On the evening of December 28, 1879, tiny, glistening snowflakes silently drifted down onto the rooftops, streets, and shoulders of pedestrians in Paris.
The air was crisp and cold, but under the warm lights of the "Black Forest" restaurant, Lionel and Sophie had just finished a comfortable dinner.
Outside the window, Rue de la Paix was gradually being covered in white, and the condensation on the windowpanes blurred the outside world into a moving, hazy painting.
Sophie gazed through the glass, watching the snowflakes dance under the streetlights:
"It seems to be snowing harder now."
Today, she was wearing a dark grey wool dress with a matching tweed cape, and a pale purple silk scarf tied around her neck, simple yet elegant.
Soon, she would be going with Lionel to see The Choir.
These past few days, the front pages of all the newspapers had been almost entirely dominated by The Choir and "The People's Bishop."
She knew the play had achieved immense success, but she only had a vague idea of the extent of that success.
Lionel suggested they walk to the Comédie-Française, so Sophie wrapped her cape tighter and followed Lionel into the snowy night.
The closer they got to Rue de Richelieu, the denser the crowds became.
Carriages were almost at a standstill, and the shouts of coachmen, the muffled thud of hooves on accumulated snow, and the buzzing murmur of the crowd mingled together, dispelling the quiet of the winter night.
When the magnificent Baroque architecture of the Comédie-Française finally appeared at the end of their sight, Sophie involuntarily stopped, taking a soft breath.
The sight before her far surpassed her imagination, leaving her stunned—the entrance to the Comédie-Française was practically a boiling cauldron of people!
A massive, dark mass of people filled the plaza and street in front of the entrance, stretching all the way to the distant intersection.
People jostled shoulder to shoulder, their exhaled breath forming a thin mist that swirled under the halos of the gas lamps.
Vendors selling programs and snacks deftly wove through the crowd, their voices shrill.
Many others strained their necks, anxiously staring at the ticket booths, as if they were gateways to paradise.
Sophie's azure eyes widened in shock, and she murmured to herself,
"This... My God... are they... all here to see The Choir?"
She knew the play was popular, but she hadn't expected it to be this popular—it was even more crowded than a carnival here.
Lionel, however, frowned slightly; he didn't want to be recognized and surrounded by the crowd at this moment.
He whispered to Sophie,
"It seems the main entrance is impassable."
Then he gently tugged her arm:
"Come with me, we'll go the other way."
He led Sophie, expertly turning into a relatively quiet alley nearby, circling around to the side and rear of the Comédie-Française.
Here there was a small door used only by staff and actors.
Lionel stepped forward and knocked; a shrewd-faced doorman in uniform answered the door.
The doorman clearly recognized him, his face immediately breaking into a smile:
"Monsieur Sorel!"
He then quickly stepped aside:
"Please come in quickly, it's very cold outside! The director gave instructions that you are welcome anytime."
Lionel nodded, tossed the doorman five sous coins, and then slipped inside with Sophie.
The door closed behind them, instantly cutting off the noise and cold from outside.
Inside the door was a slightly narrow but very clean corridor, with posters of past performances adorning the walls.
The air was filled with the distinct scent of turpentine, cosmetics, and old stage curtains.
Occasionally, actors in costume or stagehands in work clothes hurried past.
Upon seeing Lionel, they would nod in friendly greeting, their gazes lingering briefly on Sophie with kind curiosity.
Lionel, knowing the way well, led them:
"This way."
Sophie followed behind him, curiously observing this world that was entirely new to her.
At the door of a room marked "Lead Actors' Dressing Room," Lionel stopped and gently pushed it open.
Inside, Jean Mounet-Sully and François Jules Edmond Gotter-Luzarches were drinking coffee to refresh themselves.
Mounet-Sully immediately stood up, a genuine smile on his face:
"Lionel! I thought you weren't coming tonight."
Lionel smiled and introduced them:
"This is Mademoiselle Sophie Deneuve. Sophie, this is Monsieur Jean Mounet-Sully, and this is Monsieur François Jules Edmond Gotter-Luzarches."
The moment Sophie saw Mounet-Sully, her breath seemed to hitch for a second.
Her cheeks flushed slightly, and her eyes were filled with excitement:
"Monsieur Mounet-Sully... it's... it's you. My... my parents, when they were alive, used to bring me to the Comédie-Française every Christmas. We... we saw you as Hippolytus in Phèdre, and Rodrigue in Le Cid... Our whole family loved your performances very, very much."
