Author's Note: I'm honestly embarrassed even to be writing an Author's Note, after such a long delay...what can I say? I'm sure everyone's forgotten all about this story by now! I'm really sorry to have taken so long. This past year was very eventful for my family, and fanfiction got put on the backburner for a while. I'm going to try to update more regularly, but I'm not going to make any promises because they always seem to get broken! What I CAN promise is that I AM totally committed to this story, and even if it sometimes takes a while to update, please know that I have NOT abandoned it and it WILL get finished!

Now, I have something lovely to show you: a truly stunning illustration for this story, done by my uber-talented friend Alex:

http: // i42 . tinypic . com/2vafad0 .jpg (but without the spaces)

Isn't that gorgeous? It doesn't represent any specific chapter; it's just a typical outing for the Avenants. I'm SO thrilled with it! (She has a DA gallery under the name Madam-Marla, btw; this particular picture isn't on there, because she generally doesn't do Disney stuff, but she does have a lot of lovely original pieces there!)

And now, the chapter! It has a bit of wrapping-up of the Paige/Nicolas subplot from last chapter; a teaser about Bunny and Suzette; and then the rest is all about Gaston, Belle and family. (No prince this time, sorry! This chapter was already WAY too long! But I'll try to get him in soon!)

o o o o o o o o

The months passed. Winter turned into spring, and then into summer. In June, Nicolas and Paige were married. The proud papas, Monsieur Vitrier and Rev. Grognon, beamed delightedly, congratulated each other on their admirable offspring, commiserated over how quickly children grew up, and raised many a toast to the happy couple.

Mme. Grognon sat through the whole ceremony with gritted teeth, certain that her daughter was making a terrible mistake. Before the wedding, the normally mild-mannered Rev. Grognon had taken her aside and made it absolutely clear that she was not to do or say anything to mar the couple’s joyous day. It was so unlike her husband to speak forcefully to her that on the rare occasions he did, she knew he meant it. But it took a supreme effort for her not to cry out when he asked from the pulpit if there were any reason why this couple should not be wed. He actually flashed her a warning look at that moment, knowing her feelings all too well.

Of course a daughter’s marriage was a blessing and something to celebrate...but any happiness Mme. Grognon felt was undermined by the gloomy certainty that the groom was highly untrustworthy and not at all deserving of her precious child. After the ceremony, she managed to graciously accept the guests’ congratulations, while muttering darkly to herself that only time would tell.

Then Mme. Grognon heard pounding footsteps. Turning, she was startled to see Nicolas running straight toward her. For one terrifying second, she thought her new son-in-law was actually about to mow her down.

What he did was almost worse: he threw his arms around her and gave her a huge bear hug, lifting her right off her feet and squeezing her so tightly the breath went right out of her. She stiffened, utterly appalled at the intimate contact. Did the boy have NO sense of decorum at all?

“Thanks so much for bringing Paige into the world!” he shouted happily in her ear, making her wince. He was always so loud. “She’s wonderful! And I promise you, I will devote every single day of my life to making her happy!”

Mme. Grognon gingerly detached herself from his enthusiastic embrace. “Yes, well, that’s very nice,” she said, trying to be polite while subtly moving away. But he didn’t take the hint and followed after her, assuring her over and over that Paige would be happy. He had obviously never heard of the phrase “Silence is golden.” Mme. Grognon was getting a headache just listening to him. The boy never stops talking! How will Paige stand it? she thought. I must get her some headache remedy to keep in the house...or perhaps a pair of earplugs...

At that moment, the bride herself came up to them. She beamed at seeing her husband and mother in conversation. “I’m so glad to see you two getting along!” she said happily. “Mother, I know this wasn’t what you originally wanted, but thank you so much for helping with the wedding and being here for me. It means a lot to me.”

Mme. Grognon softened a bit. “Well, I am your mother – it’s only my duty,” she said. “And I must say, my dear, you look radiant.”

Paige blushed. “Thank you, Mother. I’m very happy.”

Yes, the wedding day is always happy...it’s the years to FOLLOW that test your endurance, Mme. Grognon thought grimly, but she bit her tongue to keep from saying the words aloud, and kept a phony smile pasted on all day until her face ached. But oh, it was a trial!

Mme. Grognon was not the only villager who was less than pleased about the wedding. In the back of the church, Monsieur Meunier was standing in a dark corner, wishing he were anywhere else but here. He’d seriously considered not coming at all, but since this was the wedding of the town minister’s daughter, the whole village was here. If he alone were absent, people would have noticed, and that would have caused “talk.” Monsieur Meuner hated “talk.”

Nearby he heard three women chattering about the wedding…well, two of them were chattering. The third was the village seamstress, Helene Seul, a widow in her mid-30s.

One of the other women turned to her. “You’re awfully quiet, Helene. Don’t you have anything to say about the couple?”

Helene sighed. “I only wish them to have a long and happy life, and that at the end, they leave this world together.”

The other two went back to their chattering and gossip. Helene moved away from them toward the back wall. Monsieur Meunier was started to realizing that she was weeping. No one else noticed. Uncertain what to do, he awkwardly held out his handkerchief to her.

She took it gratefully. “Oh, thank you, Monsieur Meunier. Please forgive me; I’m not usually like this. It’s just that weddings remind me of my own wedding day. Daniel and I were so happy…but he was taken from me far too soon. I look at this young couple, just starting out, and all I can think is that I hope neither of them learns the sorrow of being left alone.” She wiped her eyes.

“I understand,” Monsieur Meunier commiserated. “My Marianne has been gone these past two years as well.”

Helene nodded. “A lovely woman, Marianne was. A terrible loss.” She sighed. “But that’s how it goes. God joins a man and woman together, then tears them asunder. And we are left behind: cooking meals for one, sitting alone of an evening…It’s hard sometimes, isn’t it, monsieur?”

“It is that,” Monsieur Meunier agreed, thinking of his cold empty house.

“My friends all tell me to remarry, but how can I?” Helene went on. “No man wants a bride of 34…not when he can have his pick of all the fresh young girls looking for husbands.”

Monsieur Meunier glanced at her sharply, wondering if she knew of his own humiliating mistake over a young girl. But he could see from her face that she didn’t. She was thinking only of her own situation – condemned to a life alone, with no prospect of relieving that loneliness.

She sighed again and returned his handkerchief. “Thank you for being kind enough to listen to my woes. I’ll be heading home now. This is a celebration, and I don’t want to mar anyone’s happy mood. Good day, monsieur.”

Monsieur Meunier watched her walk to the door. Then, impulsively, he said “Madame Seul?” She turned around. He nervously cleared his throat, hoping fervently that he wasn’t making another mistake. “I’m-I’m heading in that direction myself…Perhaps I could walk with you.”

