| "Second Chances" by Christy Chapter 6 Late that evening, everyone was leisurely spending their time gathered around in the parlor. Diana was giving a lecture to Thalia, who was forced to listen because Hugh and Milton, her two-and-three-year-old sons, were asleep on her lap. Across the room, Eric and Luke were chatting over a bottle of wine. Rachel and Pierre were playing games on the floor, and Ulysses silently watched them as he sat next to his wife, who was knitting clothes for her unborn baby. Phoebus sat in front of the fire with his face in a book that he wasn't reading, for his mind was still on Minerva, and also wondering if he really should have told the children about Esmeralda before he told his mother. "Phoebus?" He looked up to see that Annette had taken a seat next to him. "Mother, I'm reading," he said, and returned to the book. "Reading?" said Annette, "You're the first person I've seen who reads with his eyes fixed!" "Oh Mother, I'm ashamed of you," said Phoebus, "I'm twenty-eight years old and you never knew I read with my eyes fixed?" Annette smirked at his remark. "All joking aside," she said, "I want to talk to you about very important issues." "Is this about Minerva?" "No," said Annette, "Now listen to me. I know you're heartbroken about your sister, but you need to move on with your own life. That's why I want to talk to you. You've had a fine career as a soldier." "And that career is over," inturrupted Phoebus, "I was forced into an early retirement, and now your son whom you expected so much from is embarking on a career as an assistant baker!" "You helped to overthrow a corrupted leader, didn't you?" said Annette, "That's certainly enough to bring our family honer in my book!" "The corrupted leader's almost-as-bad little brother took his place," said Phoebus. "That's beside the point," said Annette. "You've had a fine career like your father before you. And now it's time to begin the next chapter of your life." "Thank you for making me feel ten years older than I am," sneered Phoebus. Annette rolled her eyes. "Please try to be serious for once. Your sisters and brother are all married and settled down. I consider a career to be a vital part of one's life, but a family is the cornerstone of everything." "So you're saying...?" "Phoebus, you're near to thirty years of age," continued Annette, "Quite a bit older than your siblings were, but not yet too old. Still, time waits for no one. Phoebus, it's long time to find you a wife." Phoebus put the book down and looked at his mother. "You have no idea how much I've been waiting for you to say that." "Ah," said Annette, "So, have you met a woman who strikes your fancy, or are you just feeling the loneliness of single life?" He smiled. "The former." Annette seemed especially pleased. "You've met someone? Well by all means, tell me about her!! Is she of fine breeding?" He gave an awkward expression. "I was afraid you'd ask that." "What do you mean?" asked Annette. "I don't know if she's of fine breeding or not. I don't know who her parents were. She's an orphan." Annette tried to hide her disappointment. "Oh....well...tell me more about her." "She's everything you could desire," murmured Phoebus, "Intellegent, kind, brave, skillful, athletic, beautiful..." "Yes," said Annette, "But tell me about her." Meanwhile Rachel and Pierre had heard them talking. They crept closer to the fireplace, eager to hear what their grandmother would have to say about the news. "Fine, I see you want cold facts instead of me gushing," said Phoebus. "Her name's Esmeralda - beautiful name, isn't it? I'd guess she's around twenty-five years old. She has this long thick black hair that bounces around her shoulders when she dances. And boy, can she dance! Anyway, she has an annoying little goat who butts away anyone he doesn't like. For a while I was one of them, but he gradually got to know me." "How amusing," said Annette. "Not so amusing when you've got horns running into your rear!" grinned Phoebus. Rachel and Pierre struggled not to laugh. They continued spying as Phoebus proceeded to tell about how Esmeralda saved him from beheading and then from drowning, how she defended Quasimodo at the Festival of Fools, and how she led Quasimodo to freedom, but all the while he avoided saying Esmeralda was a gypsy. "My goodness, I always wondered if those legends about the bell-ringer of Notre Dame were true!" said Annette, "Well, I thought my son had merely led a riot, but now it turns out that he encountered a legend as well!" "Mother, it's no big deal." "I take it, they didn't tell you those legends on the front," said