Mounet-Sully bowed gracefully:
"It's my pleasure, dear Mademoiselle Deneuve. Hearing such memories always makes me feel that this profession is exceptionally meaningful."
Gotter-Luzarches also nodded a smiling greeting from the side.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the curtain time drew nearer.
The theater manager hurried to find Lionel:
"Monsieur Sorel! You've arrived. The foyer is absolutely packed, we've sold so many standing tickets! Monsieur Perrin instructed us to arrange a small observation box for you in a corner on the second floor, usually not open to the public. It's a bit off-center, but absolutely private!"
After thanking him, Lionel took Sophie and followed the manager through the intricate backstage passages, up several narrow staircases, arriving at a hidden entrance on the second floor.
Pushing open the box door, it was a very small private box, only able to accommodate three or four people.
The furnishings inside were simple, with only three velvet-covered chairs and a narrow stand, but it was exceptionally tidy.
Its location was cleverly chosen; a curtain slightly obscured the front, allowing a clear view of the stage and most of the audience, yet making it difficult for those downstairs to notice them.
The manager considerately took his leave, closing the door behind them.
Almost the moment the door closed, all the gas lamps in the theater began to dim one by one, signaling that the performance was about to begin.
The immense din quickly subsided like a receding tide, leaving only a buzzing silence filled with anticipation.
Sophie and Lionel sat down in the darkness, very close to each other, so close they could hear each other's breathing.
The grand curtain slowly rose, and the story of The Choir unfolded once more; Sophie was completely immersed.
The gloomy boarding school, the strict Director Rachin, the kind and clumsy Clément Mathieu, the mischievous yet affection-craving children, and the music with its power to pierce hearts...
Everything was still so deeply moving.
This time, her feelings were completely different from when she read newspaper reviews or heard others recount the story.
Because the person sitting beside her was the one who had created this world.
As the beautiful melody played, as the children's voices brought tears to her eyes, as paper flowers fell like snowflakes...
Again and again, she turned her head, gazing at the focused and serene profile of Lionel's face in the alternating bright and dim light reflected from the stage.
An inexpressible, surging sense of happiness enveloped her tightly.
She felt a pang of sadness that her parents couldn't witness this scene, but more than that, there was a profound sense of pride and warmth.
The person who had written these touching stories, shaped these vivid characters, and created this beautiful music, was sitting right beside her at this moment.
In the darkness, her heart pounded rapidly.
A strong impulse compelled her.
At that sublime moment when Pierre's clear, ethereal solo resonated throughout the theater, bathed in light, and the entire audience held its breath...
Sophie gently, and without hesitation, turned around.
She reached out, gently cupped Lionel's face, turned him slightly towards herself, and then pressed her soft lips against his.
Lionel stiffened for a moment, then immediately wrapped his arms tightly around Sophie's waist, drawing her deeper into his embrace, passionately returning the kiss hidden by the darkness.
The stage lights occasionally swept across their closely intertwined figures, outlining brief yet moving silhouettes.
...
However, just at this moment of intense intimacy, an untimely, subtle yet clear sound vaguely drifted from an adjacent box.
It was a suppressed, intermittent panting, mixed with a man's heavy breathing, and the rhythmic, faint creaking of a leather seat...
Lionel and Sophie simultaneously paused their kiss.
They slowly separated, adjusted to the darkness for a few seconds, then very slowly and carefully turned their heads, looking towards the direction of the adjacent box.
Although there was a partition between them and they couldn't clearly see the exact situation, the increasingly unrestrained and undisguised sounds unequivocally revealed that another "passion play" was unfolding next door.
Sophie's cheeks instantly grew hot, fortunately, it wasn't clearly visible in the darkness.
Lionel was first stunned, then a wry smile appeared on his face.
He had long heard about the "second use" of 19th-century theater boxes, but this was his first personal encounter.
Lionel reached out and gently took Sophie's hand, his fingertips tracing a light scratch on the back of her hand, as if to say,
"See, this is Paris."
Sophie squeezed his hand back, and couldn't help but lean her head gently on his shoulder, her body slightly trembling with suppressed laughter.
The snow continued to fall quietly outside the theater, covering this passionate and promiscuous Paris.
(End of Chapter)
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