Love at Dawn

6.Former Aristocracy Siblings

On the second day, in a cramped room, Edith was happily chatting with the maiden sitting in a wheelchair across from her, while a handsome young man faced the middle position, his gaze wandering between the two girls.

They were Edith's childhood friends, the former aristocracy Marie-Charlene and her elder brother Raphael de Saint-Clemont.

At the end of 1789, Charlene had moved from her rural estate to this humble Parisian flat, where she reunited with her old friend.

The revolution had overnight destroyed the fortress, titles, and wealth of her noble and ancient family.

But Charlene and her brother Raphael had survived the wrath of the revolutionary masses.

Her physical disability lessened the guilt of her social class; the people saw that even the daughter of such a great lord could suffer such misfortune, their minds balanced and their rage appeased, then they generously spared her and her sole guardian.

At the age of five, a bout of meningitis left Charlene paralyzed from the waist down, and no amount of medical investment could make this damsel stand up again.

At this moment, the thin and tattered blanket over her knees was covering a pair of legs as slim and weak as sticks.

Perhaps her sedentary and dependent lifestyle contributed to her submissive character.

Regardless, she never complained a word about the revolution. She accepted everything calmly, as if she had long foreseen such a fate.

Her brother, on the other hand, did not have such a good attitude. Raphael once gave up on himself, his drinking worsened the poverty of the siblings in distress.

Fortunately, with the persuasion and influence of these two young girls, he barely recovered two years ago.

"Charlene, isn't the blanket on your legs too thin?" Edith couldn't help but ask her friend.

"Oh, I'm fine, dear Edith," Charlene replied with a tender smile and a shake of her head. "I can endure all these things. It's just a pity that I can't continue with my chemical research."

Raphael lowered his head. His sister's nonchalant remark had once again stirred up his sad memories.

In the past, Charlene used to wrap herself in superior snow-white fur blankets during the winter, several of which in rotation.

The mob that confiscated their family's property said these luxurious blankets would be turned into coats for soldiers in the north. Now, he could only watch his sister suffer from hunger and cold, powerless to do anything.

Ironically, it was just at the beginning of the year when the revolution broke out that he had inherited his title from his deceased father.

In just one short year, everything had turned upside down, what was once his glory had become a source of shame. It was not appropriate to condemn him for his prostration.

Edith felt that she had touched on Raphael's sensitive nerve, so she changed the topic to something lighter, encouraging Charlene to talk about her chemistry.

As Edith spoke, Raphael lifted his head and gazed at her intently, as if he were beholding a priceless treasure.

As soon as she finished speaking, he blurted out, "Your voice is like music when you speak!"

At times like this, Edith always felt sort of uncomfortable. She sensed that the former aristocracy young man was not paying attention to what she was saying.

Out of either a sense of tentativeness or vindictiveness, Edith began to expound on theories and the latest news of the revolution.

Charlene listened earnestly as usual to her admired friend, without much particular reaction.

Yet Raphael's gaze gradually lowered, a melancholy shadow crept over his forehead.

It is worth noting that this beautiful young man, with his blonde hair and blue eyes, resembled Andre a lot in both appearance and age. However, his face shape was a bit shorter, the lower lip slightly thicker, and his eyes were poet-like, easy to reveal a sombre expression, giving his face a strong air of old nobility.

If the flames of dawn burned in Andre's eyes, then in Raphael's gaze rippled the bluish waves of autumn.

When Edith spoke of "smashing the conspiracy of the aristocrats," he could no longer bear it, raising such a pair of eyes to her with an almost pleading look.

She stopped talking. The silent air was oppressive.

"Excuse me." Feeling that his staying here would only make the two of them uneasy, Raphael took his leave on his own initiative.

The lassies sympathetically watched his back as he left the room.

He was still dressed in the fashion of the past - a flashy lantern-sleeved white shirt with nobleman-style culottes - but already washed bleached and wrinkled, with the elbow joints worn through, looking somewhat comical.

He no longer drank, but the long-term insomnia and depression had taken a toll on his body, making his steps seem a little unsteady.

When only the two intimate friends were left in the room, Edith began to introduce to Charlene an article written by Andre Quenet.

"I'm sorry, my dear friend, you have to come closer. You know I'm very nearsighted. It's too hard for me to see clearly from this distance," Charlene said a little embarrassedly.

It was then that Edith remembered the sad incident and handed her the pamphlet apologetically.

"Alas, why did they have to take my glasses away? What use are they to them? Only people like me with poor eyesight need them! "

Charlene took the booklet and raced through it, speaking in a light tone without a hint of resentment nor using the word "rob".

As she finished reading the entire article, Edith could not help but tell her friend about Quenet's true identity and her past experiences with the painter during her childhood.

"He wasn't just a lovely young man I encountered as a little girl. For me, he was, so to speak, the incarnation of knowledge and wisdom. Charlene, can you understand that?

"It was he who led me into the wonderful halls of knowledge, but in a flash, he took it all away. After that, I had to struggle to find books to read, yet some of them I could never see again. Perhaps I should have become a more educated person now.

"But I don't think I'll ever talk to him again, even if he comes to my door. My principles cannot allow me to forgive a hypocrite who betrayed our friendship," she concluded with pride.

"So, in your heart, you only regard him as an abecedarian teacher and a friend you broke with?" Charlene listened extra intently throughout and asked.

"Sure," Edith answered, her voice trailing off.

"Well, that's great. When I heard those stories from the past, I was afraid whether you had developed some special feelings for this Citizen Quenet," Charlene put her hand on her chest and let out a sigh of relief. "You know, Edith, deep down, I really hope you become my sister-in-law."

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