1574. His head had also been chopped off and was slowly passing through the dark and cold streets in Marguerite's embrace.
She took a long breath as if releasing her four hundred years of sorrow, "Yes, my heart died that day. The next day, I was imprisoned in the Louvre's secret room. Four hundred years have passed, and I have lost track of time and years, until now when I met you again."
Lin Hai stepped back tremblingly, "No, I'm not your La Môle, and I'm not a Frenchman from four hundred years ago. I am me, my name is Lin Hai!"
"You believe in fate so much, don't you? It is fate that brought us together. It was destined four hundred years ago that we would be separated for such a long time and meet again in this distant place."
Marguerite approached Lin Hai slowly. Her hand was so cold, like an octopus crawling out of the darkness, and tightly held onto him.
Their faces were getting closer and closer, and in the silent room, they could hear each other's heartbeats.
And there was the sound of the other person's breathing. It was getting closer and closer... Suddenly, the electric light went out, and the room became pitch black.
Just as Linhai's heart was about to leap out of his chest, the light suddenly came back on, but it went out again after a few seconds. The electric light flickered on and off like it was having a seizure, and it made Linhai dizzy. It seemed like a common occurrence in this old house with aging wires, but at this moment, he preferred to believe in another possibility - that Nochadamas had arrived.
In the graveyard-like light, Margaret trembled as she spoke the name, "Nochadamas."
Just as Linhai's heart sank like lead, he suddenly heard a heavy knocking on the door! Was it a ghost knocking on the door in the middle of the night? The sound was so terrifying in the darkness that it almost shattered his heart.
Margaret also looked up and exclaimed, "He's here!"
Their faces flickered in the light, like two frightened birds. The knocking outside continued incessantly, like the sound of waves in the night. The "sound of hell" gradually surrounded the entire old house, seeming to come from the windows, the ceiling, and the floor.
Linhai struggled to his feet and walked carefully to the door. He put his ear to the door panel, and the heavy knocking outside pounded his eardrums... Who was outside the door? Was it even human?
At this moment, Margaret shouted loudly, "Don't open the door!"
He suddenly became alert and quickly moved the table to the door, pressing it tightly against the panel, and then let the knocking outside continue.
Margaret had already hidden herself in his embrace, and Linhai hugged her tightly without hesitation. They were both in extreme fear, especially Linhai, who didn't know if he would die in the next minute. He only felt Margaret's body was no longer icy cold; she was hot and trembling, like holding a scared kitten. Her long black hair brushed against his mouth, and a faint scent permeated his heart and soul.
Was this the end of the world? Would it be romantic if they were to die holding each other like this? Although there was no Lamour's blood-stained head or the lights of Paris at night, in the bone-chilling fear created by Nochadamas, Linhai seemed to catch a glimpse of Margaret's most genuine expression in her eyes.
In the ghostly flickering light, they looked into each other's eyes. It was the final confession of those about to die, without the need for a single word, and then they closed their eyes simultaneously.
This went on for more than ten minutes, and suddenly the terrifying knocking stopped, and the electric light returned to normal. Linhai, like a drowning man who had just been rescued, slowly opened his eyes and took a few deep breaths. His forehead was covered in sweat.
Margaret also opened her eyes and looked bewildered at the electric light above her head and the black night outside the window. After a moment of hesitation, she said, "Did he leave?"
Did Nochadamas leave? Linhai gently let go of Margaret and walked back to the door, carefully listening for any sound outside. It seemed that there was no sound at all.
The air in the old house was still suffocating, and they both waited in silence, waiting for the moment when Nochadamas would return. However, after about half an hour, the electric light remained normal, and there was no sound outside the door. Linhai finally relaxed and sat down on the chair, gasping for breath.
"But Margaret coldly said, 'Nochadamas will come back.'"
This sentence immediately reminded Lin Hai, who knows when that ghost will come back? He quickly took out the tape and nails he bought at the supermarket in the afternoon, and first hammered the nails in important positions of the windows to fix them, and then sealed the gaps in the doors and windows with tape. He even sealed the tiger window in the attic with thick tape, almost covering the window glass, and unable to see the outside light at all. Then he propped the table against the door, even if he used all his strength, he couldn't open the door.