Annette, "Anyway, this is an impressive story, but I have one question. Why was this woman so aggresive with Frollo from the start?" "Who could blame her?" said Phoebus, "He viciously persecuted her people." "Her people?" Annette inquired with a raised brow. Phoebus hesitated. He wasn't sure how his mother felt about gypsies. He seemed to have some sort of memory of her not being too fond of them, but he couldn't remember the details. "She's....a member of a group of travelers," he said carefully. Annette's lip curled. "What kind of a group of travelers?" Phoebus sighed. "No point in beating around the bush. She's a memeber of one of the lowest vagabond groups. The gypsies." Now he excepted Annette to give a disgusted face, or maybe hang her mouth open in shock. What he hadn't expected was for her to scream so loudly that everyone in the room turned around. "Mother!!!!!" Diana exclaimed. "What happened??" shouted Thalia as she tried to hush her now-awake sons. Annette breathed loudly for several long moments. "Phoebus..." she said after she sort of got her composure, "...you can't be serious!" "What's this all about?" asked Ulysses. "My son...." panted Annette, "....my son....he wants to run off with the gypsies!!" Gypsies. Phoebus hadn't heard that word spoken in such a disgusted tone since he heard Frollo say it. "Oh my lord!" Diana exclaimed as she rushed to her mother's side. "Calm yourself, Mother," she said before shooting an angry glare at Phoebus. Phoebus rose from his seat. "Mother, I knew you wouldn't be happy about this," he said, "but there's no need to react so strongly. Yes, she has no money, she's lived off the streets, she belongs to the lowest group in society, but..." "You fool!!!!" interrupted Annette, "This isn't about rank or money! Those people are killers!!!!!" Phoebus gave her a blank look. "Oh my goodness!" said Thalia, "Don't tell me you don't know what she's talking about!" "Did the army brainwash you??" yelled Diana, "Don't you remember who killed your father????" They were criminals, weren't they? Outlaws, right? Phoebus tried to stop a dim memory in the back of his head from surfacing and telling him what kind of outlaws they were. "GYPSIES!!!!!!!!!" Annette screamed, "The GYPSIES killed your father!!!!!" "They sought revenge for percecution by beating the Captain of the Guard to death!!" snarled Diana. A sickening feeling started to overcome Phoebus. He swayed slightly at the thought. At eight years old, the gypsies ment nothing to him. He didn't think about who killed his father then. But now, one of them ment everything to him. By now everyone had rushed over to the fireplace, except Danelle, who told Ulysses she didn't want to get involved in this for fear of hurting the unborn baby, and Rachel and Pierre, who shrank behind a chair. "He was a mere child then," said Thalia, "And a foolish one at that! No wonder he conviniently forgot!" "Phoebus," Annette said, trying to stay calm, "I'm extremely disappointed in you. How could you even think of meddling with those evil ones??" "So you don't care that she saved my life??" glared Phoebus. For a moment Annette was silent. How udderly confusing it was that a member of the group who killed her husband saved her son! This ambivalence might have caused her to think again, had Diana not spoken up. "You wouldn't have needed to be saved if it weren't for her!" growled Diana. "She is still a gypsy!" added Thalia. "Her intentions could not have been pure! The reason she saved you was probably so she could use you for something later on!!!" "Phoebus," Annette said firmly, "I'm offering you a decision. You have a chance to come back to us. Please, my son, do the right thing." The right thing. Phoebus knew what she ment by "the right thing." He also knew what the consequences would be if he didn't do "the right thing." And he certainly couldn't say he wasn't shocked to hear that Esmeralda's people had murdered his father. An unpleasent memory of being tied and gagged with a noose around his neck, moments away from being lynched by the gypsies himself, came into his head. (How glad he was that he didn't tell his mother about that!) But unlike his father, he had a savior. His Esmeralda, who stepped in and stopped the killings. "Mother...." he said, "...please try to understand." "There is nothing to understand," Annette said coldly. "I will have nothing to do with those who murdered my husband." "But Mother..." "Phoebus, listen to me," said Annette, "I don't want to have to dismiss one of my own children. Please, don't turn away from us." The mother and son looked at each other for a long moment, each