The next day, Belle was up early. She was looking forward to the fair, but she was also feeling depressed about Hervé. Things just weren't going the way she had hoped.
Her father greeted her cheerfully in the kitchen. "Good morning, Belle! My woodcutting machine is in the back of the wagon, and I've hitched up Philippe! Are you ready to go?"
"Good morning, Papa. I'll just make us a picnic lunch, and then we can go," Belle said. She began putting cheese, fruit, and some leftover roast chicken into her basket.
Maurice watched her. "Is everything all right?" he asked. "When you told me about the fair, you seemed so excited about it, but today you're kind of quiet."
"I'm fine, Papa," Belle said with a sigh. "It's just Hervé. I invited him to go to the fair with us, but he said no. He says he hates fairs. Too noisy and crowded."
"Well, not everyone likes them, it's true," Maurice said. Then he added encouragingly, "But things must be going well between you, if you're going to miss him so much today!"
Belle smiled sadly. "I wish that were the case." The lunch packing finished, she sat down at the table. "I don't know, Papa…When I met Hervé, I thought he was my dream come true. He was so intelligent, and so polite, and knew everything about literature. He seemed perfect. But as I've gotten to know him…well, I'm just not as happy as I thought I would be."
Maurice sat down next to her, looking concerned. "Oh? He seemed nice enough when we had dinner that time."
"He is nice – I mean, he's very polite, a perfect gentleman," Belle said. "But he's also very conventional, and set in his ways, and he likes everything to be orderly and quiet and predictable. He loves routine, and he hates adventure and surprises. And all he ever wants to do is read books. I mean, I love books too, of course, but I like to do other things too!" She was silent a moment, thinking. "At first it was interesting, because I was learning a lot about books that I didn't know before. But he analyzes them in such a dry, detached way – he doesn't really get into them emotionally in the same way I do. And after all these weeks of doing the same thing...well, I never dreamed I would ever say this, but I'm actually tired of reading and talking about books all the time! When I'm with him, I wish we could just go out and do something! That was why I invited him to the fair. I thought it would be good to get him out a little, show him that there are fun things outside of books. But he won't go."
Maurice looked sympathetic. "Well, you can't make people do anything they don't want to do. But it sounds to me like you need to have a long talk with him and tell him how you feel. And you have to figure out for yourself if this is something that can be worked out or not."
"I know," Belle said with a sigh. "Maybe I'll talk to him tomorrow." She looked up earnestly. "Papa, do you think I'm being too picky? I know I can't make him change who he is, and it's unfair of me to ask him to change. But at the same time…I honestly don't know if I can be happy with him."
Unexpectedly, she found herself thinking of Gaston. After all, she had tried to change him at first, too, forcing him to read aloud. Yet with Gaston, they had been able to get past that issue, and come to a happy medium. Gaston had discovered that he actually liked some books, if Belle read them aloud to him. And she had discovered that she genuinely enjoyed his company, even though he wasn't an intellectual and didn't want to read on his own. Their differences had made things interesting and stimulating, and the more she got to know him, the more she liked him. Whereas with Hervé, it seemed to be the opposite. At first, she had thought Hervé was perfect for her; on the surface, they seemed to have everything in common. Yet the more she got to know him, the less she enjoyed being with him.
Maurice patted her shoulder. "Life is never easy, is it? I wish I could tell you what to do, but there's no one right answer. All relationships have their problems, but if the two people truly care about each other, they can work it out. But on the other hand, if the person just isn't right for you, he isn't right for you. If don't feel anything for him, you can't force it. All I can tell you is to follow your heart."
"Thank you, Papa. I guess I'll talk to him about it tomorrow, and try to figure out how I feel and if the relationship is worth saving. But just having you here to listen made me feel better." She stood up. "But enough about my problems. Let's go to the fair! I bet you'll win first prize in the invention contest!"
"I hope so!" Maurice agreed.
They went outside to the wagon. Then, impulsively, Belle said, "Wait a minute, Papa. I'll be right back." She ran to the bookseller's house and knocked on the door. It couldn't hurt to try one last time before they left.