Finally, even Lin Hai himself shook his head. He almost made the old house look like a sealed tomb, or more like a sealed ancient tomb.
Margaret smiled bitterly, "Do you want to bury us all here? You can hide tonight, what about tomorrow?"
At this point, Lin Hai's spirit was about to collapse. He grabbed his hair and said, "Do we still have tomorrow?"
Margaret stopped talking and lowered her head, "Get some rest. I'm tired."
Ten minutes later, Lin Hai crawled to the attic. He looked at the tiger window sealed with tape, and suddenly thought of the idiom "tie oneself up in a cocoon."
It was already midnight, and he lay quietly on the small wooden bed. The terrible experience just now made him unable to fall asleep for a long time.
Lin Hai tried to calm himself down and temporarily forget the fear just now, and then reorganized everything that happened recently. How incredible this is, why did all this happen to him?
The scenes flashed like movie screens, and he remembered the attic he was in, the noon ten years ago, and the parchment scrolls found under the tiger window.
No, there can't be such a coincidence in the world. The portrait of Margaret and the parchment scroll about the "Mystery of Louis IX" hung here ten years ago, and all these things were left by his grandfather, right?
Today he has found out that his grandfather, Lin Danqing, had studied art in Paris, France in the 1930s. The portrait of Margaret and the parchment scroll are obviously related to French history. All of this points to his grandfather.
Could it be related to his grandfather's experience of studying in France?
If it is really related, then maybe this is Lin Hai's last straw, he immediately jumped out of bed, panting heavily in the dark attic.
He thought of the person far away in Paris.
Yesterday he sent an email over there, I don't know if he received it, he can't wait until tomorrow morning anymore, Lin Hai's time is running out.
No, tell him now!
Lin Hai picked up his phone and quickly found the writer's number, and pressed the dial key hard.
The electric wave flew out of the small attic in an instant, went straight up to the distant starry sky, crossed tens of thousands of kilometers and countless countries, and went straight to distant Paris...
The rain still did not stop.
Looking at the rain in Paris in the morning, I was already anxious, and I couldn't waste the beautiful spring scenery here. So I made up my mind-to wander around Paris in the rain.
At 9 o'clock in the morning, I took an umbrella and walked out of the building. The plump female administrator and I were already familiar with each other. I greeted her in newly learned French.
Following the directions on the map, I took the subway straight to Place de la Concorde. Not far from the subway station, I saw the ancient square standing quietly in the drizzle. Because of the rain, there weren't many tourists, and I strolled on Place de la Concorde holding my umbrella, listening to the sound of raindrops hitting the umbrella. It would have been perfect if there were more beautiful women around me.
The Place de la Concorde was built during the Louis XV era and was equivalent to Beijing's Cai Shi Kou during the French Revolution. Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, Madame Roland, and Robespierre were all executed here. This reminded me of Madame Roland's last words before her execution, "Liberty, how many crimes are committed in your name!"
Since I watched the movie "The Phantom of the Louvre" starring Sophie Marceau, I have been fascinated by the ancient Egyptian obelisk in Place de la Concorde. This was a gift from Egyptian ruler Muhammad Ali to France in 1831.
The obelisk was indeed extraordinary, with hieroglyphs carved all over it praising Pharaoh Ramses II. What do these hieroglyphs mean? When I saw them, I thought of parchment scrolls. Ancient scripts that we cannot decipher are like passwords. In general, human writing is a kind of coded symbol, so what secrets are hidden behind these codes? Perhaps they were not secrets originally, but they became secrets because of the passage of history. Did Louis IX also see the obelisk and pyramids when he went to Egypt and was imprisoned there for many years?
When I left Place de la Concorde, it was already noon. I ate something on the side of the road and hurried to the showcase of France - Champs Elysees. It's just the stretch of road from Place de la Concorde to the Arc de Triomphe. Translated literally, it means "Avenue of the Fields of Elysium," but I prefer the name "Champs Elysees" because these four words are so full of classical poetic meaning in Chinese. Finally, I arrived at the door of Louis Vuitton, only to find a long line in the rain. Anyway, I'm not a fan of luxury goods, so I just took a glance and left.