silently begging the other to understand. But there would be no giving in on either side. "Mother..." Phoebus finally said, his voice in a whisper, "....my heart stands where my heart stands." Annette stared at him with an exasperated expression, unable to believe what she was hearing. "YOU ASS!!!" she suddenly yelled. She lept to her feet and bared her teeth at her son. "MY OWN SON TURNED AGAINST ME!!!!!" She attempted to lunge at Phoebus, but without the aid of her cane, her weak legs could not support her body. With a great thrust she stumbled to the floor, crying out in pain and anguish. "MOTHER!!!!!!!" Diana, Thalia, and Ulysses screamed in unison. Total confusion broke out as they all scrambled to help Annette up. Thalia's little sons were wailing so loudly that they echoed throughout the room, and Thalia was trying to comfort them while at the same time she was struggling to help her mother. Rachel and Pierre were nowhere to be seen. "Insolence!!!!" yelled Diana. "Betrayer!!!!" yelled Thalia. Ulysses said nothing as he helped Annette back into her seat, but he shot an angry look at Phoebus. "You had your chance!!!" Annette hollered, "And you know the consequences!! Your poor father is weeping to see what you have done to us! It pains me to do this, but if you insist on meddling with those gypsies, I can no longer call you my son!!!" Phoebus stared at her in silence. What else could he do when the face of the woman who gave birth to him was now staring at him with hatred? "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!!" Annette screamed. "You may have one more night here, but tomorrow, GET OUT!!!! AND NEVER COME BACK!!! Go off and marry your damned gypsy!!!!!" Phoebus lowered his brows. "Well Merry Christmas to you too.....Annette!!!" he snapped. He turned sharply and stormed upstairs. Phoebus sat on the edge of his bed in total darkness. He hadn't bothered to light a fire or even a candle, and out the window thick clouds covered the moon. He didn't care. What good would light do when he felt such darkness in his heart? He rose and pulled the covers down, like he was about to climb into bed, then suddenly tears overcame him and he collapsed across the bed. Tears flowed from his eyes for several long moments, without him doing a thing to stop them. At last the angony exhausted him and drove him into a deep, troubled sleep. Annette carried a candle down the long, dark hallway to her bedroom. She certainly had no intention of stopping at one of her guest rooms on the way; indeed, she wanted to stay as far away from that door as possible, but a soft moan caught her ears from inside the room. The sound seemed to call out to her and steer her feet toward the door. She unconsciously opened the door and stepped inside. The room was pitch-black dark, and gravely silent. The only light came from her one tiny candle, and the only sounds were her footsteps and her cane scraping across the floor. No wait, those weren't the only sounds. As Annette moved closer to the bed, she thought she caught the sound of someone breathing. She took another step and yes: she could easily detect the slow, even breathing of a sleeping person. A shadowy figure lay slumped across the bed. There was no question in Annette's mind as to who the figure was, but still she hesitated to look. She would probably rather see the face of a goblin than the face of the one who betrayed her. She might have turned away now if the figure hadn't moaned again. Once more did she lose voluntary control of her body to the sound of that voice. By reflex action, she shined her candle over the figure. Yes, it was Phoebus, streched lenghwise across the bed, sound asleep. He was fully dressed, but other than that he had no means of warmth or comfort, neither physically nor emotionally. The sight of him shivering caused Annette to take pity on him. No matter what they might have done, no one deserves to sleep coverless on such a cold night. She placed her candle on the nightstand and carefully removed his shoes. Then she took a pillow and gently slid it under his head so he'd have something to rest on. He groaned slightly, almost causing her to whisper words of comfort to him. But she remained silent as she wrapped the covers around her son, in the same manner as she once tucked in her little boy so long ago. Annette sat down on the edge of the bed and gazed down at her son's face glowing in the candlelight. Even with his closed eyes, his expression was very clear. The tough army captain now looked so vunerable, so childlike, so in need of comfort. Comfort. Something Annette could no longer offer him. She