Armand Peugeot tightly gripped Delaroix's hand, his voice urgent:
"Mr. Delaroix! This is insane! Orders, over three thousand vehicles!
God, three thousand! Our previous agreement must be revised! We should immediately establish 'Sorel-Peugeot Mechanical Manufacturing Company'!
I can compromise; the company name will start with 'Sorel,' called 'Sorel-Peugeot'! We must cooperate closely and increase production!"
He stared intently at Delaroix, anticipating a positive response.
In his view, he had made a huge concession—agreeing to place the more famous "Sorel" at the beginning of the company name!
This was tantamount to acknowledging Lionel's dominant position in this brand.
Mr. Delaroix's face held a professionally calm smile as he gently withdrew his hand, his gaze sweeping over the mountain of orders before nodding.
Delaroix's voice betrayed little emotion:
"The enthusiastic market response was within Lionel's expectations. 'Sorel-Peugeot Mechanical Manufacturing Company'—we proposed this half a year ago, and that agreement is still valid."
Armand's heart leaped with joy, and he was about to speak...
Delaroix's tone shifted slightly:
"However, the originally conceived share ratio now requires some necessary adjustments."
Delaroix's words were subtle, but the meaning was crystal clear—
Since the market had proven that the value of technology far exceeded the value of production, Lionel would take a larger share in the new joint venture.
Armand Peugeot's smile instantly froze on his face.
He opened his mouth, wanting to secure more benefits for himself and the Peugeot family.
But looking at Delaroix's eyes, and then at the orders on the table, he could only nod in the end...
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The "Sorel-Roschach Typewriting Cooperative" on Rue Mouffetard was no longer its original size.
In the spacious and bright room, over a hundred brand-new "Sorel Model 1" typewriters were neatly arranged.
The "click-clack—ding!" of typing sounded like a symphony.
Alice Roschach—here, it seemed more appropriate to address her by her title—"Teacher Roschach," was inspecting and guiding in the room.
She wore a simple and neat dark dress, her hair styled into a bun at the back of her head, her face showing a confident and gentle expression.
The cooperative's business had long surpassed its initial simple transcription work.
They undertook document entry for government departments, contract copies for law firms, press releases for newspapers, and correspondence for trading companies...
They even handled manuscript entry for some authors.
Now, typing training courses were also offered, with half of the machines being used by trainees.
Today, the cooperative had a special visitor—the "Red Virgin," Louise Michel.
Louise Michel followed behind Alice, observing the women engrossed in their work, nodding occasionally.
After the visit, she told reporters:
"This small machine is a key, a key that can unlock women's shackles and lead to liberation!
To master the typewriter is not just to learn a skill, but to master one's own destiny!
It means we can establish ourselves in society, have the right to choose, and no longer endure unjust treatment!
This is a crucial step for French women, no, for women worldwide, towards independence and liberation!
Every tap they make here is paving the way for their sisters who will follow!"
Louise Michel's visit and her speech were quickly reported by accompanying journalists and other newspaper reporters who rushed to the scene.
The "Sorel-Roschach Typewriting Cooperative" and the "Sorel Model 1 typewriter" rapidly appeared on the pages of several progressive Parisian newspapers.
The reports sparked a huge social reaction.
Housewives, female factory workers, maids... learned about this place near Rue Mouffetard from newspapers and word-of-mouth.
Filled with trepidation yet hope, they flocked here, signing up for classes and inquiring about the possibility of joining the cooperative.
The cooperative's threshold was almost worn out, and Alice had to consider opening night training classes and began searching for new, larger premises.
Meanwhile, orders for the "Sorel Model 1" typewriter, like those for bicycles, began to surge.
It wasn't just that the cooperative needed to expand its equipment; many companies, law firms, and government departments also began to realize the efficiency and convenience of typewriters after seeing the reports.
Orders also flew like snowflakes to the "Ounia Sewing Machine Factory," responsible for producing typewriters.
————————
Madame Rothschild's private living room; the noblewoman was elegantly reclining on the sofa, holding a stack of documents.
Lionel sat in a Louis XV style velvet armchair, feeling somewhat out of place amidst the surrounding classical luxury.
Madame Rothschild finished reading the documents, looked up, a slight smile gracing her lips, then casually placed the papers on the small mother-of-pearl table beside her.
Her voice was smoother than the finest silk:
"200,000 francs? My dear Lionel, is such a small amount really enough?"
Lionel clasped his hands on his knees, trying to hide his inner discomfort:
"It only requires short-term borrowing; funds will return quickly later. Orders for bicycles and typewriters are growing too fast; the factory needs to expand new production lines, increase equipment and staff, and purchase raw materials... After these 200,000 francs get us through this period, we can achieve a positive cycle..."
Madame Rothschild gently raised a hand, interrupting him.
Her deep eyes rested on Lionel's slightly tense face:
"A loan? No, I don't intend to 'lend' you these 200,000 francs."
Lionel's heart sank abruptly; what was bound to happen, happened!
Sophie's gentle face flashed through his mind; his throat felt dry, and his mind began to race.
Madame Rothschild suddenly chuckled, as if seeing through Lionel's embarrassment and hesitation.
Her tone held understanding and teasing:
"Don't be nervous, Lionel. I said no loan because I intend to 'take a stake'!"
"Take a stake?"
Lionel was stunned, almost thinking he had misheard.
Madame Rothschild nodded:
"Yes, an investment. I'm optimistic about bicycles and typewriters. Let these 200,000 francs be the capital for my purchase of shares in the new company. Furthermore, I can help you sell these products in the markets of London, Vienna, and even Saint Petersburg. Isn't this more beneficial for both of us than a simple loan?"
A huge weight lifted from Lionel's heart, and a genuine smile bloomed on his face:
"No problem! I think this is good for both of us!"
However, Madame Rothschild's captivating eyes still gazed at Lionel, with an almost intoxicated expression—
"However, Lionel, I also have an investment that I hope to get your support for."
Lionel's smile faded, and he cautiously asked:
"What kind of investment, Madame?"
Madame Rothschild's tone was calm:
"I intend to acquire a theater in Paris, renovate it with the most advanced technology, and then 'gift' it to you."
Lionel was completely stunned:
"Gift it to me?"
Madame Rothschild nodded slightly, her gaze fervent:
"Precisely. This theater will only stage your works. 'The Chorus,' 'Thunderstorm,' and your brilliant novels, 'The Strange Case of Benjamin Bouton,' and even all the plays you will create in the future...
I wish for a theater in Paris that stages 'Sorel's plays' every day. Just imagine how wonderful that would be! Your name, together with this theater, will become an eternal artistic landmark of Paris."
A top-tier theater exclusively for himself—Lionel's heart skipped a few beats.
But after only a few seconds, he looked up, met Madame Rothschild's expectant gaze, and slowly spoke:
"Madame, thank you for your generosity. An exclusive theater sounds incredibly tempting. However, besides acquiring a theater, perhaps... we have an even better option."
Madame Rothschild's slender eyebrows subtly raised, clearly intrigued:
"Oh?"
(End of chapter)