Helene brightened visibly. “That would be very nice! And if you’d like to stop in for a moment, I could offer you some blueberry pie – I baked it just yesterday.”

“I’d like that very much,” Monsieur Meunier said, and accompanied her out the door.

O o o o o o o

Over at the Avenant house, the spring had brought many birthdays. Alain was now 15, Georges 12, and Mimi 10. Lili would turn six in September.

“I wish MY birthday would come already!” Lili complained one day in late July. “It’s taking so long!”

Belle smiled. “It will come soon enough, don’t worry,” she reassured her daughter. “Besides, before your birthday comes, we have something else fun to look forward to: our trip to Paris! And maybe we can even buy you a special birthday present while we’re there!”

“Yay!” said Lili, jumping around.

At that very moment, over at the gunsmith’s house, Bunny was braiding her daughter’s hair, while her mind worked as quickly as her fingers. Bunny’s scheming had not taken the summer off. As she expertly twisted Suzette’s shining golden plaits, she mused, “You know...I think the time might be right to put the next phase of our Alain plan into action.”

Suzette’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Bunny nodded, smiling. “Yes. It is time to invite him to dinner!” she proclaimed triumphantly

Suzette clapped her hands in delight. “And when he comes, then can I finally talk to him?” Over the last six months, Suzette had seen Alain around the village a number of times, and the sight of him always stopped her in her tracks. He seemed to grow more handsome every day! But then he’d notice her, and per her mother’s instructions, she had to quickly ignore him and pretend to be flirting with another boy, or chatting away with her friends. Her mother said that she HAD to play hard to get if she ever wanted to get Alain. But, oh, it was torture!

“Yes. You can talk to him when he comes to dinner,” her mother promised. “But I’ll have to coach you first.”

Suzette nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes, please!” I’m so lucky to have a mama who knows so much about men! she thought. If I had to do this on my own, I’m sure I would mess it up. But with Mama guiding me, Alain will HAVE to fall in love with me!

At the dinner table that night, Bunny laid her napkin on her lap with a ladylike flourish. “So...how is Alain getting on?” she casually asked her husband. “He’s been working for you nearly a year now. Is he a big help to you in the shop?”

Armand nodded. “Smartest boy I’ve ever met! Hard worker, too.”

“How clever you were to hire him!” Bunny cooed. “I wonder...since he’s working so hard and being such a help to you, do you think we should invite him to dinner one night?”

“Hmm, not a bad idea,” Armand mused. “He’s a good lad, and I believe in rewarding hard work. Good thinking, dear.”

Bunny lowered her eyelashes modestly. “Thank you, darling.”

“But we’ll have to make it soon,” Armand went on, digging into his potatoes. “He’ll be gone for three weeks starting August 1.”

Bunny’s face drained of all color. “Gone? What do you mean?”

“Gaston told me that Maurice is getting some kind of fancy inventing award or some such, in Paris—“

“Paris!” Bunny was aghast.

“Yes, Paris,” Armand confirmed. “Apparently it’s a big ceremony. So Gaston asked if I could spare Alain for a few weeks – he wants to bring the whole family, and it’s a week’s journey each way.”

“And you said yes?” Bunny gasped.

“I did. Gaston promised me Alain will be back before hunting season starts, and he offered to pay me for the inconvenience.” Armand shrugged. “Gaston’s been my best customer for over 20 years. I couldn’t very well refuse him.”

“No, I suppose not,” Bunny said distractedly.

“But no worries,” Armand said briskly. “We can invite Alain to dinner next week, before he leaves.”

“No!” Bunny said immediately. At her husband’s surprised look, she explained hastily, “I mean...if he’s going all the way to Paris for three whole weeks, he’ll have a lot of packing to do...He’ll be much too busy to come to dinner. It would be better to invite him when he gets back. And then he can tell us all about his trip.”

“All right, so we’ll have him over in September then,” Armand said unconcernedly.

Suzette couldn’t understand why her mother was so flustered. Of course it was disappointing to put off the dinner, but her mother seemed upset, and that made Suzette anxious.

After dinner, when Armand had left the kitchen to smoke his pipe and relax while his wife and daughter washed the dishes, Suzette asked, “Mama, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Bunny paced the kitchen. “PARIS! Of all places, why does he have to go to Paris???” She turned to Suzette. “Do you know what’s IN Paris?”

Suzette shook her head, baffled.

“WOMEN!” Bunny wailed. “And not just any women. Paris is famous for having the most glamorous, sophisticated, alluring women in the whole world!” She wrung her hands in distress. “Don’t you see? If Alain comes to dinner and meets you, but then goes off to Paris...why, seeing all those seductive temptresses will drive all thoughts of you right out of his head! But if he comes to dinner after he gets back...” She nibbled her nail, trying to figure things out. “No, it’s no good! His head will be full of glamorous Parisian coquettes, and then he’ll see you and you’ll seem drab and plain by comparison! Oh, what are we going to do?”

“I-I don’t know,” Suzette said helplessly. She was confused and disappointed, and a little hurt that her mother had called her “drab and plain.” “There’s no way, Mama? I can’t have Alain after all?”

Bunny’s head snapped up. “No. You WILL have Alain! There has to be a way! But how? We can’t compete with Parisian girls...” Suddenly her eyes gleamed with inspiration. “Unless...”

“Ooooh, what?” Suzette asked excitedly. Mama always thinks of something!

“It’s perfect!” Bunny crowed gleefully. “Picture it, Suzette: Alain goes to Paris. He’s enthralled by all the elegant, glamorous women there, like goddesses. All the way home, he’s dreaming of them. Back home in our village, he looks around at all the drab girls in their rough homespun dresses, washing clothes in the fountain, and he sighs, wishing he could have a gay, sophisticated, fancy young lady like the ones in Paris. And then...he comes to dinner and meets you. And you are JUST as glamorous as the girls in Paris!”

“I...I am?” Suzette was baffled.

“You will be!” Bunny promised. “I have some money saved for an emergency, and believe me, this is an emergency! We’ll go to Clermont-Ferrand and pick up silk and satin and lace for a gorgeous dress, the absolute height of fashion! We’ll get powder for your face, and rings for her fingers, and I’ll do your hair in a sophisticated style...Alain will be so thrilled to see such a bewitching Parisian beauty right here at home, he’ll probably propose right on the spot!”