reached out to touch his cheek, and her hand grew wet with his tears. The feeling of his tears caused Annette to struggle to hold back her tears. Annette had no idea how many hours she was spending sitting there watching Phoebus sleep, but she could not bring herself to move. Memories kept dancing around in her head. Memories of a tiny infant drinking from her breast. Memories of cuddling a toddler in her lap. Memories of chasing after a misbehaving five-year-old. Memories of a child being taken away from her. Memories of being joyously reunited with a grown man. She gazed down at Phoebus. "This is your son," an internal voice kept saying. "This is your SON!!!!!!" Tears filled up Annette's eyes as she gazed at her son who had betrayed her. Another image came into her head: the image of her beloved husband being attacked and killed by the gypsies. "Oh, my Pierre," she whispered, "I will not let these emotions turn me away from you. I will not mingle with those who took you away from me!!!!" She gave her son one last glance, fearing that if she looked at him much longer she would let this sorrow interfere with what had to be done. It took every bit of willpower Annette had to force herself to rise from the bed and head toward the door. As she turned the knob, she heard Phoebus moan yet again, still calling out to her for comfort. She covered her ears and left the room, leaving her son alone. The next morning, Phoebus was awakened by the sound of footsteps. He opened his eyes to find a maid entering the room, carrying a tray. "Good morning, monsuier," she said as she placed the tray on a table. "Did you sleep well? I brought you some breakfast." He found her cheery attitude quite annoying after the night before. He yawned and pulled the covers over his head in a vain attempt to drown out her humming. "Cold night, was it?" said the maid. "It must have been, since you slept with all your clothes on!" "Go away," Phoebus muttered from under the covers, but it occured to him that he did indeed have all his clothes on, except for his shoes. Instantly he was reminded of last night's agony alone in the dark. Then he wondered why he was covered, for he thought he remembered falling asleep across the bed. "What were you thinking last night: sleeping without covers??" said the maid. "Good thing the mistress covered you, or else you might have frozen!" "Just like her," Phoebus mumbled. "Just like her to say 'You're banned from the family and I'll hate you forever, but here are some blankets so you don't freeze to death!'" He got out of bed and made his way toward the table. "I assume this tray means I'm banned from breakfast too?" "Eh, yes," said the maid, "and the mistress would like you to leave as soon as possible." "Is today soon enough for her?" "Sooner than that would be better," said the maid. "Well she'll have to settle for today." "Please, don't take it too personally," said the maid, "She also wants all her guest rooms to be redecorated. New curtains, new tablecloths, even the sheets off the beds are being replaced. With you leaving today, I can get this room stripped before Christmas." "Well good going for you," sneered Phoebus. He looked over at the bed with it's bright satin sheets. "They look like they're in perfectly good condition. Why on earth does she want to get rid of the sheets?" "So she can bring in new ones," said the maid, "I swear I'll never understand her." "What are you going to do with the old sheets?" "I haven't the foggiest idea," said the maid. "Maybe I'll give them to someone who could find a use for them." As Phoebus looked at the bright satin sheets, an idea came into his head. "So...do you know of anyone who could find a use for those sheets?" "No, no one," said the maid. He grinned slightly. "Well...what would you say if I told you I could find a use for those sheets?" "Uh, I think I'd say 'Please do so! Take them out of my hands!'" Phoebus turned around and faced the maid, beginning to feel a bit more like his old self. "I think I can find a use for those old sheets!" Phoebus carried his bags into the parlor for one last look at the only room he had seen on his previous visit to his mother's house. The morning had been spent alone, packing for the trip home. Annette had refused to say goodbye. He walked over to the fireplace for a final glance at the beloved family portrait. The man, killed by gypsies. The woman, hardened from it. The baby girl, dead. The baby boy, banished. He wondered if Annette would try to have the baby boy painted out, now that he was no longed a member of the family. He gazed up at the man holding the baby. This