The moment Frollo set foot in the bell tower, he could tell Quasimodo was trying to hide something from him, and he had no doubts it was about the gypsy girl. "M-master, I didn't think you'd be coming!" the hunchback stammered as he hurriedly straightened his model of the city.
"I'm never too busy to share a meal with you, dear boy," replied Frollo, affecting a fatherly affection that he had never truly felt for the hideous creature. "I've brought a little… treat." He dropped a picnic basket filled with grapes on the table. He smirked inwardly to himself— the grapes would no doubt get the boy to open up, even if he was stupid enough to dare hide anything from him. Sitting down, he place his chaperon in his lap and cleared his throat to remind Quasimodo, who had been staring vapidly at the basket, of his duty to retrieve the table settings. The judge noticed that he was fumbling around and breaking dishes, clearly preoccupied. "Is there something troubling you, Quasimodo?" he asked, his tone filled with false concern.
"No, no!" lied Quasimodo, mismatched blue eyes darting everywhere but at Frollo's cold dark ones.
"Oh, but there is," Frollo pushed, with the tiniest of patronizing winks. "I know there is."
"Oh, no, Master," the hunchback stammered, "there's nothing—"
Frollo cut him off. "You're not eating, boy."
Quasimodo immediately shoved the majority of his bunch of grapes into his mouth. "'svewygoo fankoo," he said with his mouth full. A low moan sounded from under the table, and Quasimodo moaned as though it would still be effective to mask the sound despite the thirty-second delay. Frollo raised an eyebrow. Something fell to the floor, and the priest could hear it despite the bell ringer's sudden coughing. "Seeds," Quasimodo explained lamely.
How stupid did the monster think he was? wondered Frollo. "What's… different in here?" he asked, surveying the wooden model of Paris.
"Nothing!" Quasimodo exclaimed quickly. "… sir."
Frollo ignored him and lifted up a figurine… a dark-haired, dark-skinned, purple-skirted figurine with a tambourine. Even when made of wood, she lit his heart aflame. What had she done to him? "Isn't this one new?" he asked, examining it. His voice was carefully light and even, though his frustration with the hunchback was reaching boiling point. "It's awfully good… looks very much like the gypsy girl." He glared hard at his foster son as the struggle to keep pretending she hadn't driven him absolutely insane was lost. "I know… you helped her ESCAPE!" His face was positively animalistic as his wrath fell upon Quasimodo. "And now, all Paris is burning because of YOU!"
"She was kind to me, master!" Quasimodo squeaked in a tiny voice as he struggled to escape his master's homicidal rage.
"YOU IDIOT, THAT WASN'T KINDNESS, IT WAS CUNNING!" Frollo roared, grabbing the hunchback by the shirt. Figurines and the splintered remains of tiny wooden houses scattered across the floor as he smashed the table to bits. "SHE'S A GYPSY! GYPSIES ARE NOT CAPABLE OF REAL LOVE! THINK, BOY! THINK OF YOUR MOTHER!" Quasimodo cowered as Frollo loomed over him, teeth bared, eyes popping. He cleared his throat to compose himself and straightened to his knees, stroking his foster son's hair back as though nothing had happened. "But what chance could a poor, misshapen child like you have against her heathen treachery?" he mused as he stood and gathered his hat and basket. He slipped a knife from within his robes and stabbed it through the middle of Esmeralda's wooden likeness. "Well, never you mind, Quasimodo. I will free you from her evil spell. She will torment you no longer."
"What do you mean?" gasped the hunchback, still terrified from the judge's psychotic eruption.
"I know where her hideout is, and tomorrow at dawn, I attack with a thousand men." Quasimodo sank hopelessly to the floor, and Frollo descended the stairs, smirking all over his pallid, wrinkled face. In truth, he didn't yet know her whereabouts, but if his assumptions were correct, Quasimodo did, and he would lead him straight to her.
"Your orders, sir?" asked a guard as he returned to his army.
"Wait here, out of sight," Frollo snapped, mounting his horse. "When the bell ringer comes out of the tower, we will follow, and then the gypsy girl is ours." A soft, evil chuckle escaped his throat. All his plans were coming together, and it was only a matter of time before his imminent victory was accomplished.
Mere moments later, Quasimodo and Captain Phoebus— who, Frollo realized with a stab of rage, had apparently survived the wound from the arrow— came out of the cathedral and set off towards the Court of Miracles. The guards started forwards, but Frollo held them back. "Wait a moment. We don't want them knowing we are behind them." When they were far enough ahead, Frollo gave the signal and they set off.
"A graveyard," remarked Frollo, smirking as the hunchback and the traitor unwittingly led them to the cemetery where the gypsies no doubt were hiding. "It is almost as though they know what awaits them." The guards began to laugh as well, but Frollo barked, "Silence!" and silence fell. His victims made their way down a set of stairs hidden in a crypt, and Frollo grinned his twisted, malicious, skull-like grin. "You men," he hissed as he dismounted his own ebony steed, pointing to a small group to the left. "Remain here with the horses. The rest of you, follow me." And they made their way down through the catacombs to the Court of Miracles, where the gypsies waited like rats in a trap, completely oblivious to the danger they were all in.
"… It may not exactly show, but we're grateful," he heard Esmeralda say. Her voice alone was enough to send a rush of white hot longing through Frollo's body.
There was a brief pause, then he heard Phoebus. "Don't thank me, thank Quasimodo. Without him, I would never have found my way here."
"Nor would I!" boomed Frollo, stepping from the shadows as the gypsies screamed and were siezed by guards. He grinned and surveyed his good fortune. "After twenty years of searching, the Court of Miracles is mine at last." He stepped towards his foster son. "Dear Quasimodo, I always knew you would someday be of use to me."
"What are you talking about?" hissed Esmeralda, jewel-like eyes narrowed in deepest loathing.
"Why, he led me right to you, my dear," Frollo replied, caressing her soft brown cheek lovingly. She wrenched away from his touch.
"You're a liar!" she snarled.
More to save what was left of his sanity than anything, he turned to Phoebus. "And look what else I've caught in my net. Captain Phoebus, back from the dead… another 'miracle,' no doubt." His twisted smirk widened. "I shall remedy that." He turned around like a large black bat to address every one of his prisoners.
"There'll be a little bonfire in the square tomorrow, and you're all invited to attend. Lock them up."