“Oh!” Suzette squealed. “Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

“It certainly would!” Bunny agreed. “We start first thing tomorrow. You know, in a way, it’s just as well that Alain will be away for a few weeks: we have a lot of work to do before he gets back!”

o o o o o o o o

The trip to Paris was a marvellous adventure for the Avenant children. Mimi exclaimed excitedly over the tall buildings and the crowds and the horses and the fancy inn...in fact, she was shouting loudly through most of the trip, ignoring the stares of passersby.

Lili was enthralled by all the elegant ladies in their satin and lace. “Mama, do you know what I want for my birthday? A hat just like THAT!” She pointed at a lady alighting from a coach, who wore a tall purple felt hat with a huge white plume.

Belle had to laugh. Lili certainly likes to stand out in a crowd! Just like her father, she thought. “Are you sure? You wouldn’t rather have a doll or some other toy?”

“Nope! I want that beautiful hat!” Lili insisted. “I could wear it with my velvet dress that Papa got me!”

“If you like it all that much, it’s yours!” Gaston proclaimed, and strode into a hat shop that very minute to buy it for her.

Next they browsed a gunshop, where Alain was excited to see a double-barrelled rifle, much more technologically advanced than the rifles back home in the village. “Can I buy it, Pop?” he asked eagerly. “I’d love to show this to Monsieur Armurier! I’ll bet between the two of us, we can figure out how it’s made, and then WE can start making them and selling them at home!”

“Of course!” Gaston said. “I’m going to buy one for myself too! Georges, I’ll get you one too – how about that?”

“Oh...you don’t need to,” Georges said uncomfortably. “The one you got me for Christmas still works fine.”

“Nonsense. Only the best for my boy!” Gaston said, ruffling his hair.

“Can I have one to, Papa?” Mimi begged.

“Why not?” Gaston said magnanimously, enjoying making his kids happy.

Belle shook her head in amusement at all the money he was spending...but of course, once they found a bookstore, it was impossible to pull her away from the shelves, as well as Georges.

A few days later, the Avenants were seated at the grand ceremonial dinner of the Societé de Inventeurs. Belle smiled at her father, who looked simultaneously nervous and delighted as the head of the Societé, Jacques de Vauconson, introduced him.

“For nearly 20 years, it has been my great pleasure and honor to know Maurice Reveur. Through the years, Maurice has given us so many memorable and useful creations, from his immensely useful woodcutting machine to his most recent achievement, the clothes-washer. Maurice’s inventions have always been categorized by the imagination, practicality, and a hint of whimsy that has long been his hallmark. And now, it is my great honor to call to the stage the genius himself, Maurice Reveur!”

As the room exploded in thunderous applause, Belle’s heart swelled with joy and pride. Dear, dear Papa, I’m so proud of you! she thought. Through all those years of struggling, you never gave up, no matter what people said. And now, finally, you have has the recognition and respect you deserve.

Maurice took the stage and was given a ceremonial plaque. He thanked the Societé for the honor, and got laughs with a few humorous anecdotes about his bumpy journey as an inventor, such as the many inventions that fell apart or, worse, exploded, before he finally got them to work. “After a lifetime of hard work, to be recognized by such an illustrious group of inventors whom I admire so much...well, it’s beyond anything I’d ever imagined, and it means the world to me,” Maurice said humbly. “Thank you so much for this award; I will cherish it always.” The room filled again with applause.

“Before I step down,” Maurice added, “I just want to thank two people without whom this moment would not be possible. First, my brilliant grandson, Alain, who has been my assistant for the past few years. On so many occasions when I hit a snag in an invention, Alain’s clever mind and sharp eyes helped me solve the problem. I have no doubt that in a few years, HE will be up here on this stage receiving an award!” Alain beamed with delight as Maurice smiled fondly at him from the stage.

“And secondly,” Maurice went on, “none of my success ever could have happened without my beloved daughter, Belle. She believed in me at a time when no one else did. During all the hard times, when I was tempted to just give up, Belle’s unwavering faith in me what what kept me going. My darling daughter, this award is yours as much as it is mine. Thank you for being the most important part of my life. I love you.”

“Oh, Papa.” Belle had tears in her eyes. As her father left the stage and came back to their table, she threw her arms around him and hugged him. “You were wonderful, Papa! I’m so proud of you!” Maurice hugged her back and kissed her forehead.

“That was great, Grandpa!” Alain added. “And thanks for mentioning me!”

“I meant every word of it, my boy,” Maurice told him. “In fact, I’ve been invited to lunch tomorrow with some of the inventors, and they’re all asking to meet you! Would you like to join us?”

“I’ve love to!” Alain said happily.

Gaston came over and jovially slapped his father-in-law on the back. “Congratulations, Maurice! Well done!” he boomed. “When we get back to Molyneaux, I’m going to put that award right in the center of the mantelpiece at the tavern, where everyone can see it! And we should also have a special feast in your honor, for all our friends who couldn’t be here!”

Belle had to smile at Gaston’s enthusiasm. It was incredible to think that so many years ago, when she and Papa had first come to the village, Gaston had dismissed Maurice as an eccentric crackpot, just like everyone else. These days, he was as proud of his father-in-law’s accomplishments as if they were his own.

At that moment, a familiar voice interrupted. “Maurice! Allow me to extend my congratulations to you. This honor is certainly well-deserved!”

Maurice turned to the newcomer and broke into a big smile. “Hervé! I didn’t realized you were here. It’s good to see you again!”

Hervé Liseur was the nephew of the bookseller in Molyneaux. He taught literature at the Sorbonne in Paris...and at one time had been Belle’s suitor. Even as a young man, Hervé had had a sober, mature aspect that belied his age. Now that he was older, he seemed to have grown into his personality, and now looked the picture of a university professor even more than he had the last time they had seen him, 17 years earlier: time had added a few lines to his face, a touch of gray at his temples, and a moustache, all of which made him look quite distinguished.

Maurice went on, “I really owe all this to you, Hervé, for introducing me to all these fine inventors and patent officials all those years ago.”

Hervé waved away the comment modestly. “It was nothing. Genius such as yours could not remain hidden for long! I was merely a facilitator of your inevitable success.” Seeing Belle and Gaston at the table, he bowed. “Belle, Gaston, what a pleasant surprise to see you here in Paris! It certainly has been a long time! You’re both looking very well.”

“Thank you, Hervé. It’s so nice to see you again,” Belle said warmly. “Let me introduce you to our children. This is Alain, Georges, Mimi, and Lili.” The children all dutifully greeted their mother’s old friend.

“What a fine family,” Herve complimented.

“Thank you,” Gaston said proudly. He couldn’t resist adding, “I think your uncle mentioned you have only one child, right, Hervé?” He couldn’t help being a bit competitive, especially when it came to an old rival. Belle raised an eyebrow at him. Gaston gave her an innocent look that said What? I’m just making polite small talk!

