Montier, an Alpine town usually so quiet one only heard cowbells and the wind, welcomed its most distinguished guests in its history on this day.
The quiet streets were stirred by wheels and hooves, and the air was filled with tension and excitement.
A procession consisting of four-wheeled carriages, light phaetons, and mounted escorts grandly entered the town's central square.
At the heart of the procession was a four-wheeled carriage, adorned with the ministry's emblem and drawn by two tall Norman horses.
Before the carriage had even come to a complete stop, Mayor Martino of Laragne rushed forward and personally opened the door for the important figure inside.
The Undersecretary of the Ministry of Public Education and Fine Arts, Count Louis-Philippe de Rohan, emerged with a dignified air.
He wore a well-tailored dark formal suit, his Legion of Honor ribbon impeccably displayed on his chest, and his face bore the customary expression of a Parisian dignitary, a blend of pity and authority.
His gaze swept over the low houses, the timid villagers, and the barren land, and he gave a slight nod.
Mayor Martino's back was so bent his head almost touched the ground:
"Your Excellency, Count, this is Montier of Laragne! You've had a long and arduous journey!"
Count Rohan merely gave a faint "hmm," extended his hand for the mayor to lightly support, but his gaze had already moved past him, searching for the other key figure of this visit.
François Bertrand, the mayor of Montier, and Father Peltier practically scurried forward to greet him.
Mayor Bertrand wiped his hands on his coat tails before daring to extend one:
"Your... Your Excellency, Minister... Welcome... I am Bertrand, the mayor of Montier..."
Count Rohan gently corrected him:
"Undersecretary, Mr. Mayor."
He then lightly clasped Bertrand's fingertips, releasing immediately.
Father Peltier made the sign of the cross:
"May the Lord bless you, Your Excellency."
Mayor Martino hastily added from the side:
"Your Excellency, Count, although Montier is remote, I have always been very concerned about the... educational affairs here..."
Count Rohan paid no attention to the mayor's self-praise; his gaze finally found Lionel Sorel, who was standing a little further back in the crowd.
Lionel did not rush forward like the others, but stood calmly; however, upon seeing him, Count Rohan's face showed a more genuine smile.
He took a few steps forward and extended his hand: "Lionel! I never expected us to meet again in your hometown! You have done a remarkable thing here!"
Lionel's demeanor remained neither humble nor overbearing:
"Your Excellency, Count, welcome to the Alps. It was a long journey; you must be tired!"
Count Rohan shook Lionel's hand vigorously:
"For the future of France, this journey is nothing. Your benevolent act and foresight are a paragon of the civic spirit advocated by the Republic! The Minister also expressed his high appreciation for it!"
Seeing Lionel "chatting and laughing" with the unapproachable Count and Undersecretary, Mayor Martino's heart was filled with mixed feelings.
He had indeed hoped Lionel would bring "Parisian connections," but he never imagined it would be in the form of such a top-down surprise inspection.
This completely disrupted his little plans, leaving him only with trepidation.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Count Rohan signaled for the ceremony to begin.
He was led to a slightly elevated stone in the center of the small square—the same spot where Lionel had recently announced the scholarship program.
Reporters' pencils rapidly glided across their papers, and a camera was even set up.
Almost all of Montier's residents had also gathered around the square.
Count Rohan cleared his throat, his voice becoming loud and resonant:
"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Montier! I have come here from Paris today, not merely representing the Ministry of Education, but representing the government of the Republic—to express deep concern for the educational rights of every citizen in every corner of France!"
Mayor Martino led the applause.
Count Rohan paused before continuing:
"In Paris, we discuss grand blueprints, the future of the nation! But here, in Montier, I see the cornerstone of this blueprint, and I see the hope for the future!
Mr. Lionel Sorel, your outstanding son, has taught us all a lesson with his wise and generous actions—education requires not only the investment of the state but also a high sense of responsibility and dedication from every citizen!"
...
After a long 20 minutes spent praising Lionel, praising his "Parisian friends," praising Minister Ferry, and subtly praising himself, Count Rohan finally delivered the most crucial message:
"...I hereby solemnly announce that the Ministry of Public Education and Fine Arts, and I myself, will closely monitor the use of this scholarship!
The education department of Hautes-Alpes, the school district inspector of Gap, and even the Laragne municipal government, must provide full support and cooperation to ensure Mr. Lionel Sorel's wishes are implemented without compromise!
This is not only a respect for the donor but also a defense of the Republic's educational philosophy!
Any dereliction of duty, any attempt to profit from it or obstruct it, is a crime against the nation and the future, and will absolutely not be tolerated!"
His words were resolute and unequivocal.
Mayor Martino's face turned pale, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead; Mayor Bertrand and Father Peltier also instinctively straightened their backs.
The speech then concluded amidst applause.
Lionel walked over to Count Rohan's side, and they posed for a photograph.
----
Next, the main focus of the inspection shifted to Saint Joseph's School.
The procession moved again, led by Mayor Bertrand, towards the school building converted from a dilapidated small chapel.
The sight before them was clearly worse than Count Rohan had anticipated.
Peeling plaster, a patched roof, a crooked gate, dim lighting, and an omnipresent musty smell...
Fortunately, it was summer vacation, so Count Rohan did not ask to see the students.
Old Mr. Reynaud was so nervous he didn't know what to do, his lips trembling.
Count Rohan carefully inspected the classroom, leafed through the dilapidated textbooks, and even touched the cold stone walls and rough blackboard.
His expression gradually darkened, his brow furrowed, as he turned to the accompanying Ministry of Education officials and school district representatives:
"Gentlemen, this is a part of our French Republic! A teacher has held steadfast here for forty years! Forty years!
And our children receive their education in such an environment! Is this the education we promise our citizens?"
The officials looked embarrassed, murmuring in agreement; the reporters, meanwhile, wrote furiously.
Then, Count Rohan walked up to old Reynaud and took his hand:
"Mr. Reynaud, on behalf of the Ministry of Education, and on behalf of France, I extend to you our highest respect! Your dedication is a treasure of the Republic!"
Old Reynaud trembled with emotion, unable to utter a single word, only nodding repeatedly, tears glistening in his clouded old eyes.
Count Rohan seized the opportunity to turn to the reporters, his voice rising again:
"Gentlemen, you have all seen it!
This is why Minister Jules Ferry and we are sparing no effort to promote free, compulsory primary education!
Only through national legislation and financial guarantees, only by truly considering education a national responsibility—can thousands upon thousands of Saint Joseph's Schools be extricated from their difficulties!
Only then can thousands upon thousands of Mr. Reynauds receive the support they deserve!
Only then can every child in France enjoy equal and quality education!
This is the Republic's investment in the future, and an undeniable moral obligation!"
Listening, Lionel could only sigh inwardly, thinking that Count Rohan truly lived up to his reputation as an old fox in politics, capable of turning every opportunity into his own political capital.
Next was the journalists' interview session.
Teacher Reynaud was already incoherent with excitement, repeatedly saying:
"Thank you, Your Excellency... Thank you, Lionel... For the children... For the children..."
Lionel, resigned, could only help him answer.
At this moment, a perceptive journalist from Le Petit Journal keenly asked:
"For church schools like Saint Joseph's, what do their operations and teachers' salaries primarily depend on? Is local support sufficient?"
Lionel glanced at Teacher Reynaud's coat, even shabbier than "poor Lionel's," then at Father Peltier, who was wearing magnificent vestments, and showed a cruel smile.
(End of Chapter)
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