Nineteenth Century Medical Guide

Chapter 465 461. Apology Letter

Rue Mouffetard is a narrow, crowded but bustling market street in the Eastern District that winds its way to the Place de la Bastille.

Compared to apartments in other places in the Bastille Square, the rental houses here are far away from the main road, which makes it inconvenient to go in and out in the morning and evening. It is noisy all day long, which greatly affects your rest. The only advantage is that they are cheap enough.

Even during the busiest period of the World Expo, the rent increase did not exceed 80%, making it one of the top choices for budget foreigners like Varela and Greg who decide to continue staying in Paris temporarily.

The two lived on the top floor of a five-story apartment facing the street, with three windows that overlooked the Seine. The floor was brick and stone with green carpets, and the furniture included two beds, a marble-top desk, a mahogany dining table, two armchairs and a mirror.

The rent here at the same time last year was 65 francs per month, but now it has risen to an unprecedented 115 francs, equivalent to 23 Austrian kronor, which is still quite cheap.

The daily accommodation fee of the Louvre Hotel where they stayed was as high as 50 francs. Although it was paid by the government, they had to pay for their daily meals and drinks in the hotel. Adding the ticket fee, living in such a place for half a month would have emptied their pockets.

If I were to spend my own money to extend the stay now, I would probably spend all my savings over the years.

The rent on Rue Mufta is indeed cheap, and it is a little far from the main attractions, but still within an acceptable range. Compared to the lower floors, the top floor needs curtains to block the sun, but at least you can enjoy the cool breeze, especially at night, which should be very comfortable.

They thought they had found a "bargain", but never thought about why they had found a "bargain" or why this "bargain" existed. They just thought that if they paid half a day later, they would never be able to find such a room again.

However, every sou and every centime in the rent has its reason for existence, and often only by actually living there can you understand the reason.

In the eyes of local people, Mufta Street is a "stinking ditch".

The old apartments here were not connected to the sewers, and there were several septic tanks on both sides of the street. The feces from the toilets would be flushed into the septic tanks, and then they would be pumped away every night by horse-drawn manure carts.

No matter how pleasant the weather in Paris is, in the summer, the indoor temperature will still soar to 40 degrees with the windows closed, and the stench will drift into your nose from time to time when the windows are opened. This situation will only be worse at night. The sound of sewage pumping is incessant, and the stench of stirring is even more depressing.

The contract has been signed, the rent has been paid, and it is too late to regret.

Fortunately, for the two who need to go to a cafe to spend time every day, there are other options during the day.

Early in the morning of the 30th, when the rolling wheels slowly drove the manure cart away from the street, the two left the rental house in the rain. Just cross Rue Mouffetard, enter the square, turn left into Boulevard Saint-Germain, bypass the Cluny Museum, and you will encounter a very good cafe there.

It was a cozy and pleasant café, warm, clean, odorless, and the waiters were particularly friendly. They hung their raincoats on the hangers to dry, put their felt hats on the racks, and ordered coffee and milk.

The surgery was once again on the front page of several newspapers, and although the articles were getting longer and more graphic, the stories were still the same old stories. For the two reporters who had covered many of the cases, there was nothing new.

"Why are all the reports about this guy?" Varela changed four or five newspapers in a row. The headlines were different, but the protagonist was always Kavi. "If Kavi is gone, will these French guys stop writing news?"

"It's all because of the explosion." Greg thought it was normal.

"Of course I know it's to divert attention, but it shouldn't be on the headlines of every newspaper, right?" Varela took a copy of La Gaul. "Even a newspaper that deals with aristocratic gossip put him on the headlines. Does it look down on the French aristocracy's bed skills?"

"The Gaul Times is originally tied to the royal family and aristocracy, and Dr. Kavi is also a nobleman. This is quite normal."

"Oh? By the way, isn't that guy writing for the Gauloise?" Varela glanced at the report in the newspaper again. "I thought he wrote this article."

After hearing what Varela said, Greg nodded and said, "I heard him say that last time, but recently he has been digging up information about the Prince of Wales and Venice, and is no longer following the Kawi line."