“Yes, my daughter, Dominique. She is an artist,” Hervé explained with a touch of pride. “I’m sorry you won’t be able to meet her. Her tutor felt that it would be beneficial for her to study the Italian masters, so she and Imogene are on a tour of Italy at the moment, where she is studying under the tutelage of an Italian art teacher.”

“That’s very exciting! She must be very talented,” Belle said.

“Thank you. We certainly think so,” Hervé said, beaming. “So, how long will you be staying in Paris?”

“We’re leaving the day after tomorrow,” Gaston said.

“Ah, so soon – what a pity,” Hervé said. Then his eyes lit up. “But I have a splendid idea! Why don’t you all stop by the university tomorrow? I could give you a tour.”

Before Gaston could react, Belle exclaimed, “Oh, that would be so interesting! Papa and Alain are having lunch with the inventors tomorrow, but the rest of us are free!” She turned to Gaston. “Would you mind terribly? I’d love to see a real university!”

Gaston mentally groaned. A whole day with stuffy Hervé at his boring university? What could be duller? But Belle looked so thrilled by the prospect - she loved all that educational stuff. Gaston tried to hide his lack of enthusiasm. “Of course, darling. Anything to make you happy,” he said gallantly. He was rewarded with a kiss. That helped.

“Splendid! I shall see you tomorrow then!” Hervé said happily, and saying good night, left them.

“Thank you, honey,” Belle said to Gaston. “I know it’s not really your cup of tea.”

“It’s just one day. I’ll survive,” Gaston said magnanamously, glad that she appreciated his generosity.

The next day, Maurice took Alain to meet the inventors, while the rest of the family met Hervé at the university. Walking around looking at a bunch of old buildings turned out to be even more boring than Gaston had expected. But he tried to be patient and put up with it for Belle’s sake.

As Hervé showed them around, he asked, “So, Belle, what books have you been reading lately?”

“Most recently? Gulliver’s Travels,” Belle replied, eagerly anticipating the chance to learn something new about a favorite book.

“Swift’s satirical masterpiece!” Hervé said. “An excellent choice. Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes, very much!” Belle said.

Gaston perked up and put his arm around Belle in a proprietary way. “I liked that one too,” he put in, glad that for once Hervé couldn’t look down on him for not knowing about a book. Gaston hadn’t actually read the book himself, but Belle had read it aloud to him, and he’d thought it was very funny.

Belle smiled at Gaston, then asked Hervé, “Hervé, what would you say in your classes about Gulliver’s Travels? I’m sure you could tell us all kinds of interesting things about it!”

“Certainly!” Hervé replied immediately. “Of course, in talking about Swift, one must start with his masterful use of irony. For example, Gulliver fancies himself an impartial observer of foreign cultures, yet he is anything but. By contrasting Gulliver’s overly positive depictions of British society with the opposing social orders of the Lilliputians, the Brobdingnagians, and the Houyhnhnms, Swift invites us not merely to laugh at the comical irony, but also to evaluate British society – and by extension, our own - with a far more critical eye than we might have done previously.”

Gaston couldn’t follow that at all. Typical Hervé gobbledygook. He glanced over at Belle, ready to catch her eye and smirk at the scholar’s pompousness.

But to his dismay, Belle was nodding enthusiastically, so caught up in Hervé’s lecture that she took a step toward him, her arm dropping from Gaston’s. “That’s so true!” she agreed. “Like in the discussion of gunpowder.”

“Precisely!” Hervé said. “And of course, as the story goes on, Gulliver begins to play an integral role in each visited society. This role then has a reciprocal effect on his own character, and his journey becomes synecdochic. The multiplicity of perspectives forces an ironic mode on the reader, in which the grotesque gains destabilizing power.”

Gaston blinked in complete bafflement as Hervé went on. What on earth was he talking about? Gaston didn’t have a clue.

Yet Belle was fascinated, listening intently. “I see what you mean,” she said thoughtfully. “But I wonder...aside from poking fun at Gulliver’s naivete and English society, do you think Swift might have also been genuinely exploring the question of what would be a perfect society, if such a thing even exists? I can’t help thinking that in his own way, he’s trying to find Utopia, just like Thomas More.”

“Indubitably!” Hervé agreed approvingly. “And may I say, that is exceedingly perspicacious of you!”

“Thank you,” Belle said, beaming at the compliment.

They went on and on and ON like that, Belle hanging on Hervé’s every word. It was like the two of them were in their own private little world, speaking a language Gaston couldn’t even understand. It made him feel left out, and jealous...and worse, stupid. He’d actually READ this book – well, listened to it, anyway – but he couldn’t even begin to follow this conversation about it, let alone join in!

I bet he’s doing it on purpose, Gaston thought suddenly, his eyes narrowing. Trying to prove how smart he is and show Belle she married a big dope!

And what about Mimi, Lili and Georges? Shouldn’t Hervé realize that not only was Gaston there, but three children were too and they were bored to death? Gaston grew more and more frustrated as Hervé and Belle continued their animated discussion, ignoring him and the kids as though they weren’t even there.

Suddenly he blurted out, “Well, I don’t agree!” He had no idea what they’d been talking about, but he felt he had to say something to break into their private little bubble.

Hervé and Belle turned to look at him with interest. “Indeed?” Herve said with interest. “Can you elucidate?”

“Um...” Gaston was put on the spot, not knowing what “elucidate” meant. “Well...sure...” he bluffed, stalling. There he goes again, he thought, irritated. Tossing around all these big words just to show me up!

Belle glanced from one to the other. “Yes, Gaston, what don’t you agree with?” she asked Gaston casually, cluing him in to Herve’s meaning.

Armed with that knowledge, Gaston turned on Herve. “I don’t agree that YOU know what the author meant!” he challenged. “In fact, how do we know you’re not just making all this stuff up?”

“Gaston!” Belle said, appalled.

“I mean it!” Gaston insisted. He knew he was being rude, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He was just so sick of Herve’s superior, know-it-all attitude. “This book is an adventure story, for crying out loud! It’s meant to be exciting and fun!That’s all. But you can’t admit that, Herve, because then you’d be out of a job. You have to come up with things to talk about in front of a classroom. So you just make up all this fancy-sounding nonsense so you’ll sound smart and they’ll keep on paying you. It’s ridiculous! That’s what I think.”

“Gaston!” Belle repeated, more sharply this time. Gaston realized belatedly that he might have crossed the line; Belle looked shocked, and possibly even angry. But he lifted his chin defiantly, not backing down. Herve was so full of himself, he deserved it. And Gaston resented his own wife scolding him like he was a child. She’s MY wife; she should stand up for ME, not him! he thought stubbornly.