"Belle! Good morning!" Hervé greeted her. "Are you off to the fair?"
"Yes," she said, smiling. "I just thought I'd ask you again before we go - is there any chance you could come with us? I'd really love for you to come. And look…" She held up her basket. "I packed a picnic lunch!"
Hervé smiled. "That is very kind of you, Belle, but as I told you, I get no pleasure from this sort of event. If I went, I would be miserable, and would only put a damper on your good time, I'm sure. And I do have a lot of work to get done on my book. But you go ahead and have a splendid time. I'll see you tomorrow."
"All right," Belle said. There was no point arguing, she knew. She hadn't really expected him to change his mind, but she'd hoped that maybe there was a chance he could bend a little.
She headed back to the wagon. Tomorrow she would talk to Hervé and try to figure out what to do. But today, she decided, she would put Hervé out of her mind and just have fun at the fair.
She joined her father. "Okay, Papa! Let's go!"
Her spirits rose as the carriage rolled along the wide road through the forest. Just leaving Molyneaux and going to see another town was fun and exciting, a break in the usual routine. And she'd never been to a country fair before. It was something new, an adventure.
When they arrived in Clermont-Ferrand, Belle gasped. She had never seen so many people in one place! They left the horse and wagon at the hostelry. Maurice asked a passerby where the invention contest was being held, and was directed to a nearby tent. Belle helped him set up his woodcutting machine. Maurice looked around, and was fascinated to see the other inventions. "My word, this is intriguing! How is it constructed?" he asked a man who had a clock in which a little wooden cuckoo bird emerged to signal the hour with a "cuckoo" call. The man began chatting with Maurice, who was delighted to have the chance to talk with other inventors.
He paused in his conversation to tell his daughter, "Belle, my contest isn't until 2:00. Why don't you go and enjoy the fair? You can meet me back here for the judging."
Belle smiled. "All right, Papa." She was eager to see more of the fair, and her father was clearly having the time of his life sharing his ideas about inventing with people who could appreciate it.
She left the tent and walked around the fair, enjoying the lively atmosphere and color. Children ran about eagerly, while their parents chatted with friends. Farmers passed by leading cows and pigs or carrying huge pumpkins, hoping to win first prize for their impressive livestock and produce, and vendors eagerly hawked their wares.
Belle soon discovered that there had been no need to pack a lunch. Everywhere she looked were carts selling all kinds of tempting delicacies: roast pork and goose, fried sausages, plum puddings, cakes and gingerbread, fruits and nuts, cheeses, candy and sugarplums. There were also carts selling bonnets and handkerchiefs, pipes and tobacco, small toys, and a variety of baubles and trinkets along with more useful items.
On a small stage, a puppet theater had been set up, and a performance was about to begin. Belle stopped to watch. The main character was a funny-looking marionette called Polichinelle, who had a big pot belly, a hunchback, and a huge hooked nose. His nagging wife, Dame Gigogne, a silly dog, and a drunken friend were also part of the act. Belle laughed at the puppets' crazy antics. She admired the artistry of the puppeteers, and the way they incorporated different kinds of humor in the show. The irreverent Polichinelle was free with his speech, poking fun at all classes and making comments ranging from sly political satire to clever insults to ribald, risqué jokes. But the biggest laughs came from the physical comedy and slapstick, with puppets hitting each other with sticks and doing pratfalls. Belle found it all very entertaining.
She moved on and saw a juggler, and then a small of musicians playing lively music on a hurdy-gurdy, harmonica, and tambourine.
It was amazing, she mused. She had always thought of her tiny village and its neighbors as dull. But just as with the village dance and the sewing circle, she again found herself surprised by the life and color and spirit to be found here. There was much more to this "provincial life" and its people than met the eye, she was discovering.
Passing by a tent, she was surprised to hear someone calling her name. It was Monique, standing with Josette and Cecile. "Hi, Belle!"
"Belle!" Raoul and Renaud ran forward and hugged Belle's legs. She bent down and hugged them back.
