'If there are wolves nearby…' Maurice began.

'I don't think Mon Ami likes the word wolves' put in Le Fou. He was trying to ease a tangled knot out of his horses' forelock. His horse, confirming this, shifted restlessly, shouldering Le Fou backwards.

'…what will we do?'

Gaston looked up from sharpening the point on a long stake. His musket and crossbow were propped against the tree behind him, protected from the rain by his cloak. He pushed a few strands of loose dark hair out of his eyes in way that suddenly reminded Maurice of Belle.

'The wolves should come for us and not for Belle because of this,' he pointed to the small pile of cooked and gutted animal remains from their meal, arranged outside the little clearing but just inside the circle of light shed by the fire. 'When they come,' he picked up his musket and mimed firing it. 'Le Fou reloads', he paused for emphasis, 'and you stay back with the horses.' He finished off the stake. 'If they get through us, let them run onto this.' A couple of damp but serviceable brushwood torches were stuck in the ground by the fire as a last resort.

When the preparations were complete, the three men settled down to take turns to rest and watch. It struck Maurice that they had probably been up before dawn to hunt in the woods all day. The horses were already half asleep, noses dropping low to the ground. The fire smoked heavily but drove back the bitter cold of the night. The two younger men declined Maurice's offer to take a share of the watch and split the task between them. Maurice couldn't exactly blame them. The shadows were playing tricks with his eyes and his ears weren't what they used to be.

Le Fou took the first hour but Maurice found himself unable to sleep. How soon we grow old. Where did the years go? He remembered happy years in Paris with his wife and then their beautiful little girl too. Then the pain of seeing Helene fade away before his eyes. The empty life in their little house where Helene used to sing and smile. A move to Villeneuve where Belle could grow up in the fresh air. Finally, happy years in their little cottage with his sweet, clever little girl growing up and every year a fresh delight. His inventions never fetched much money from the little provincial markets but with the chickens and goat and Belle's little vegetable patch, they had enough for their needs. Did the future hold marriage for Belle? He hoped so but only to a man worthy of her.

Was Captain Gaston worthy of Belle? Le Fou was staring fixedly into the woods so Maurice allowed his gaze to drift over to the sleeping captain. He knew a little, only a little that was definite about the man. In the markets of Villeneuve and its larger neighbours, the stall holders gossiped openly about the hero of Villeneuve.

The men spoke about his success in the wars and his skill at hunting. 'He's not afraid of anything, you know. Even bears.' 'Such a man', the women said. 'Such a man. He can do anything.' The women liked to compare him to their less useful husbands. 'Gaston would have ridden thirty miles in a snowstorm to fetch a doctor…my Robert wouldn't ride five.' 'Gaston could have fixed that leaking roof. Over the roofs like a cat, he is. My Henri can hardly climb a ladder.' The girls who helped their mamas and papas at the stalls, strong, capable farm girls, whispered to each other about his smile and endless good looks and how he had lifted a barrel this heavy down from the wagon to help them, chased off a would-be thief or lifted them over the deep muddy puddles in the road. 'He swung me right over as if I didn't weigh no more than a feather' one girl had sworn with solemn, round eyes to her friends.

Maurice himself had had little to do with the Captain. Their paths rarely crossed. Maurice went to the tavern only at the furthest of intervals, preferring to spend his evenings with Belle in their cosy cottage than walk a mile to the tavern. He had few friends there anyway. Reclusive by nature, Maurice had not found many people with whom he could enjoy a lively conversation. The folk of Villeneuve were, in general, farmers and small traders whose interests rarely took them outside their own small circle. It struck him that he was probably sitting with the two best travelled men in the village. Perhaps Belle might enjoy a conversation about other countries over dinner he thought before shaking his head immediately. They had to rescue Belle first.

As Maurice shook his head, Le Fou looked up, gazed around again anxiously and scuttled around the fire to shake Gaston by the shoulder. Gaston awoke instantly, eyes alert and bright.

'No sign?'

"Nothing.' Le Fou sat down again, this time closer to his big friend, and threw another piece of wood into the smoking fire. He yawned heavily, rubbed his eyes where the smoke made them smart and looked across at Maurice as if they were in the tavern and the conversation had fallen quiet for a moment.

'Belle's quite young, still, isn't she?'

'She was eighteen in summer.' Maurice appreciated the civility of Le Fou's effort to distract his thoughts. He seemed to be a well-meaning man under the nervousness and in return he did his best to keep the conversation going.

'Do you remember her before you left for the war, Monsieur?'

'Please…call me Le Fou. Everyone does.' He gave it some thought. 'Yes, surely you were here before we left for the war.'

'I can hardly call you that, Monsieur', Maurice protested. 'Why, it sounds…well….a nickname. A nickname that has to be earned,' he finished, rather pleased at having found a civil ending to the sentence.