was his father, but he'd never felt any real inner connection. No connection at all. The man who had been murdered when he was two years old was a mere story. In total honesty, he couldn't even comprehend having a father. Yet this total stranger had caused his whole family to turn against him. "Forgive me, Father," he whispered. The family Bible sat on the mantle underneeth the portrait. For some reason Phoebus felt an urge to take the Bible and start flipping through the pages (hoping he wouldn't run into the part about "Honer thy father and thy mother.") He stopped at the inside front cover, where his father had written the names and birthdates of all the children. He gazed at his own name in his father's handwriting. Phoebus de Chateaupers', born 10 August, 1454. Underneeth his name, the same handwriting had written down his sister's name. Minerva de Chateaupers', born 10 August, 1454. Then something had changed since he last saw it. Something had been inserted directly under Minerva's name, in a different handwriting. Died, December 1472. He promptly shut the Bible and placed it back on the mantle. "So..you're leaving today?" He turned around to find Ulysses standing in the doorway. "Yes," he said, "I'll be out of your hair soon." "Well....could you spare a few minutes before you go?" asked Ulysses, "I'd like to talk to you." Phoebus eyed his little brother. "Sure, I'm in no hurry to leave this place forever." "Thank you," said Ulysses as he entered the room. He took a long stare at his older brother. "Forgive me," he said, "but I hardly remember you." "Well, you were only five when I left," said Phoebus. "Yes," said Ulysses, "I remember Minerva, though. Quite a character she was." "Please don't talk about her," said Phoebus, "The thought of her sneering at me is too much." "But I have to," said Ulysses, "There's something about her I think you should know. Mother didn't want you to know for your own good, but now I think she doesn't care what happens to you." Phoebus sighed. "All right, what is it?" "I don't think Minerva's dead." Phoebus stopped short, his eyes widening. "Wha...what did you say?" "I don't think Minerva's dead," said Ulysses. He paused for a moment. "Well...maybe she is dead...I don't know. Or maybe she's alive....that's possible too. But it wasn't a fever, I know that. Mother told you it was a fever so you wouldn't go looking for her. But it wasn't a fever. We don't know what happened to her. She just disappeared. Maybe she was kidnapped or she ran away or something. But it wasn't a fever." Phoebus stared at him. "Are you telling the truth?" "Yes," said Ulysses, "I think you have a right to know. Maybe...maybe if she's still alive, maybe someday you'll meet again." "Wishful thinking," said Phoebus, "But you're right, I should know if there's a chance that she's still alive." He turned around and stared up at the portrait. Ulysses also looked at the portrait. "One thing I do remember," he said, "I would always ask why I wasn't in the picture, and you and Minerva would always laugh and say 'You weren't born yet!'" "Well look at us: we were barely born then ourselves!" said Phoebus, pointing at the infants in the portrait. "Such is the way of children: to brag about something they don't remember," said Ulysses. He cleared his throat. "Father died before I was born, and when you were barely born. Do you remember him?" Phoebus shook his head. "No, not at all. I don't even dream about him." "So we both feel the same thing for our father," said Ulysses. "Nothing." "Nothing," Phoebus repeated. "When I didn't even remember who killed him, that just goes to show how loyal I am." "I've never met any gypsies," said Ulysses, "I don't know what they're like. I only know that they tell fortunes and dance and perform heathen arts. And they killed Father, of course." He looked at his brother. "So maybe I'm not fit to judge them. I'm not sure how I feel about this, but I wish you the best of luck." "Thank you," said Phoebus. Ulysses smiled at him. "Uncle Phoebus?" Both men turned around to find Rachel standing in the doorway with a worried expression. She walked up to Phoebus and looked up at him. "Are you leaving?" "Yes," said Phoebus, "and I'm probably never coming back." "So I'll never see you again?" said Rachel. Phoebus gazed down at his niece. "Well, why would you want to?" he said. "I've betrayed everyone, remember? I'm collaberating with evil gypsies!" Rachel sighed. "I thought Gramma would be happy to hear about Esmeralda. She didn't kill my grandfather. Why couldn't Gramma see that?" "Because your Gramma's been badly hurt," said Phoebus, "Last night