There was a tense silence as the two men stared at each other: Gaston glaring, Herve flustered and red-faced.

Belle hastily stepped between them and tried to diffuse the situation. “You know, I think it’s wonderful that people can look at books in different ways and enjoy different things about them!” she interjected diplomatically. “Now, why don’t we continue on our tour of the university? We haven’t gotten to the library yet - I’d love to see that!”

Relieved, Hervé turned to Belle with a smile. “A capital idea, Belle! Our university library has the finest collection of—“

“Oh, no, not a library!” wailed Mimi. “I don’t WANT to see any books! It’s bad enough hearing you guys talk about them!”

That’s my girl, Gaston thought. “Mimi’s right,” he said firmly, seizing on this opportunity. “We’ve seen enough of this place. Now let’s do something the children want to do!”

Georges said shyly, “I’d really like to see the library...I mean, only if it’s all right,” he added quickly, not wanting to upset anyone.

Terrific, Gaston thought in exasperation, seeing his excuse to leave evaporate.

Suddenly Lili piped up, “Ooh, look, everybody! Horses!” She pointed at a stable across the university’s great lawn.

Mimi immediately got excited too. “Horses! Now that’s more like it! Can we go look at them, Papa?”

“That’s a fine idea,” Belle said, grateful for the distraction. “Gaston, why don’t you take the girls to look at the horses, while Georges, Hervé and I go look at the library? We’ll meet up with you at the stable after the tour.”

Gaston hesitated, not at all happy to have his wife and son spend even more time with Hervé. But what could he do?

Mimi was tugging on his arm. “Please, Papa?” she wheedled. “I want to see the horses!”

“Fine,” Gaston said to Belle. “We’ll wait for you there. But don’t take too long!” He tried to sound calm, but couldn’t hide his irritation. Once Herve starts rambling on, we could be waiting all night, he thought. “Come on, girls, let’s go see the horses.”

As Gaston led his girls away, he could hear Herve saying, “Belle, getting back to Gulliver’s Travels, I have five theories that I am most eager to hear your opinion of...”

Gaston rolled his eyes, feeling put-upon. FIVE? Is he kidding? I won’t see Belle again until midnight!

Grumbling, he walked on, muttering to himself, “I once saved that idiot’s life – you’d think he’d show me more respect!”

Deep down, on some level Gaston knew he was behaving badly. Of course, rationally, it was totally ridiculous to feel any jealousy of Herve at this late date. He knew perfectly well that, after 17 years of marriage and four children, Belle wasn’t going to suddenly run off with Hervé just because they were talking about books.

But their discussion had unexpectedly brought rushing back all those same excluded, inferior feelings he’d had all those years ago, when Hervé used to dazzle Belle with literary analysis and Gaston couldn’t compete. He felt like the village idiot, with no idea what they were talking about! He hated feeling that way, especially since Belle was his wife – he should be the one having intimate, private conversations with her that no one else could share.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, he was also hurt. All those years Belle had been cozily reading aloud to him – he thought she liked that. But...maybe it wasn’t enough for her. Maybe she secretly wanted more. It seemed that Herve was able to satisfy Gaston’s woman in some way Gaston couldn’t, and that stung. His knee-jerk instinct was to try to knock Hervé off his high horse, one way or another.

As they arrived at the stables, Gaston could see a few clusters of university students scattered about the grounds, all well-dressed and talking animatedly with each other – no doubt all Hervé Juniors, tossing about big words and lofty ideas as though they owned the world. Gaston couldn’t wait to get back home to Molyneaux, where everyone looked up to him and saw him as the expert authority on everything that mattered.

“Ooh, look at that one!” Lili said, pointing to a gray horse. “He’s so pretty!”

Mimi climbed up on the door of the stall to get a better look. “What kind of horse is that, Papa?”

“That’s a Lusitano,” Gaston said, glad for a chance to show off his knowledge, even if it was only to his own little girls. “They come from Portugal. Excellent breed: they were bred for bullfighting, so they’re very quick and agile and sure-footed, and they have great reflexes. They’re also very intelligent and responsive.”

He noticed two university students listening in and, gratified, raised his voice for his audience’s benefit. “This one’s about 15 hands high, and he’s a fine specimen of the breed: see his long neck and strong, sloping shoulders? That helps make him coordinated and well-balanced.” He clucked gently at the horse, which leaned its head out of the stall and allowed Gaston to stroke its neck. Gaston carefully lifted its upper lip to examine its teeth. “Judging from his teeth, he’s about two years old,” he said authoritatively. He stepped back and studied the horse with a practiced eye. “Back is short-coupled, withers are well-defined...This horse is from a champion bloodline for sure. He definitely cost someone a pretty penny.”

One of the students stepped forward. “You certainly seem to know a great deal about horses, monsieur!”

“I do,” Gaston agreed, his battered pride slightly soothed by the student’s admiration.

“Splendid! I’m delighted to see that the university finally had the sense to hire a stablehand who knows what he’s doing. The last one we had was dreadful.” He took Gaston’s hand and, to the hunter’s astonishment, pressed some coins into it. “Here. That Lusitano’s mine, and he’s my pride and joy. Take extra special care of him, and there’ll be more for you where that came from,” he said with a wink, gesturing at the coins.

Gaston stared at him in disbelief, then thrust the coins back at him. “I’m not a stablehand!” he snapped, offended at being labelled hired help.

“Oh?” The student glanced at his friend, who shrugged in confusion. The two students looked over Gaston, eyeing his country peasant garb and clearly trying to figure out how he fit in here. “Groundskeeper, then?” the Lusitano’s owner guessed.

“No! I don’t work here at all! We’re here as guests of Herve Liseur’s,” Gaston said, disgruntled.

The second student’s eyes widened. “You know Herve Liseur? The head of the literature department?” His voice swelled with respect. “Why, he’s the most brilliant man I’ve ever met!”

The first student scratched his head, still puzzled at how these country bumpkins could be acquainted with such a literary genius. “So...how do you know him? Are you relations of his?”

How could Gaston even answer that question? Oh, we met years ago when he tried to steal my wife from me, he thought sarcastically. “He’s an old friend of the family,” he said shortly, trying not to roll his eyes at the word ‘friend.’ Not wanting to elaborate further, he went on, “We have to go now. Come on, girls, let’s find your mother.” Belle had told them to wait, but he felt like he would explode if he had to stay here another minute.

