Chapter 1689 - 1595: Jane’s Scholarship

Chapter 1689: Chapter 1595: Jane’s Scholarship

North Suburb of Paris.

Jane stepped out of the pale‑grey boarding house, and before leaving, cast one last reluctant look back inside.

The industrial‑style composite‑board wardrobe, the copper faucet gleaming with golden light, and the gas lamp under its glass shade made the place feel like something from the future.

Though a little unwilling to part, Jane still forced herself to shut the door firmly.

If she managed to get into the second round of interviews later, then this room would be her "home" for the next three and a half years; she would have plenty of time to slowly savor everything here.

But if her name wasn’t on the interview list, she would have to return to Bath at once—she no longer had the money to stay on in France—and this place would have nothing to do with her anymore, so what was the point of clinging to it?

The sun had not fully risen, yet the gas street lamps on both sides of the road were already extinguished, leaving the street somewhat dim; but she happily drew in a deep breath of the faintly chilly morning air, immersed in the hazy, untrammeled freedom.

Sorbonne Road was still in the southeast of Paris; she wanted to catch the announcement the moment it was posted, so she had to set out very early.

If she were at home, her father would never allow her to go out alone when the sky wasn’t properly light yet.

At a nearby street corner, two policemen in neat uniforms walked past, one of them carrying a riot fork on his back, which filled Jane with a sense of security.

Before coming, she had already heard that Paris had the best public order in all of Europe—that was maintained by policemen personally trained by their Crown Prince.

A low "woo—" sounded from behind; before she had time to turn, a black steam tramcar roared past her side, the wind it raised whipping her skirt into violent trembling and startling a cry from her.

A few pedestrians farther away turned to look in her direction, seemingly with a hint of amusement.

The two policemen also glanced over and waved: "Madam, please keep to the side. You’re too close to the tracks."

Only then did Jane notice that all the pedestrians here seemed to be intentionally keeping away from the iron rails embedded in the ground.

Her cheeks flushed; she hurried over to walk close along the wall before she dared continue forward.

The "woo—" sounded again from afar; she glanced at the steam tramcar almost vanishing from sight and swallowed enviously.

If she could ride that thing, it would only take a dozen minutes to reach Sorbonne Road. But right now she didn’t dare spend money on a ride, or she might not even be able to afford the boat ticket back to England.

"Once I get the scholarship, I’m definitely going to ride one of those," she muttered under her breath, clenching her fist.

By the time she reached the Latin Quarter, daylight had fully broken, and the street was much livelier than before.

A sweet aroma slipped into Jane’s nose, making her turn her head almost involuntarily, and she saw beside the road a wheeled "Little Wooden House" with a sign propped up: Bread 2 sous, with jam 4 sous... Hot cocoa 3 sous, milk 1 sous 6 Danny, mashed potatoes 2 sous, sausage 4 sous...

Passersby kept gathering, buying all sorts of food from the "Little Wooden House," then eating at the small wooden tables flanking it.

This didn’t seem... very genteel. Jane was just about to frown when she immediately broke into a smile: "This is what fashion and freedom look like."

She strode up to the "Little Wooden House," gritted her teeth, and bought a piece of bread and a cup of milk. It was quite a bit more expensive than the breakfasts she’d had these past few days, but for this special atmosphere, it felt worth the price.

However, the instant she tasted the milk, her eyes flew wide open.

Her lips and teeth were awash with sweetness—that was cane sugar!

Milk this cheap, and it was actually this sweet!

She couldn’t be bothered to sit; she tipped the entire cup straight into her stomach, then licked her lips, still unsatisfied.

The amount of cane sugar in that one cup of milk was almost enough for an entire day back in Bath.

The owner of the breakfast stall watched the pretty young lady smack her lips over the wooden cup and smiled: "Miss, if you don’t mind, I can give you another cup on the house."

"Oh, no, thank you, that won’t be necessary." Jane hurriedly handed the cup back to the owner and ducked her head, "escaping" toward the University.

What she hadn’t expected was that the bread was sweet as well.

She suddenly felt a little moved—bread for 2 sous, and they even put cane sugar in it. To think the cakes in London had already started using maple syrup.

Paris was simply heaven...

Very soon, Jane rounded the Pantheon, and the round roof of Lycée Louis le Grand came into view.

She suddenly grew a bit nervous and glanced down at her long skirt.

Though she’d heard the University of Paris allowed women to enroll, it was still her first time going to such an occasion without changing into men’s clothes.

Not until she reached the Academy’s gate and saw two young girls passing by, talking softly together, did she relax a little.

She knew that the area from Sorbonne Road to Saint‑Jacques Road had all been designated as the University of Paris campus; anyone here was either a teacher or a student.

Just then, the crowd around her began turning their heads toward the building in the center of the Academy.

Jane didn’t have a watch, but from the sun’s position she could roughly tell it was close to eight o’clock. That was when the Faculty of Arts would publish the scholarship application results.

She lifted her skirt and hurried toward the towering domed roof.

On the open square outside the Academy’s great hall, two or three hundred people were already gathered, all chattering excitedly, "If I can get the First‑Class Scholarship, I’ll be earning more than my father."

"Stop dreaming, Henry, your marks can’t even reach Third Class."

"My uncle is a friend of Mr. Savien..."

"Have you forgotten? Your exam results this year didn’t meet the bar; you’re not even getting an interview."

"I think Charles has a shot."

"God, his family doesn’t need the money—better give the spot to me."

"I only pray I can get Second Class; then my family won’t have to cover my room and board..."

This was the first time, since the Ministry of Science and Technology Education had set up the scholarship review committee, that the University of Paris was openly publishing application results.

The First‑Class Scholarship was as high as 380 francs per quarter—that was 1,520 francs a year!

And right now even minor clerks at Paris City Hall earned only 55 francs a month, not even half the scholarship.

Even the Second‑Class Scholarship granted 80 francs a quarter, enough to cover a student’s everyday living expenses.

Most importantly, every student had a chance, whether you were Sword Nobles, Robe Nobles, or commoners by birth.

As long as your marks were outstanding enough, you could apply—the credit system had only just been implemented, so for now the scholarship wasn’t yet tied to credits.

After a short while, three school officials came to the great hall entrance and directed servants to paste several large sheets of lists onto the notice board.

Jane squeezed into the crowd as best she could; the students beside her, seeing that she was a girl, only frowned slightly, and some even shifted aside to make room for her.

Very soon, Jane could make out the words on the list; she immediately scanned line by line, tense—and then found her own name right on the second line—

Jane Austin: Classical Literature, Excellent. Rhetoric, Excellent. History, Excellent. Philosophy, Excellent... Application Level, First Class, admitted. Review Result, permitted to proceed to interview.