"It's good to see you all!" Belle said, glad to have found her friends so unexpectedly.
"Cecile and I are about to find out who makes the best pastry," Monique told her. "I'm sure my apple pie is going to win!"
Cecile laughed. "Not after they taste my peach cobbler!"
"I'm not taking sides," Belle said with a smile. "You're both wonderful cooks!" Then she looked around. "Where's Amelie?" she asked.
"Oh, you just missed her," Monique said. "We were all watching the weightlifting competition a little while ago---"
"All those big, strong men!" Josette interrupted with a dreamy sigh. "It was glorious! You should have seen it! Of course, Gaston won – he always does."
Belle felt a little pang at the mention of Gaston. She wondered if she would see him today at the fair.
"Anyway, Gaston's going to be in a target-shooting contest next, so Amelie and LeFou went to watch," Monique went on. "But Cecile and I have our baking competition now, so we had to come back here."
The judge announced that judging was about to start. The girls quickly entered the tent, and Monique and Cecile put their desserts on the table.
There were 20 entries. After the first round of tasting, it was down to the top five. The girls watched eagerly. "These are all so delicious, it's almost impossible to choose!" the judge admitted. He tasted them all again.
"First prize goes to the peach cobbler!" he announced. "Second prize to the apple pie!"
Monique groaned good-naturedly. "Great. Now we'll have to hear Cecile bragging for the next year. I'll never hear the end of it!"
"Hey, I've earned it!" Cecile replied proudly.
"Congratulations, both of you!" Belle said.
Monique smiled. "Congratulations, Cecile," she said sincerely. "That peach cobbler is yummy, I have to admit! But I'm going to beat you next year, wait and see!"
Then Belle noticed the time. "Oh, it's almost time for my father's inventing contest!" she said. "I'll see you girls later."
"Wait, I'll come with you," Monique said. "I'd like to see how your father does."
"Thanks," Belle said, surprised and pleased.
"I wish I could come, but I promised Emile I'd meet him for the pie-eating contest," Cecile said. "But I'll see you both later."
"I want to see that too!" Josette said. "We'll see you later, Belle!"
Belle and Monique went to the inventing tent. Belle shared her food and drink with her father, who told her happily, "I'm meeting the most ingenious inventors here! Remarkable people!"
Then it was time for the judging. To Belle's delight, her father's woodcutting machine won first prize, which included not only a medal, but a cash prize. Not only that, but everyone who watched the contest was impressed by the machine. Several people came up to Maurice, wanting to know where they could buy one, and one man wanted to talk about going into business with Maurice to help him manufacture and sell them in quantity.
Belle congratulated her father, then left him to talk business while she saw more of the fair with Monique. She was so glad she had come – she was having a wonderful time.
O o o o o o o
Hervé frowned as he looked at his notes. He had gotten as far as he could in writing his book, but in order to continue, he really needed that reference book. When on earth would it get here? He had ordered it weeks ago!
He went to the bookstore to ask his uncle about it. "Uncle, do you have any idea when my reference book will be here? I need it, but it seems to be taking an extraordinary long time to arrive."
Mssr. Liseur was surprised. "The reference book? Didn't Belle give it to you?"
"Belle?" Hervé said in confusion. "No."
The bookseller frowned. "That's odd. The reference book came in yesterday. Belle stopped by, looking for you, so I told her you were at the house, and asked her to give the book to you. She put it in her basket."
Her basket…Hervé had a sudden mental image of Belle this morning, inviting him once more to come to the fair. She had mentioned that she was bringing a picnic lunch, and had held up her basket as proof.
"It would seem she forgot to give it to me," Hervé said, annoyed. "It must still be in her basket. She took it with her to the fair."
His uncle shrugged. "That's a shame. I guess you'll just have to wait till she comes home tonight to get it."
Hervé went back to the house. He couldn't do any more writing without the book. He tried to read, but he grew more and more annoyed as time passed. He needed that reference book! He had planned to spend the whole day working, and his writing had been going well – he hated to have it interrupted.