They crossed the lawn and entered one of the imposing stone university buildings. As the heavy door slammed shut behind them, shutting out the sunlight, Gaston felt as if he were in a mauseoleum. How could anyone choose to spend time locked up in here, when he could be outside in the fresh air and sunshine?

“Do you know where to go?” Lili asked him.

“Of course!” Gaston replied confidently. “I’m a hunter! I have an excellent sense of direction.”

He strode forward briskly, looking for the library, but was met by a trio of corridors: one leading left, one leading right, and one straight ahead. He looked around for a clue as to which one to take, but they all looked the same: long hallways lined with classrooms.

His daughters were looking at him expectantly. “This way,” he said, picking the corridor straight in front of them. The library was a big important part of the university, he reasoned – naturally it would be straight ahead.

But that corridor led to a circular atrium with yet more corridors leading to other wings of the building, as well as a staircase. Gaston took a corridor at random, then another, hoping for some kind of clue, but finding none. He was beginning to feel like an animal caught in a trap. Not only couldn’t he find the library – at this point, he couldn’t even see any way out of the building.

He was getting more and more frustrated. He never got lost when he was outside: he was skilled at using the sun and stars as a compass, marking notches on trees in the forest, or noting landmarks in a town. But in this crazy oversized warren of a building, all the corridors looked identical, so he couldn’t even retrace his steps! He was starting to sweat.

“Are we lost?” Lili asked worriedly.

Mimi said immediately, “Of course not! Papa NEVER gets lost! Right, Papa?”

”Right, Mimi,” Gaston bluffed. How he hated this place! Now, on top of everything else, it was making him look foolish in front of his adoring little girls. Everything about the university seemed to mock him: first the people, and now even the buildings themselves!

Then to his vast relief, a man stepped out of one of the classrooms. Normally Gaston would rather be eaten by wolves than stoop to asking for directions, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Excuse me, monsieur – which way is the library?”

“Oh, that’s on the second floor of the East Wing, all the way on the other side of the building! We’re in the West Wing,” the man said. He pointed down a corridor. “Go down that corridor, and when you see the classrooms for the Romance languages, turn left. Follow that corridor all the way to the end, go up the stairs, and turn right. That will take you to the library.”

“Thank you,” Gaston said, wondering if he’d remember all that. “Come on, girls.” He started in the direction the man had indicated. He had said to look for “Romance languages”, but what did that mean? Were there languages that were all about love? He puzzled over it, then snapped his fingers. Poetry! Lots of poems were about love, so poetry must be “the language of love,” or as the man had said, the “Romance language.”

Encouraged, he picked up his pace, certain he’d find the library in minutes. They passed some classrooms with languages printed on the doors – Portuguese, Spanish, Italian, Romanian – but nothing that made Gaston think of love, and no sign of poetry. So he decided to simply look for a staircase instead. Eventually he found one, but when he got upstairs, the second floor was just as confusing as the first.

Lili complained, “My feet hurt. Are you sure we’re not lost?”

“We’re not lost!” Gaston snapped. “I’ll find it, just give me a minute!” He felt like the endless walls and corridors were pressing in on him – it was almost hard to breathe. Would they ever find Belle and get out of this wretched place?

O o o o o o o o

While Gaston and the girls had been looking at horses at the stables, Belle, Hervé and Georges had headed for the university buildings. As they crossed the well-manicured lawn, Hervé was still expounding on Swift’s literary legacy, but Belle couldn’t focus anymore on what he was saying. She was too upset that Gaston had been so rude. What on earth had gotten into him? She had been having a lovely time, learning things she didn’t know about a favorite book...but then, for no reason at all, Gaston suddenly started insulting Hervé! She was mortified just thinking about it. Even if Gaston found Hervé’s lectures boring, that was no reason to lash out at him like that! Hervé had been kind enough to invite them on this tour; the least Gaston could do was put up with it for an hour or so, just to be polite. Especially since Belle was enjoying it!

Although Belle was no longer listening closely to Hervé’s lecture, Georges was. The boy was mesmerized by Herve. He couldn’t believe he was actually meeting someone who knew more about books than his mother! The earlier tension among the adults had upset him, but now that was forgotten as he listened to Hervé expounding on all the themes and symbols and hidden meanings in the book.

Although Georges didn’t understand everythingHervé said, the parts he did grasp gave him lots to think about. It seemed to Georges that Hervé possessed a magic wand: he could wave it over a book, and suddenly all kinds of hidden meanings were revealed. Georges realized excitedly that if you knew how to look at a story in the right way, there could be a whole other story hidden beneath it – or even MORE than one!

Why, you could read the same book over and over, and see something different in it every time! Georges marvelled. Hervé was almost like a wizard, to know how to do that!

By now they had arrived at an impressive stone building. Georges looked up at it in awe. This was the fortress where all the books and knowledge and wisdom were kept; he felt privileged just to pass through its doors.

As Herve led them through the corridors and up the stairs, Georges asked, “Professor Liseur, do you know a lot about poetry, too? I mean, do you know about what all the poems mean, and what the poets’ lives were like, and why they picked those words?”

Hervé smiled. “Well, young man, no one can say he fully understands all the meanings of a poem. That is the beauty of poetry: it is constantly unfolding, revealing its mysteries, and there is always more to discover. But as head of the literature department here, I would venture to say that I know as much about poetry, and literature in general, as any man in France,” he finished with a touch of pride. “It is my life’s work.”

“Your life’s work,” Georges repeated, enthralled. “Wow. That’s great! Boy, I wish I could take some of your classes!”

“I wish all my students showed such enthusiasm!” Hervé said approvingly. “Ah, and now we have arrived at my favorite room in the entire university: the library!” With a dramatic flourish, Herve pushed open the double doors and ushered them inside.

Georges’ eyes widened at the sight of the enormous high-ceilinged space, with smaller alcoves off the main room. Nearly every wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, but one wall instead had large windows letting in plenty of light to read by.

“Wow!” George said. “I’ve never seen so many books in my whole life!”

Belle was equally impressed. “This is wonderful, Hervé!” She smiled at Georges, enjoying his excitement. “It’s certainly bigger than the bookstore at home, isn’t it?”

“I’ll say!” Georges said. “I wish I could spend a whole year here!” He ran eagerly from wall to wall, then took down some poetry books and sat happily on one of the overstuffed chairs, reading, while his mother browsed the fairy tale section.

After too short a time, the grandfather clock in the corner of the room chimed. Belle sighed wistfully. “I suppose we should be getting back. Gaston will be wondering what’s taking us so long.”

Herve nodded. “Of course.”

Georges reluctantly replaced the books on the shelf. As they reached the door, he cast a longing glance back at the library. I’ll come back here someday, he promised himself.