"This guy is not the same as us. He has a very low bottom line for reporting that kind of news, or even no bottom line at all. Wait!" Varela was full of confusion. Thinking about the other person who came to his door last night, he finally reacted, "How do you know about his current situation? You can't be in contact with him all the time, right?!"

"What are you talking about? Didn't you refuse when we exchanged business cards last time we met?" Greg explained, "I regret not listening to him and spending a little more money to rent a spacious and clean room. If that were the case, I wouldn't have to squeeze into a stinky little apartment with Senior Varela now."

"Hey, you're going too far!!!"

At this time, at the stroke of 8 o'clock, a well-dressed young man walked into the cafe on time. He also took off his wet coat and hat, ordered a cup of coffee, and walked straight to the two of them, pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Mr. Meyer, let's make it short." Varela held the Gaul in his hand and asked Greg to take out the postcard he had given to the two of them last night. He didn't want to waste time. "I specially arranged to meet you this morning. What's the matter?"

[See you tomorrow morning at 8am at Select Cafe, very close to you. It’s a very, very important event, please be there!!! —Mayer]
Mayer was also troubled by this matter. Seeing that the other party was so direct, he didn't know where to start: "I called an express car that took a small road and bumped all the way from the newspaper office. Let me eat something first."

Varela disliked such slow-paced people the most. Whether it was the current conversation or the previous conversation in the cafe opposite the Hôtel-Dieu, Mayer had not left a good impression on him: "You are a journalist, why are you so fussy about things? The carriage brought you here, not you pulling the carriage here, so eat less (the feed will kill you)."

Greg kicked the rest of the words back into his mouth: "Mr. Mayer, let's talk while we eat. There's no rush."

"Alas, it's all because of your Dr. Kavi!"

Varela threw the newspaper away, rolled his eyes, and was unhappy. "Damn! Why is it this guy again? No! Explain clearly, what do you mean by our Doctor Kavi???"

As long as he spoke faster, his Viennese accent would come out. The German mixed with the already unclear French sounded like a thick phlegm stuck in the throat of an old smoker who couldn't cough it out. Others couldn't understand him, and neither could he.

"Don't worry, let me explain slowly."

After two sips of coffee, Mayer thought quickly and sorted out his words before telling the truth: "Yesterday evening, around five or six o'clock, a big political figure came to the newspaper office to see me. Um, you should know the Gabiadini family, right?"

The two were not gossip reporters from the upper class, and they had just arrived in Paris. They had no deep impression of some old nobles with few people, let alone familiarity with them: "I don't know them."

I don’t know him. If you don’t know him, you should be careful when introducing him.

Facing the nobles, especially the nobles who held high positions, Mayer did not dare to act recklessly. He was even more worried that the other party would act recklessly, so he wanted to explain the situation of this family clearly first: "The Gabiadini family has existed for hundreds of years. The title was obtained through wars. Later, there were several marriages, but it was never very successful. It was not until the generation of the father of the current Minister of Economy that he became Napoleon's economic adviser through hard work, and only then did he completely complete the class leap."

Varela was confused and had no idea what this guy was talking about. He interrupted and asked, "Can you get down to business?"

"The truth is, this descendant of an old noble family came to me and paid me on the spot in the hope that I could help him write an article." Meyer took out two 2-franc notes from his pocket. "What about the content?"

At this point, he paused at an inopportune moment, seemingly to make way for the breakfast sandwich brought by the waiter, but in fact, he was giving himself time to think: "The content is actually an apology letter."

This is exactly what Varela had been waiting for: "Apology letter? Who apologizes to whom?"

Since they were targeting Kawi and the noble was behind it, Varela and Greg thought that the two parties who apologized should be these two people. But in fact, Danai only gave an apology letter to Holmes, mainly talking about what happened outside the operating theater yesterday afternoon.

"Holmes? Who is Holmes?"

"An American student who came to study in Paris."

"The Minister of Economic Affairs apologized to American students? What does this have to do with Kawi?"

"He participated in Dr. Kavi's surgery, so he should be considered half of his student."

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"I see."

"I also felt it was abnormal when I saw it. No, it was very abnormal!" Mayer handed the letter over. "But after all, it was an errand sent by the nobles. It doesn't seem to be a big deal. I have no right to refuse, let alone ask questions."