I opened up an old wound of hers. I can't say I don't understand why she did this." "Esmeralda sounds nice," said Rachel. "I'd like to meet her, escpecially now that she's going to be my aunt." "You'd like her," said Phoebus. "I will meet her someday," Rachel promised to herself. "Maybe I'll even meet Quasimodo. I'm really interested in him!" She paused for a moment. "Will you be all right without inheritance or family support?" Phoebus smiled at her. "Don't worry about me. Your uncle's been through the wars: he can handle anything that comes his way!" Rachel laughed. Phoebus patted the girl on the head. "Take care of yourself, young lady," he said, "Grow up to be a better person than your grandmother." Rachel hugged her uncle. "Goodbye," she whispered. "Come on, Achilles," Phoebus said as he mounted onto his horse, "Let's go home." As Achilles galloped away, Phoebus never once looked back at his mother's house. Even with an inheritance cut off, a dead and/or missing twin sister, and a family turned against him, his eyes were pointed straight ahead. If his years as a soldier had taught him anything, it was how to move on from setbacks. "Achilles, get me home as fast as you can," said Phoebus. "A new life is waiting for us in Paris." Now the only question that remained was whether or not the new life would say yes. It was Christmas Eve, and all the gypsies were celebrating yet again. Another bonfire was lit, the musicians played joyously, and the dancers whirled around in bliss. Clopin had a puppet wagon set up close to the fire, where he was giving Christmas-themed puppet shows to the children who gathered around. In the group of dancers, no one had more energy than Esmeralda. She moved with even more exhubrance than she had on the previous celebration, with her black hair bouncing around her shoulders, her cape blowing in the wind around her, and her tamborine calling out to celebrate this joyous night. The passerby gave generous amounts into her hat, again safely guarded by her little goat. Behind the crowd of people, one man's heart was beating more wildly than the drums played by the gypsies. Phoebus took one deep breath after another in an attempt to calm himself. He was so glad the other spectators blocked his view of the dancers: otherwise he might not be able to contain himself. After a few moments, he elbowed his way through the crowd to the puppet wagon to see the Gypsy King. "Oh my, look!" Clopin made a man puppet say, "The ex Captain of the Guard is here!" "Oh no," he made a woman puppet say, "Could this be another surprise attack?" "If it is, don't worry, my love!" he made the man puppet say, "We've got the gallows ready for unwanted visitors!" "Oh, very funny," said Phoebus, "That was so funny I forgot to laugh. Listen Clopin, I wish to see Esmeralda." "What did the ex Captain just say?" said the woman puppet. "He wants to see Esmeralda," said the man puppet. "Oh, but doesn't he know she's busy entertaining for our celebration?" said the woman puppet. "I don't know," said the man puppet, "I'll go ask him!" Clopin stuck the man puppet in Phoebus's face. "Don't you know Esmeralda is busy entertaining for our celebration? Go away, you silly soldier!" "That's ex silly soldier to you!" said Phoebus, "Now Clopin, I'm serious, I want to see Esmeralda!" "He won't go away!" said the man puppet. "Well why don't you hit him with something?" said the woman puppet. "Good idea!" said the man puppet. Clopin again stuck the man puppet in Phoebus's face, "You hear me? Go away or I will have to get rough!" "I WILL NOT TALK TO YOUR SILLY PUPPETS!!!!" shouted Phoebus. "Oh, the Captain is getting angry!" said the man puppet. "Looks like we'll have to drive him out the hard way!" said the woman puppet. "I'll go get the big stick!!" "Oooh, now things are going to get exciting!" said the man puppet. The children in the audience were giggling loudly and had just started cheering the puppets on, but fortunatly for Phoebus, Esmeralda had heard the commotion and had left the group of dancers to investigate. "What on earth is going on??" she exclaimed, "Phoebus? What are you doing back here?" "It's a long story," said Phoebus. "He's planning another attack on our people!!" Clopin made the woman puppet say. "Well don't worry," said Esmeralda, grinning at the puppet. "This man isn't a spy: he's our friend!" "Why didn't he say so?" said the man puppet. "Probably because you didn't give him the chance," said Esmeralda. "Ah, well if Esmeralda says it, it must be so!" said the woman puppet, "Welcome to our Christmas celebration, Captain!" Phoebus rolled his eyes. Esmeralda turned