But when they got to the stables, there was no sign of Gaston or the girls. Belle bit her lip, concerned. Where could they be? “Maybe they got tired of waiting and came inside to find us. Let’s go back in and look for them,” she suggested, feeling a little guilty. We shouldn’t have spent so much time in the library, she thought. Gaston and the girls aren’t interested in this place at all – it really wasn’t fair to make them wait so long.

As they re-entered the university building and searched the hallways, Georges and Hervé trailed behind Belle, talking about poetry. Hervé inquired about Georges’ favorite poets, and Georges immediately told him all the ones he liked, and why, and asked Herve questions about them, which the professor was more than happy to answer.

“I love poems,” Georges told him. “I even like to write my own!”

“Indeed?” Hervé said with interest. “I should very much like to read your poems, young man.”

Georges was simultaneously delighted and embarrassed. “Oh,” he said shyly, “they aren’t very good, really.”

“Ah, you are a writer! Writers are often the severest critics of their own work,” Hervé said with a chuckle. “Truly, I would be honored to read your poems, if you will permit me.”

“I’m honored that you want to!” Georges said, thrilled. “I could send some to you. But sir...please, if they’re no good, be honest and tell me so, and also tell me what’s wrong with them so I can make them better. I really want to be a good poet.”

Hervé nodded. “Young man, I assure you that if you entrust your poems to me, I shall evaluate them and respond with a professional and truthful assessment.”

“Thank you, sir,” Georges said gratefully. This professor seemed to truly understand him and take his aspiration seriously, not like some silly little hobby. As Georges shook Hervé’s hand, he felt that a sacred pact was being sealed, a bond formed – like Merlin passing on his wisdom to young Arthur, he thought reverently.

O o o o o o o

Gaston was forced to admit to himself that he was hopelessly lost. He was just about at his wits’ end when, to his great relief, Belle ran up to him. “There you are! I’m so sorry we took so long,” she said apologetically. “The library was huge, and you know me: once I start looking at books, I lose track of time and can’t tear myself away...”

But Gaston wasn’t listening. He had noticed that behind Belle, further down the hallway, Georges was deep in conversation with Hervé. Gaston frowned. What on earth did they have to talk about?

As they got closer, Gaston could overhear Hervé blathering on about poetry as usual, while Georges listened intently. “Wow," Georges said, "you really know everything about poems, Professor Liseur! I wish I knew as much as you!”

Hervé smiled. “Well, you yourself are surprisingly well-versed in the subject for one so young! In fact, I must say, you remind me of myself when I was a boy.”

Gaston almost choked when he heard that. How DARE that little weasel compare himself to MY son! he thought, enraged. How dare he try to fill Georges’ head with all his puffed-up nonsense! It was bad enough that Hervé had tried to monopolize Belle, but this was so much worse, because Georges was so young and impressionable!

Georges had been making so much progress lately with his target shooting, and Gaston was proud of him. He was confident that very soon Georges would finally experience the unforgettable thrill of making his first kill as a hunter...and when he did, he’d forget all about that silly poetry. It was just a childish phase he’d grow out of, Gaston was sure.

But now, Herve was trying to undo all that progress and poison Georges’ mind – to turn Gaston’s own son into the same kind of prissy, cowardly weakling that Herve himself was! Gaston felt an almost uncontrollable urge to throttle the scholar.

Get the hell away from my son! he wanted to shout. But he forced himself to act calm. He reminded himself that they were leaving now, after all, and they would never return. “Georges!” he said, louder than he intended. “It’s time to go. Come on.”

Instead of running right over as usual, Georges said, “Just a minute, Papa!”, actually making Gaston wait while he turned back to Herve. “Professor Liseur, thank you so much for the tour. It was great!”

His own son was actually looking up at that pompous jackass with admiration! Gaston wanted to throw up. “Georges!” he repeated more sharply. “Come here NOW!” They had to get out of this horrible place right now, before it did any more damage!

“Coming!” Georges quickly ran to his father.

Then Gaston had to wait impatiently while Bellethanked Herve and said her goodbyes. Gaston felt like he was in a nightmare that would never end.

But finally, finally, they were outside, and Gaston breathed in the blessed fresh air gratefully. Back at the inn, they met up with Alain and Maurice, who were bursting with stories about their day with the inventors. Gaston began to feel much better, now that his family was all together again and away from that awful university. Everything was back to normal.

Better still, he and Belle had reservations at a romantic restaurant for dinner, while Maurice would stay at the inn with the kids. An intimate dinner with his loving wife was just what Gaston needed right now.

As they sat in the posh restaurant, waiting for the waiter to bring their food, Belle felt the same way, wanting to smooth things over. “I’m sorry again that we took so long at the library,” she told him contritely. “I didn’t mean to leave you waiting.”

“That’s all right,” Gaston replied, back to his good-natured mood. “I know how much you like books.”

“That’s putting it mildly!” she agreed with a laugh. “Thanks for being so understanding. Although…I really wish you hadn’t gone off on Hervé like that,” she added honestly. “I know the tour was boring for you, but it was nice of him to show us around. You could have been a little more polite to him.”

Gaston’s expresson darkened, remembering how superior and high-and-mighty Hervé had been, deliberately talking above Gaston’s head and mesmerizing Belle with his fancy words. “It’s hard to be polite when he’s trying to show me up and make me look stupid!”

Belle was surprised. “What do you mean? He wasn’t trying to make you look stupid.”

“Oh, yes, he was,” Gaston snapped. “I’m sick of him being such a know-it-all, looking down at me like I’m an idiot! With all his ‘Can you elucidate?’” he mimicked.

“Oh, that’s just how Hervé talks,” Belle said with a shrug. “He uses big words with me too.”

“Yes, but you understand them!” Gaston exploded. Then, as though realizing what he’d just said, he abruptly looked away.

Belle stared at him, the truth dawning on her. Oh...it’s not really that Hervé thinks Gaston is stupid, she realized. It’s that when Hervé talks, Gaston FEELS stupid. “Is that what’s bothering you? That Herve uses big words?”

“I don’t care what words he uses!” Gaston said defensively. “It doesn’t matter to me what he says or thinks!”

“Then why are you upset, if you don’t care what he thinks?”

“Because...” He looked at her a moment, then sighed and admitted it. “I care what you think.”

“Ohhh...I see.” Belle smiled, slightly amused. For a guy who brags so much, he can be so insecure sometimes, she thought. She reached across the table and took his hand. “Honey. Seriously. Do you honestly think I care whether you understand ‘thematic symbolism’ or anything like that?”

