The Shadow of Great Britain

However, she was not clueless either. Despite her reluctance, she still politely lifted the hem of her skirt and excused herself from the newly acquainted friends: "Apologies, please allow me to take my leave."

Emily watched as Arthur and Clara walked out of the banquet hall, then turned to inquire with her lady friends.

"Who is she? I just arrived and haven't had a chance to exchange words with her?"

"No idea."

"She seems unfamiliar. I've never seen her at any of the Parisian dances before. She might be a foreign actress desperately trying to make a name for herself in Paris. These days, there are simply too many women of such a lowly kind."

"Then she should attend salons of playwrights or literary societies. If she could latch onto Vini, Hugo, Musset, or Dumas, they could write a starring role for her, and then she could shoot to fame."

"She might have already achieved that. Look at the young man who just called her out; he looks very artistic. He could be a young playwright on the verge of soaring to the top."

"Perhaps we should get to know him too? If we don't make a move now, once he truly becomes famous, he'll always be surrounded by those noble ladies, just like Hugo and Balzac."

Emily heard these ladies not only give no information but suddenly eyeing the 'dress' she had long set her sights on, and her alabaster cheeks suddenly turned greenish with envy.

Like haggling with a shop owner, she didn't reveal Arthur's true identity but casually belittled following the ladies' assumptions in her usual style.

"How many new writers are waiting to emerge in Paris each year? Seven or eight hundred? Maybe worse, I guess over a thousand. Among them indeed are some talented ones, but the majority are ignorant and incompetent. After reading two or three books, they dream of becoming great writers, but their dialogues aren't even coherent. If others knew I associated with such people, I'd be laughed at for years."

Emily thought this would dampen their enthusiasm, but among the group were some who already disliked her. One lady, waving a pink ivory fan, sarcastically jabbed.

"Emily, why are you so harsh on a young person with literary dreams? Even if he can't write scripts that Parisians covet like Hugo and Dumas, at least he tries his best. I admire such young men."

The other ladies, fearing being labeled as harsh, echoed: "Indeed, one should be more tolerant with young people, not to mention being invited to this banquet already indicates he's making some progress in this path."

Emily, who couldn't stand being outshone, was the most striking Star at this banquet; she became enraged, and her words carried a noticeably sharper tone.

Like a 12-pound grenade launcher, she was determined to blow her opponent sky-high.

Emily covered her mouth with a fan as she fake-smiled: "Oh, really? It seems most people's tastes are like those of foreign actresses; just a well-cut tailcoat and a few quotes from Montesquieu or Voltaire are enough to leave the average person spellbound."

At this point, Emily pretended to sigh: "No wonder Mr. Balzac only became famous in recent years. Blame it on his unremarkable appearance and somewhat awkward speech. Only those who truly understand art could see his talent. Most people only start complaining about the noble ladies surrounding him once he made it big."

Once Emily spoke, she felt much of her frustration dissipate, and her cheeks regained their fair, rosy glow.

But the other ladies clearly weren't as pleased; they either left sullenly or internally cursed her as an 'ill-bred little girl.'

In short, to show their tolerance, gentleness, and magnanimity, they chose not to engage in a verbal spar at the banquet with Emily.

Emily saw they didn't retaliate, but there was not a hint of joy in her heart. On the contrary, if the ladies seized the chance to mock her or curse her, she might have felt more at ease. For she suddenly realized she seemed to have included herself in the critique.

Worse still, who exactly was that mysterious girl, and what was her relationship with Arthur?

This question was like a ticking time bomb, making her restless.

She wanted to seek help from her granduncle, but this old man seemed to have thrown all his grandniece's affairs aside tonight, or perhaps he exposed his banker nature. Whether it was her granduncle, her father, or uncles, they all gathered closely around Mr. Martin-Michel-Charles Gaudin tonight.

As for what Mr. Gaudin did?

He was the current governor of the Banque de France.

Without the answer to her question, Emily was absent-minded even when dancing.

After a lackluster waltz, she sat alone on the sofa, daydreaming about the recent events.

Suddenly, she caught sight of Arthur a few steps away, talking with her dance partner.

Emily instantly straightened her posture, sitting quietly on the sofa for a while until the attentive dance partner returned. She then arrogantly asked: "Is that young man your friend?"

"Friend?" Great Dumas smoothed his fake mustache: "Our bond is deeper than that; he almost counts as my brother. We've been through thick and thin together doing many things."

Hearing this, Emily couldn't help but shiver.

Great Dumas continued: "He's a pretty decent lad, though with some moral blemishes, overall, he's a kind-hearted guy."

Emily abruptly interrupted: "Do you know my name?"

"Your name?" Great Dumas chuckled and shook his head: "If I had the honor of learning your name..."

Emily's attitude shifted as she bowed with gratitude: "You dance quite well, but I'd like to know more about you."

"Me?" Great Dumas blatantly lied: "I'm a playwright, but after several years without much fame, I'm planning to change careers. We are organizing a bank with an upfront investment of three hundred thousand francs. We've already gathered some funds, and I'm planning to involve my brother, who is a wealthy man."

"Wealthy man?" Emily realized something was off as soon as she spoke, quickly correcting herself: "But I feel that gentleman doesn't seem like someone preoccupied with money."

"What?" Great Dumas laughed heartily: "Can you ladies tell he's in love just by looking at his expression?"

"Did you say he's in love?" Emily's face showed a keen interest, almost unaware she was about to crush the fan handle in her grip.

Great Dumas might be clumsy in other areas, but in matters of the heart, he was as cunning as an old fox in the forest.

However, this corpulent man purposely wanted to worry the rich young lady who had just looked down on him, so he pretended to know nothing, saying: "Yes, before arriving in Paris, he wrote to me saying he fell madly in love with a very beautiful woman this summer. However, after that, I've heard nothing more of his love affair.

Can you believe it? That poor child usually rises at 5 a.m. daily to quickly finish his business so he can reach his beloved's countryside residence by 4 p.m. In doing so, he wore out the lovely thoroughbred horse I gave him. Oh, pardon me! I talk too much, young lady, please forgive me, as I've just returned from Italy. We Italians have an unstoppable tendency to chatter endlessly when talking."