There was one thing I had begun to learn regarding Élisabeth Armand.
She possessed a habit for the unpredictable.
Most students at the academy adhered to a strictly ordered existence. They arrived for their lectures, attended their classes, conversed with the same circle of acquaintances, and departed before the sun had fully set.
Élisabeth did not always conform to such a pattern.
At times, she would appear in the library without notice. At others, she would wait in the corridor after a lecture had concluded. And on one quiet afternoon in early autumn, she did something I had never remotely anticipated.
She came to my home.
The small house stood at the end of a relatively quiet street, not far from the town market. The structure was modest—timber walls with paint that had begun to fade, small windows I often kept open to invite the fresh air, and a desk perpetually cluttered with books and notes.
I was sitting at that desk when I heard a knock at the door.
I expected no visitors. Indeed, most of my peers did not even know where I resided.
When I opened the door, I could scarcely believe what I beheld. Élisabeth stood before my house.
She wore a light-coloured mantle, and behind her, a few paces from the door, a carriage belonging to her noble house waited serenely by the roadside.
For several seconds, I merely stood there, unable to utter a single word. Élisabeth tilted her head slightly.
"Have I come at an inopportune time, Mr Laurent?"
I finally recovered my voice. "No. It is only that... I did not realise you knew where I lived."
She offered a small smile. "The academy is not a place so vast that such information can remain hidden."
I stepped back from the doorway. "Please, come in."
The moment she stepped across the threshold, I became acutely aware of something that left me feeling rather uneasy. The house felt significantly smaller with another soul within it. Particularly someone such as Élisabeth.
She walked slowly, observing the room. Her gaze travelled from the old bookshelves against the wall to the desk laden with papers, and finally to the small window overlooking the street.
There was no opulence there. No costly furnishings. Only books, ink, and the mounting notes that formed the small world I had built for myself.
I cleared my throat softly.
"I apologise if this place is not... suitable for receiving guests."
Élisabeth turned to me with an expression of slight surprise. "Suitable?"
She approached my desk and noted several pages filled with unfinished formulae.
"This place is replete with such fascinating things."
I was uncertain if she spoke merely out of politeness. Yet, when she picked up one of the papers and truly attempted to discern the writing upon it, I began to feel she was not pretending.
"Is this regarding the spiral pattern you explained yesterday?" she asked.
I nodded.
"I am still attempting to explain why such a pattern manifests so frequently in nature."
Élisabeth replaced the paper with care. She then walked towards the window. The soft evening light filtered through the thin glass, illuminating her face in a way that made the small room feel different.
More alive. Warmer.
"Your home is so quiet," she said softly.
"It is usually thus."
She turned her head slightly. "My family home is never this quiet."
There was something in the way she spoke those words that caused me to pause.
"Is that an ill thing?"
Élisabeth gave a thin smile. "Not always."
She returned to the centre of the room and sat upon the wooden chair near my desk, as though she were accustomed to the place.
"Sometimes I feel a grand house simply possesses more rooms in which to feel alone."
I knew not how to respond to such a sentiment. So, I merely took the chair opposite her. Several seconds passed in a silence that, strangely, did not feel awkward. Outside the window, the sound of a carriage from the main road was a distant hum.
Finally, Élisabeth spoke.
"Mr Laurent, have you always lived so?"
"In what manner?"
She gestured to the books upon the table.
"Reading, writing, contemplating numbers all day long."
I nearly smiled. "For the most part, yes."
She observed my face for a moment. "And does it bring you happiness?"
The question felt more difficult than it ought to have been.
I answered truthfully.
"Sufficiently."
Élisabeth leaned back in her chair. Yet, there was something in her gaze that suggested she did not entirely believe my answer.
After a moment, she rose.
"I do not wish to intrude upon your time any longer."
She walked towards the door, then paused before stepping out.
"Mr Laurent."
"Yes?"
She looked around the small house once more.
"I find... that this place is far more interesting than most noble drawing rooms I have encountered."
I knew not if that were true or merely her gentle way of being kind. But as she opened the door and the evening light flooded the room once more, I felt a flicker of agitation.
The longer I knew her, the clearer it became that Élisabeth cared nothing for the difference in our worlds. Yet, it was for that very reason that I began to feel increasingly conscious of the actual distance between us.
When her carriage finally departed from the end of the street, I returned to my desk. But for several minutes, I merely sat there without touching my pen.
On that desk, amongst the notes and the ancient books, there remained one thing I could never truly explain with any formula.
Why a woman like Élisabeth Armand... continued to find her way into my life.