He began to get fidgety. He couldn't concentrate on reading or anything else.
Finally he made a decision. He would go to the fair, find Belle, and get his reference book back. Then he could finally get some real work done.
He went outside. The village was almost deserted; nearly everyone had gone to the fair. But as Hervé looked around the village, he found a straggler, a farmer who had had to take care of a cow birthing a calf that morning, which had delayed his departure.
"Excuse me," Hervé said to the farmer as he helped his large and unruly brood of children into his farm wagon. "If you're going to the fair, might I get a ride with you?"
"Sure, hop in," the farmer said cheerfully.
"Thank you. I am much obliged," Hervé said. He climbed into the wagon, where he found himself uncomfortably squeezed in among the farmer's plump wife and several rowdy, wrestling children. The wagon jolted and bumped along the road. Hervé sat grim and silent, praying the ride would end soon.
Finally they arrived at the fair. Hervé thanked the farmer again and pressed a few coins into his hand. Then he set off to look for Belle.
His senses were immediately bombarded by a cacophony of sounds and a plethora of smells, which made him wrinkle his nose in distaste. Everywhere were hordes of people, brushing up against him or bumping him as they pushed their way here and there. Ragged, sticky-faced urchins raced around madly, shrieking at the top of their lungs, and one who wasn't looking where he was going ran right into Hervé at top speed, practically knocking him over, then raced off without so much as a "pardon me."
He passed by a puppet theater where the afternoon show was in progress. The puppets appeared to be hitting each other and falling down, while the audience roared with laughter. Hervé shook his head disparagingly. Undoubtedly this was what passed for sophisticated humor to these rustic folk.
Where on earth was Belle? he wondered. It seemed nearly impossible to find her amongst the throngs of fairgoers.
He saw a group of people gathered around, watching some sort of contest, and moved forward to see if he could spot Belle in the crowd. He scanned the spectators…no sign of her, unfortunately. Then his eye fell on the contestant, and he grimaced. It was that barbaric Philistine, Gaston. No doubt he was showing off his brute animal strength to the admiration of the crowd, as though it were some sort of noble achievement. Physical prowess seemed to be the only attribute these rustics were impressed by…that, or the unparalleled accomplishment of having produced the heaviest farm animal or the largest vegetable, Hervé thought.
Then his eyes widened in disbelief. No. Surely it couldn't be. Even these primitives couldn't sink as low as this, could they? But apparently…they could.
As Hervé gaped, flabbergasted, that musclebound cretin took a cherry out of a bowl laid out for the contestants, put it in his mouth, chewed a moment, then stepped forward to the chalk line drawn on the ground and expectorated, sending the cherry pit flying through the air. It landed far away on the ground.
It was the most appallingly vulgar display Hervé had ever witnessed, not to mention shockingly unhygienic. But to the scholar's amazement, the spectators actually cheered, as though the brainless buffoon had actually done something noteworthy!
The judge brought out a yardstick and solemnly measured the distance. "93 feet! A new record!" he announced. The crowd cheered again, and Gaston raised his fists in the air in a victory gesture.
"No one spits like Gaston!" a spectator said admiringly to Hervé.
"A skill to be proud of, I'm sure," Hervé replied dryly.
He walked away, not wishing to see any more of the rude spectacle. As he traveled through the fair, looking for Belle, he saw farm animals everywhere, being led around right where the people were walking, and moved away from them. Then he felt his foot squish something. He stopped and looked down. To his extreme disgust, he saw that he had stepped in a cow patty. Shuddering in revulsion, he took out his handkerchief and wiped off his shoe as best he could, then threw the handkerchief away.
He marched on, determined to find Belle as soon as possible so he could retrieve his book and at last vacate this repulsive scene.
O o o o o o
"Come on!" Monique said to Belle. "The greased pig contest is about to start! Jacques' in it, I have to cheer him on." She added with a wink, "Of course, I have absolutely NO desire at all to see all the other shirtless guys."
Belle laughed. "All right. Let's go!"
