Margot's POV:

Claude, Esmeralda, Jehan, and Pierre arrived close to sunset. The four of them had probably sampled plenty of things in town, but I had made some stew and bread just in case. My assumptions were correct; they put away all of the food items and promptly sat down. While they were out, I had brewed a few remedies up and Quasimodo had helped me most of the day. He had stirred the more temperamental mixtures while I assembled the glass bottles on the counters. Claude had only to write out the labels for me since my hand wasn't quite steady enough. Quasimodo had been kind enough to chop up all the vegetables for me.

"I brought you this," Jehan said, holding up the bottle of wine.

"That bottle is still full, amazingly enough," Claude mumbled.

Jehan playfully cuffed him.

"Don't tell me that you don't remember getting into the Communion wine once!"

Claude's cheeks flamed and I turned around.

"Oh…I haven't heard this story," I said, inviting him to tell it.

"Jehan, don't you dare!"

Jehan pretended that he was going to knock Claude's chair over.

"Well…it was back when Claude knew how to have fun," Jehan began despite Claude's howls of protests, "he hadn't even been fully ordained yet. I came begging him again for something to eat, but all that was left was a little bit of bread and some wine—a big bottle of it. I took the bottle and up-ended it."

"And I told him to put it down and asked him if he was crazy," Claude responded, "I didn't even offer him the wine, he just went rifling through our cabinets and twisted the cork out!"

"Anyway…" Jehan said, staring at his brother with a wicked grin, "I told him how good it was and I let it waft under his nose. I talked him into having a little…"

"And I discovered the reason why drunkenness is one of the highest evils of society," Claude sighed.

Pierre chuckled.

"You were drunk?" he snorted.

"Not on purpose!" Claude defended himself.

"Well, suffice it to say that Claude was not an experienced drinker and quite frankly didn't know what the Hell he was doing," Jehan continued before Claude could protest, "he drank more of it than I did. He didn't sip, either, he just inhaled it."

Esmeralda was giggling so much that Claude looked as though he wanted the floor to swallow him up right then and there.

"So, then what happened?" I pressed.

"Well, Claude is a very happy, very amused, very musical drunk," Jehan said triumphantly, "and the old archdeacon who had one foot in the grave came down the stairs to see who was singing those Latin hymns so badly out of key! Of course, I was a little tipsy myself, so I didn't bother to shut Claude up and was even joining in. The archdeacon wanted to know why Claude was up so late and what I was doing there. Then, he saw the empty wine bottle and almost had a stroke right there."

The room was really filled with laughter then.

"He looks from me to Claude and back to me again and yells 'What have you done? That was for the Eucharist tomorrow! Now there's no Blood of Christ!'. How could you do this, Claude? How could you deprive the people of the Blood of Christ? What have you to say for yourself?' And then…"

Jehan had to regain his composure, as his laughter had now hit full-force.

"…Claude says to him, hiccupping and laughing all the while, I add: 'Jehan is now washed in the Blood of Jesus Christ!' and the archdeacon says 'And apparently, so are you! Go to bed immediately!'. Needless to say, I did not get to spend the night at the Cathedral!"

Esmeralda had tears flowing down her cheeks now and was laughing silently. Pierre and Jehan were guffawing so much that I waited until they calmed down to serve the soup. Claude had hidden his face, but he was actually smiling when he lowered his hands. I didn't feel so bad laughing a little now.

"You got me into more trouble than you were worth," Claude mumbled, "and contrary to belief, there is a commandment about annoying siblings."

"What was it? Love thy Neighbor?" I asked, passing them their steaming bowls of stew. Claude looked right up at me. As straight-faced as he could manage (though his eyes were twinkling humorously), he replied solemnly, "No, actually. It is 'Thou Shalt Not Kill'."

The room dissolved into more laughter.

"And he has tested me to my absolute limits," Claude sighed, looking over at Jehan.

"But you love me," Jehan said sweetly, putting on an innocent face.

"Yes…but I don't exactly have a choice, do I?" Claude teased.

I was impressed with him; Claude seemed considerably more relaxed.

"He did very well on his first day out," Jehan said cheerfully, "he even met a girl."

Claude's expression twisted into the one that said I'm going to kill you if you don't shut up.

"A girl? Wow…that's great!" I exclaimed.

"Jehan!" Claude hissed, giving him the "shut up" gesture. Of course, Jehan being Jehan, ignored it.

"There was a very lovely lady talking to him when I found him," Jehan said mischievously, "if you'd have seen the blush on her cheeks and the look in her eyes!"

Jehan winced. I'm pretty sure that Claude had kicked him under the table. He gave Claude a dirty look.

"Oh, come on! Even I wasn't that lucky!" he protested.

Claude looked as though he wanted the floor to swallow him up whole. Pierre and Esmeralda were, to say the least, amused.

"I wonder if God would let me have just one exception," Claude muttered under his breath, "…just one…I have no idea what I've done to deserve this!"

"Ah, lighten up! It's only in fun," Jehan said, looking as innocent as a young child, "you can't stay angry with me, you know!"

"If I could, you wouldn't be here," Claude reminded him sternly. He was trying to look serious, but his mouth twisted and the laughter exploded out.

It was the first time I could remember seeing him smile at all, let alone laugh. Esmeralda's eyes locked with mine for a second and I knew she was thinking the same thing.

"Who was the young lady?" I asked.

Claude groaned and pretended to bang his head on the table.

"Her name is Marguerite," Pierre chimed in, "I've met her before. Nice girl…a little scatterbrained, but sweet just the same. I've sold a few of my sonnets to her. Beast for a father, though."

"Wonderful," Claude muttered sarcastically.

"You could take him," Pierre joked, "just chop a few more piles of wood and you'll be strong enough. The man's all bark and no bite."

Claude raised an eyebrow.

"Her father can keep her," he informed Pierre, "I have more important things to deal with than some silly girl."

If her name isn't "Esmeralda", I thought.

"You say that now," Jehan said slyly, giving Esmeralda a sideways look, "but I'd be careful about what you swear to keep away from. It's usually the case that whatever or whomever comes back to get you…"

"Can we talk about something else now?"

Claude, I supposed, had been a very good sport, but he was tired of being picked on now.

"Yes…I have a job for you later," I told him, "since you can read and write, I'll be needing labels made for these bottles."

"I can read and write, too," Jehan commented.

"Yes, but I think Margot wants other people to be able to read the labels," Claude teased him, "it took me two hours to decipher the last letter you wrote me."

"Who's fault is that? You taught me to write," Jehan retorted.

Esmeralda shook her head, still laughing.

"They really are related after all," she giggled.

"It's going to be interesting having them live together," I whispered, "I won't get anything done!"