This time, it was the French newspapers' turn to rejoice and begin mocking.
Le Figaro wrote gloatingly:
[Look! This is the "freedom" and "tolerance" of our British neighbors!
When Mr. Sorel's pen pointed at Paris, they cheered and hailed him as a hero;
When the same pen illuminated the dark corners of London, they collectively fell silent, pretending nothing happened.
What hypocrisy! Hah, these are the British!]
Le Républicain's commentary was even sharper:
[The arrogant John Bull has finally tasted the bitter wine he brewed himself.
They tried to use Sorel to prove the failure of the republican system, but they didn't expect Sorel to prove with his actions and works—
Whether it's a republic or a monarchy, neither can avoid the widespread social problems!
And only a truly courageous nation can face these problems head-on.
The British silence precisely proves their weakness!]
Le Tintamarre directly mimicked the tone of previous British newspapers:
[Oh, civilized Britannia! Lighthouse of freedom!
May I ask, why are you so "cautious" about a small writer's pseudonym work?
Could it be that the lead heart in "The Happy Prince" not only cracked but also accidentally hit the fragile egos of some gentlemen?]
The French finally got to vent the anger they had endured from days of mockery by the British media, and the public sphere was filled with cheerful air.
——————
In London, Lionel, at the eye of the storm, had just seen off a wave of reporters.
Just as he thought he could enjoy a moment of peace, the doorbell of his apartment rang again.
He opened the door, and outside stood not reporters, but two serious-looking police officers in crisp uniforms.
The elder of the two, with a gaunt face, was the first to show his identification.
His voice was steady and cold:
"Good evening, Mr. Sorel. I am Detective Inspector Malcolm Graham from the police department."
He gestured to his companion beside him:
"This is my colleague, Detective Sebastian Hawkins."
Lionel nodded slightly, stepping aside to let them pass:
"Good evening, gentlemen. Please come in."
He led the two to the living room but did not invite them to sit, nor did he sit himself.
He simply stood by the fireplace, calmly watching these uninvited guests.
Detective Inspector Graham got straight to the point:
"Mr. Sorel, we are here today regarding your immigration status in the United Kingdom.
According to our records, and verified by customs and port authorities, you did not complete entry procedures through any official port.
This means that you are currently residing illegally in the territory of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland."
He paused, looking at Lionel, but the latter just watched him quietly, as if listening to something unrelated to himself.
Graham could only continue:
"Given this fact, the Home Office has assessed that your continued stay is not in the interests or public order of the Kingdom.
Therefore, we officially inform you that the government has decided to initiate deportation proceedings against you."
Lionel listened, gave a soft "heh," and nodded:
"Illegal stay? This reason is indeed very sufficient, conforms to procedures, and is irreproachable.
However, Detective Inspector, to my knowledge, few of the various figures exiled to here from across Europe have complete entry formalities.
From Chateaubriand to Hugo, and then to Clemenceau, it has always been like this. In the past, you were quite tolerant, even proud of it!"
Graham and Detective Hawkins exchanged an awkward glance.
Finally, he chose to present another prepared reason.
His tone softened slightly:
"Mr. Sorel, we understand your questions. In addition to entry procedures, we also considered your personal safety.
Your conflict with Mr. Vikram Singh and his companions, widely reported by newspapers, has severely hurt the feelings of Indian gentlemen in London.
They see this as a great humiliation. Our police have received reliable intelligence that someone may pose a threat to your personal safety.
London is the capital of the Empire, and we are committed to protecting the safety of all law-abiding residents. We do not wish for any bloodshed to occur.
For your personal safety, and to maintain public order in London, we believe that your temporary departure from Britain is a safer option for all parties."
His wording had already changed from "deportation" to "temporary departure from Britain."
Lionel listened quietly.
When Graham finished, he slowly spoke:
"To protect me from assassination by certain extremist Indians?
That's truly a caring reason. But, Detective Inspector, when did the police of the British Empire start needing to fear a few Indian gentlemen?"
Detective Inspector Graham's face darkened slightly, and both he and Detective Hawkins fell silent.
Lionel's gaze calmly swept across their faces, knowing that pressing further would not yield any other answers.
What illegal stay, what the pride of Indian elites, what threats from extremists, were all just high-sounding excuses.
The real crux of the matter lay in "The Happy Prince."
It was like an overly clear mirror, reflecting the cracks and shadows beneath the glorious image of this empire, stinging the high-ranking ruling class.
A French exile, not only refusing to maintain the "low profile" and "gratitude" expected of a "refugee," but acting so high-profile, even arrogant...
Now, he had transformed from a "symbol of freedom" that could be exploited, into a "troublemaker" who must be eliminated.
The so-called entry procedure issue was merely the most convenient tool to use.
Lionel had no intention of engaging in further meaningless debate with them.
He changed the subject, his tone returning to its previous calmness:
"Alright, gentlemen, I understand. Since it's deportation, then where do you intend to deport me?"
Relieved from having to face the embarrassing question, Detective Inspector Graham seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
He immediately replied:
"There are two options for you to consider, Mr. Sorel.
First, we can arrange for your return to France. Second, we can send you to America.
We have already had preliminary communication with the American Embassy in London, and the Ambassador himself expressed understanding of your situation.
He stated that America warmly welcomes outstanding individuals like you for asylum, and he will provide you with all conveniences."
Lionel smiled slightly, almost without hesitation:
"Thank you for the American Ambassador's kindness. However, there's no need to trouble yourselves.
I remember clearly, September 1st is just three days away. On that day, at the Palais de Justice in Paris, my case officially opens."
He paused slightly, then said each word distinctly:
"I choose to return to Paris!"
(End of this chapter)