to face him. "You do what you have to to handle our King," she grinned. "How amusing," said Phoebus. He turned to Clopin. "Well, now that the puppet show's over, could Esmeralda and I have permission to take leave? I have something I want to discuss with her." Clopin faced Phoebus in the eye. "Why? What's so important that it can't wait until after the celebration??" "Something intimate," said Phoebus. "Phoebus!" said Esmeralda with a glare. "Intimate, is it?" said Clopin. "Well what does Esmeralda have to say about it?" Esmeralda looked at Phoebus, then at Clopin. "I say....all right. We have something to discuss." Clopin growled. "Well then, leave already!!" "Look, I'm sorry..." Esmeralda began. "I said to LEAVE!!" demanded Clopin. Esmeralda shrugged and turned to Phoebus. "Come on, let's do as he says. Don't worry: he'll get over it." She took his hand and led him away. "We should probably go to a more sutable setting for this, anyway." Some say the streets of Paris on Christmas Eve is the most beautiful atmosphere known to the world. Candlelights glowed in every window, giving an illuminated appearance to the greenery that hung above them. Carolers could be heard around every corner, providing a heavenly background to the moonlight casting a glow on the snowy ground, making it appear like a fairyland. Side by side, Esmeralda and Phoebus walked through this atmosphere in uneasy silence. The gypsy was pretty sure she knew what was on Phoebus's mind: what was causing his unusual silence, his shifting glances, and the beads of sweat on his head in December. She tried to start conversation. "Phoebus..." she said, "...when did you get back to Paris?" "Yesterday," said Phoebus. "I got in late last night." "Oh..." said Esmeralda, "...but I thought you were staying until the New Year." "I'm unable to," Phoebus said quickly, "I....wore out my welcome, you might say." "Oh...." Esmeralda said again, then after a few moments, she turned around and looked at Phoebus. "You told her, didn't you?" "What?" "You told your mother about me, didn't you?" said Esmeralda, "That was the important thing you wanted to discuss with her, wasn't it? And she was horrified, wasn't she? She couldn't stand the thought of her son being matched with a wretched street performer, could she? So she banished you from the family, didn't she?" Phoebus looked at her in amazment. "Gypsies have a sixth sense, don't they?" "No, just a knowledge of human nature," said Esmeralda, "I'm sorry." "It's all right." "No, I mean I'm sorry I caused you to first be dismissed of your rank and then be shunned by your own mother." "You have no need to be sorry for entering my life!" Phoebus said firmly. "It's not your fault that people are blind." Esmeralda might have said something had the great Notre Dame cathedral not been standing before them. She took his hand and eagerly led him through the tall wooden doors. This was the right setting. The two stood facing each other among the brightly glowing candles in Notre Dame's hall - the same place where they had fought so many months ago. At that time neither of them would have thought that in less than a year they would be standing here again - but with quite a different purpose. "Okay," Esmeralda said, taking a deep breath, "we're here in Notre Dame on Christmas Eve with candles all around us and carols in the background. The perfect atmosphere. Now, what do you wish to tell me?" Phoebus swallowed hard. There was no turning back now. This was the moment he had left his family behind for. All he could do now was pray that she wouldn't say no, and that he wouldn't faint. Seeing his nervousness, Esmeralda took his hand and smiled warmly. "You don't have to worry," she said, "You've already proven your worth to me, so you don't need to give any speeches." A smile crept across Phoebus's face. He breathed in deeply, then he dropped to one trembling knee and planted a kiss on her hand. "Esmeralda...." he whispered, "...will you marry me?" Up above, a solitary figure silently witnessed the happy scene from the balcony. He couldn't hear the words they were saying to each other, nor could he see the tears of joy streaming down both their faces. He didn't need to. He knew what was happening. For months had he figured this would happen sooner or later, and he thought he had prepared himself for it. But to see it become a reality, and know Esmeralda and Phoebus truely belonged to each other now....it hurt almost more than when he had first found out about their feelings. Quasimodo turned around and ran up to the bell tower to weep. Go to Chapter 7 Back to Fanfic Back to Index |