Walking to the west end of the Champs Elysees, I saw the famous Arc de Triomphe. Twelve streets radiate from here, and the underground is said to be the largest metro interchange hub in Paris. After coming out of the Arc de Triomphe, I rushed to the Paris military academy, which is also Napoleon's resting place. On May 5, 1821, Napoleon Bonaparte died on the island of Saint Helena in exile. His body was transported back to France and buried in the Paris military academy, accompanied by his victorious French army comrades.
Under the dome of the Paris military academy, I joined people from all over the world to admire this man who once shook Europe. Napoleon's ashes were placed in six coffins made of different materials, surrounded by twelve Victory goddess statues on top of a red granite pedestal, symbolizing the French people's unity around a great hero.
Coming out of the Invalides, the rain had almost stopped. There were many homeless people at the entrance, making it seem like this world is unequal no matter where you go. Just as I was about to cross the street, a person came from the opposite direction and we collided. He quickly apologized and said, "excusez-moi!"
I continued walking a few steps forward but something felt off. Then I heard someone shout something I couldn't understand and saw a man sitting on the side of the road rush towards the street. The person who had collided with me was also running away.
I quickly checked my pockets and realized my wallet was missing. The person who had bumped into me was a pickpocket! I was immediately filled with dread and chased after them. The scene ahead of me turned into a chase, with the man who had bumped into me running ahead, followed closely by a scruffy-looking man. I was at the back.
Finally, I witnessed a French version of "doing the right thing." The pickpocket had been tackled to the ground by a Good Samaritan who then scolded him before taking my wallet back from him. As I arrived, the Good Samaritan turned and handed me my wallet.
It was then that I recognized his face. He was the one who had given me a broken umbrella under a bridge by the Seine river. He was from the "French beggars' association." It truly is a small world. He smiled at me and used his "unbearable" English to explain that he had already noticed the pickpocket's malicious intentions and had witnessed the whole thing with his "three hands." Being a capable French youth, he naturally had to step forward and do the right thing to uphold Paris's tourism image.
As he gestured, the pickpocket managed to slip away. However, I had already checked my wallet and everything was still inside: 800 euros in cash, a credit card, and most importantly, my passport.
I shook the hand of the French Good Samaritan, not knowing what to say. It was rare enough to encounter a pickpocket, let alone to have a beggar's association hero help me retrieve my wallet. This was truly fate.
Stuttering, I asked him, "what's your name?"
He replied, "Jack."
Although his name was pronounced "Jack" in English, it was "Jacques" in French and many French men are called by this name. Even though our English was both terrible, we could still understand each other's meaning. Jack said something incoherent in English, which meant he remembered meeting me by the Seine river and now we were good friends.
And so, I made a friend from the French beggars' association.
I had intended to thank him and pulled out a euro banknote from my wallet, but he just smiled and refused to accept it. He truly was a French version of Lei Feng.
After this harrowing experience, I left the Invalides and became extremely cautious, covering my clothes tightly to prevent the pickpockets from getting to me. I took the subway back to the University of Voltaire and finally got a seat. I stared around me, looking at anyone who seemed suspicious.
Suddenly, my phone rang and I saw that it was Lin Hai's number on the screen.
Why would he be calling me? Was he in danger?
Although it was an expensive international call, I didn't hesitate to answer the phone. It was indeed Lin Hai's voice, who sounded very nervous despite being thousands of miles away. His voice was very low, as if he intentionally spoke softly, and I could barely hear him in the Paris metro. I had to shout to ask him, "Hello, Lin Hai, I have received your email and know about your situation. I am now living at the University of Paris-Voltaire and have already handed the parchment to Professor Orleans. They value the content of the parchment very much and are currently deciphering the text. Don't worry."
As I spoke loudly, I attracted the attention of other passengers in the subway car, who looked at me curiously, apparently interested in the Chinese language. Lin Hai trembled on the other end of the line and said, "I'm relieved that you're okay. I've been worried about you and the parchment. Let me tell you something else, Nochdanmayes may have found me and he might kill me."
I finally heard that last sentence clearly. I never get startled or agitated when talking on the phone, but at that moment, I couldn't help but shout, "What are you talking about?!"
"I'm not kidding! Margaret is downstairs in my attic, and I've almost sealed off the old house. The ghost is really coming!"
"So you spent dozens of dollars on an international call just to tell me that?"