“I don’t know. Do you?” Gaston asked. “You seemed awfully excited when Hervé talked about it… whatever it is!”

“Silly. I just like to learn new things, that’s all,” Belle said dismissively. “But Gaston, really, you know just as much as Hervé does! You just know about different subjects. I mean, if we’d been talking about hunting, you’d be the expert. You’d be tossing around words that he didn’t know, and asking things like ‘Which do you think is better, a recurve bow or a longbow?’ and ‘What’s your favorite method of flushing grouse?’, and Hervé wouldn’t have the slightest idea what you meant!”

Gaston had to grin at the mental picture of Hervé being baffled by his expertise. “That’s for sure. I bet he couldn’t even tell the difference between a grouse and a specklebelly!”

“There you go,” Belle said encouragingly. “Different people are experts on different things, that’s all. It’s nothing to get upset about.”

“You’re right,” Gaston acknowledged. “I shouldn’t have blown up like that. I guess it just bothered me to see you two chattering away like magpies, and I couldn’t join in.”

“Aw, did you feel left out?” Belle said sympathetically. “I’m sorry if you felt like I was ignoring you. I just get so involved when I talk about books – I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” She squeezed his hand. “But anyway,” she teased, “it gave you a chance to see what it’s like NOT to be the center of attention every single minute!”

Gaston laughed. She was always teasing him affectionately about his ego. “That’s true. I gave it a try...and I don’t like it one little bit!” he joked back. He took a deep breath, needing to ask one last thing. “So, um...when we’re in bed at night...you’re not lying there wishing I’d dazzle you with talk about ‘thematic symbolism’?”

Belle burst out laughing at that image. “Oh, lord, no!” she managed to get out between giggles. “Believe me, Gaston, you have much better ways of dazzling me in bed,” she added with a wink.

“Good,” Gaston said with a grin, satisfied. He leaned back, mentally congratulating himself (as he so often did) at the knowledge that Belle was one of a kind, and he was the guy who’d won her.

Now that things were back to normal, he felt a little bad about the way he’d acted. Not because of Hervé – he still felt that pretentious know-it-all deserved to be taken down a peg – but because he’d spoiled Belle’s day. “Sorry I ruined your big tour,” he said apologetically. “I should have kept quiet.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “But, well, you know me: shoot off my mouth first, ask questions later.”

Belle had to smile at his all-too-accurate description. “It’s all right,” she assured him. “I still had a good time, especially at the library.” Her eyes shone at the memory. “You can’t imagine how many books there were – it was amazing!”

“You must have loved that!” Gaston said, glad she’d enjoyed herself in spite of everything.

“Oh, yes! Georges loved it too,” she added. That reminded her of something. “You know, Hervé was very impressed to hear that Georges is a poet.”

Gaston scowled. “Yes. I saw that,” he said darkly. “Look, could we not talk about Hervé anymore?”

“Good idea,” Belle agreed immediately, realizing her mistake. Her eyes lit up she saw the waiter approaching with their food. “Let’s enjoy our romantic meal instead.”

“Now that’s an excellent idea,” Gaston said, lifting his wine glass to toast her.

O o o o o o o o

The next day, the Avenants packed their belongings and piled into the coach for the long journey home. Belle smiled as she saw Maurice and Alain talking animatedly, both bursting with new inspiration and new ideas to try since their lunch with the inventors.

She heard a high-pitched giggle, and turn to see little Lili being lifted by her father, who was tickling her as he placed her into her seat. “Now, you’re sure you packed everything?” he asked her mock-sternly. “You didn’t leave anything behind? What about your toes – do you have all ten?”

Lili giggled.”Yes!”

“Good, because I don’t want to have to go all the way back to Paris for any missing toes!” he warned her with a twinkle in his eye.

Belle had to smile, watching them. Gaston could certainly drive her crazy sometimes, and goodness knew they had their arguments! But she also knew he was the one for her, this laughing, passionate, adventurous bear of a man.

He saw her watching him and winked. She winked back, glad that the tension of yesterday’s university tour was in the past.

She settled into her seat, her thoughts turning ahead. Never mind the university; soon they’d be back home, and her own school would be in session. She felt a thrill of anticipation. She always loved the beginning of the school year: meeting the new, shy little children who didn’t even know the alphabet, and, over the year, sharing their excitement and pride as they learned to read aloud all by themselves. It was such a huge accomplishment, both for her and for them. She couldn’t wait.

Georges climbed into the coach behind her, and she smiled at him. “Did you enjoy the trip?” she asked him. “It was fun seeing that big library, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” Georges said dreamily. As he took his seat, he was so full of his own thoughts that he didn’t even hear his two sisters squabbling over which one got to sit by the window.

Georges was sad to be leaving Paris. But the wonderful memories buoyed him. That incredible library...and that distinguished university professor telling Georges that he’d actually be honored to read his poems! And he wasn’t just being nice, either – he really meant it. He’d shaken Georges’ hand like he was making a promise.

Deep in Georges’ heart, a small, secret wish was forming. He didn’t dare tell anyone, because he was afraid they’d laugh or tell him he was foolish, and his hopes would be destroyed. As long as he kept it secret, there was still a chance it could happen...that maybe, someday, he could attend that university, and read all those wonderful books, and learn all about poetry from wise Professor Liseur...and maybe even become a poet himself, for real!

The thought warmed him inside, filling him with joy. Someday....maybe...

I will, he promised himself. I don’t know how, but someday, I WILL go to that university and become a poet! He smiled, thinking of how proud his mother would be.

Then he imagined how his father might react, and quickly pushed that thought away.

With the family settled in the coach, Gaston sat down next to Belle and took the reins. Gaston was in a fine mood: the sun was shining and they were going home. Hunting season would be starting soon, he thought with a stir of anticipation. Alain was 15 now, nearly a man – he was old enough to come hunting with the village men now. Gaston looked forward to showing off his son’s prowess to his friends, and maybe even bringing him to the tavern afterward once in a while. Meanwhile, little Mimi’s skill was growing by leaps and bounds – Gaston couldn’t wait to see how she did this season! And Georges’ aim was improving: all that patient practice at target shooting was paying off. Gaston was certain that this was the season Georges would finally bag his first trophy.

Yes, indeed, it was going to be a fall to remember.

As though reading his thoughts, Belle put her hand on his knee and smiled. “It’s nice to be going home, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is,” Gaston agreed cheerfully. He realized now how ridiculous he had been to get so worked up over nothing yesterday. Soon they’d be home where they belonged...and he’d never, ever have to see or hear about stuffy old Hervé OR his wretched university ever again.

With that happy thought, he flicked the reins, and the coach started off on the long journey to Molyneaux.