The "apology" and "sincerity" in the apology letter easily overflowed from the paper and went straight into the eyes of the two people. Greg had just joined the newspaper not long ago and was still a newcomer. He had never seen such a sarcastic tone: "This, this is not a normal apology. Saying sorry everywhere and bringing up Kavi everywhere."

Varela, who was standing by, saw the value of Mayer's visit and asked, "When will this letter be published?"

"It should have been published this morning along with other reports, but I postponed it on the grounds of typesetting." Mayer looked at the newspapers beside them and said, "Unless it's a big news, Le Gaulois doesn't have the habit of printing supplements at night, so it should be delayed until tomorrow morning."

Varela was much more experienced in dealing with this kind of thing than Greg: "It's impossible that he only found you. If it's not in the newspaper this morning, it might be in other newspapers in the evening. It seems that we have to get there first."

"Time is a bit tight, and I can't find Dr. Kavi for now, so I want to find you guys for help first." Mayer stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. "Of course, I also hope you can remind him not to be angered by this letter. It's best to deal with it calmly. Then."

"Then?"

Mayer smiled sheepishly and revealed his real purpose: "I just want to make my position clear. I am just a nobody with no ability to resist. If he sees this letter or other similar letters and reports in the newspaper, please don't say that I am targeting him."

Long before Danai was even thinking about the whole revenge plan, Hott had already thought of a way to strike back. He did not have the roundabout way of the Minister of Economy, and his method was straightforward, going directly to the palace to find Na San.

It's not that he wants to use the third person to seek justice. Holt hopes more than anyone else that a big thing will be reduced to a small one, and a small thing will be eliminated. It would be best if nothing happened. Moreover, after just experiencing the bombing, creating such a childish dispute now would only embarrass Paris.

But if the other party really can't suppress the little flame in his heart and wants to secretly plot some little conspiracy, Holt hopes to extinguish it in the fastest and most effective way.

Hott only held a sinecure and was not a government official. His sudden appearance in the palace at the beginning of the dinner surprised Na San.

Na Sanyi initially thought that something went wrong with the operation and urgently summoned him. Later, he learned that Holt was here to announce the good news: "I didn't expect it to be successful. Craniotomy should be the most difficult type of surgery nowadays, right?"

"No doubt about it." Hott didn't even bring the report, but just stood in the study. "In fact, as long as Kavi is interested in or is willing to show it to all surgeons in person, it is the top-notch surgery, which is his motivation for work. I agreed to come to Paris on the one hand because of Franz's idea, and on the other hand, he also had to agree."

Na San kept nodding his head, but sighed: "This young man is a little too perfect."

"Your Majesty, I came to see you specially to announce the good news." Holt asked with a smile, "The surgery schedule promised to Dr. Kavi was scheduled after the World Expo, but no specific date was set."

"Well, there is indeed no date set. What's the matter?"

"I think it would be a good idea to take advantage of this opportunity and set a date as soon as possible," Holt suggested. "On the one hand, it demonstrates Dr. Kavi's ability, and on the other hand, it highlights your courage to face the surgical operation."

After listening to him, Na San finally understood what he meant: "You mean to put it in the newspaper?"

In addition to his dislike for the emperor, the emperor's mood swings were also an important reason why Hort was unwilling to get involved in politics. Just a simple rhetorical question put a lot of pressure on Hort. If it weren't for Kavi, he might have backed out and returned home: "Yes, that's right! Your courage must be shown to the world and all the French people."

Na San didn't expect him to answer so straightforwardly: "You won't let me lie on the operating table of the Palace Hospital as well."

"You are joking. That is of course impossible."

"So what does Kawi mean?"

"Ah?" Hott was unable to react for a moment, "Your Majesty, Kavi is just a doctor. It is the patient's decision whether or not to lie on the operating table. The main reason why so many people are willing is because Kavi waived their surgery fees."

Na San raised his hand to interrupt him: "Every time I heard that his surgery was successful, there were moments when I really wanted to lie in front of him, in front of all the surgeons who were willing to watch the surgical skills being refined, and feel the art under the theater's candlestick chandeliers."

After hearing this, Holt was a little excited: "Really?"

"No, that moment has passed now."