He looked around at both men. 'I realize I hardly know either of you, Messieurs,' he said honestly. 'Although everyone knows me as Maurice, Belle and I are Bonneaus. Maurice Bonneau at your service,' he finished politely.

Gaston smiled with that sudden, charming smile of his. 'Jean-Luc Gaston, Monsieur Bonneau. There might be a dozen Jean-Lucs around here…but there is only one Gaston.' He grinned.

'Etienne Louis Florent Dupre,' Le Fou supplied with a little flourish. He smiled shyly. 'It's easy to call me Le Fou. I've been called it since I was little. Certainly at school, wasn't I?' he turned to Gaston.

'Oh yes, definitely at school.' Gaston rubbed his hands and grinned reminiscently. 'We were always in some sort of trouble at school but Le Fou was the only one the master ever beat for not remembering his name.'

'Ooh, that stick of his,' Le Fou was instantly back in the memory. 'He couldn't stand any of us.' He yawned again and leaned forward with his head on his knees. 'He was such a…such a devil…..' His voice trailed off into deeper breathing.

Gaston surveyed the forest again and reached across to check the power and string of his weapons. He was still grinning and seemed on the verge of saying something to continue the story but Maurice leaped hastily into the gap, an unfinished thread of conversation very much on his mind.

'Do you know Belle well?'

The Captain seemed slightly taken aback by the abrupt change but lit up with animation at the mention of Belle.

'Not as well as I'd like to,' he answered. 'She stands out, you know.' He leaned forward intently. 'There's something about her that's so different to all the other girls. Something they don't have.'

Maurice admitted this silently as a point in the young man's favour. Belle was special and that wasn't just a fond father's opinion. Other people saw it too.

'She was always spirited', he affirmed. 'Sometimes I wonder,' he said, choosing his words carefully, 'whether I did the right thing bringing Belle here after Helene died. We lived close to Paris and people said the air was bad. She is so much like her, you know…' he trailed off for a moment, Helene's face bright in his mind.

He looked at the dark haired young man. 'She meant the world to me. Our house,' he waved a hand, 'you should have seen our house. It was only a simple life but Helene made it the centre of France.' He smiled. 'She would sing and we would talk about everything in the world. She cared for everything. It was what made her so special. Belle is so very like her.'

He looked at Gaston to make sure he was paying attention. 'It's her interest in the whole world which makes her so special. It's why she reads.'

He saw the change come over Gaston's face as he took in the idea.

'She wants to know more about the world,' he repeated slowly. 'We could…do you think she would like to travel?'

'I think she would,' Maurice agreed. 'Why don't you ask her one day?'

Gaston beamed.

'Perhaps she'd like me to tell her about Portugal,' he suggested. 'Just the better parts, of course,' he added hastily.

'I think that she'd like to talk about Portugal,' Maurice said carefully. 'We always talk about the things I've seen when I come back from the markets.'

'Do you…bring her books from the market?' Gaston asked.

'Alas, no. I'm afraid that my trading only brings us enough for our necessities. I believe Belle borrows books from Pere Robert. My own few are rather technical in nature.'

He looked across at the handsome young man.

'She asked for a rose, you know,' he said quietly. 'That's all.'

'Does she like roses?'

Maurice had a sudden vision of the house besieged by flowers.

'She values very little things which were chosen with thought and love.'

Gaston nodded thoughtfully but the silence between them grew long and deep. Maurice stretched his shoulders, trying to breathe properly in the chilly damp air. He suppressed the urge to tell the young man to put his coat on or a cloak. How many times had he had to chase after Belle when she was younger, telling her to put her cloak on or she would catch a cold.

'She was always a caring girl,' he said. 'From the moment she could speak.' He looked across at the younger man. 'Do you remember her as a little girl?'

Gaston stared into the fire for a while, trying to remember.

'You had a dog, didn't you, when you first came?' he frowned with concentration. 'Or was it Laurette? No, it was your cottage, I'm sure. When it got lost one day I found it and brought it back to you.' He sat back, looking pleased with himself. 'And when Belle got her little kite stuck in a tree, I fetched it for her.' The fire crackled and spat between them. 'How strange,' he went on thoughtfully. 'I didn't think I had seen her before and yet I've known her since she was a little girl. Why, we're practically old friends.'

Maurice thought that that might be stretching couple of kind moments from an older boy to a little girl too far but he kept that opinion to himself. Surely if the Captain thought of Belle as a friend, it could only increase his kindness to her. Try as he might, though, he couldn't remember the face of the boy who had brought Chien back to their cottage. Only that it was one of the village boys, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, who had knelt down in front of the six year old and gently handed back the missing puppy.

'Well, that was very kind of you,' Maurice began. 'It's the little things like that which Belle appreciates most. Belle loved that little dog. She loves all animals, you know, especially Phili - '

He got no further for the first of the wolves crashed through the trees, teeth already drawn back, poised to spring at the three men.