They headed toward the big barn where the contest was being held. The greased pig contest was one of the highlights of the fair, and throngs of people were crowded around the pigpen inside. Monique managed to push her way to the front so she and Belle could have a good view. One side of the pen held a mud puddle; on the other side was a young pig that had been smeared with grease to make it slippery. By the judge's stand, men were lined up, joking and laughing as they waited their turn.
"Oh, there's Jacques!" Monique said, waving.
The contest began. One by one, each man took off his shirt, climbed into the pen, and tried to catch the slippery, squealing, running pig within the 90-second time limit, as the audience laughed and cheered him on. Jacques came close to catching it at one point, but then the pig suddenly changed course and ran under his legs. Trying to twist around, Jacques lost his balance and fell into the mud puddle, and then his time ran out. He stood up, grinning sheepishly and dripping with mud, but the crowd cheered anyway.
Monique giggled. "Aw, poor Jacques! I'd better go help clean him up and soothe his wounded pride."
Belle smiled. "Okay! I'll see you later!" Monique pushed her way out of the crowd to find Jacques. Belle turned back to the pen, enjoying the humor and sheer absurdity of the contest. Everyone was laughing and in a good mood. Sometimes a little silliness was just what was needed to lighten up the seriousness of life.
The rest of the line moved quickly. None of the men was able to catch the pig. Then Belle took a sharp intake of breath. There was Gaston. He was the last contestant. He pulled off his shirt, then grinned broadly as all the girls in the audience whooped and called. Instead of immediately climbing into the pen as the others had done, Gaston gripped his hands together and raised them over his head in a victory gesture, turning around and posing, milking the moment. Belle giggled with fond amusement as she watched him. Typical Gaston – he just loved attention.
Watching him grinning and laughing, all set to climb into a pen and chase a pig to win a prize, Belle was suddenly struck with how full of life Gaston was. He abounded in fun and energy and spirit, always ready for an adventure, always game for anything, any bet or dare or joke. She felt wistful, overcome with longing. Being with Gaston had been fun and exciting. He had made her feel alive, as though he was showing her a whole world she hadn't known existed, a world where anything could happen and life was full of surprises.
She missed him. It was as simple as that. All the other girls were swooning over his body – which was looking very good, Belle had to admit, with his huge biceps and broad chest. But she missed him – just being with him, horseback riding and reading to him, even arguing with him. When she had made the decision to let Hervé court her, she hadn't realized that she would lose Gaston's friendship entirely, that he would never even speak to her again. She sighed, feeling a sense of sadness and loss.
Gaston climbed into the pen, and tried to creep up on the pig, but it ran away. He lunged after it a few times, trying to feint and weave and head it off, but it ducked away and headed toward the mud. Gaston crouched, then leaped forward with arms outstretched, trying to tackle it. But he miscalculated. With a tremendous splash, he belly-flopped right into the mud puddle, and was completely submerged for a moment. Everyone gasped.
Then the audience started to giggle: the pig had somehow ended up on Gaston's head, so as he started to get up, for a moment it looked as though Gaston's body had a pig's head. Then, slowly and carefully, Gaston started to rise…and quick as a flash, he snatched the pig off his head and gripped it to his chest.
He stood up, covered with mud and grease, and grinned good-naturedly, holding the pig. The barn erupted in cheers. Belle cheered too.
"Ladies and gentleman, we have a winner!" the judge announced. Gaston raised the squirming pig triumphantly over his head, then put it down and climbed out of the pen. A crowd of friends and well-wishers immediately surged around him to congratulate him.
Belle started to move forward, but then hesitated. She wanted to go over to him – it had been so long since she'd talked to him. But she felt suddenly shy. She knew he was angry at her for choosing Hervé; he hadn't even come near her since then. Clearly he wanted nothing more to do with her.
But…surely it would be all right just to congratulate him on winning the contest? She decided to do it. Maybe it would break the ice.
She waited as Gaston talked and joked with all the well-wishers. Finally, after about 20 minutes, the crowd around him drifted away. Gaston splashed water on himself at the horse trough, washing off all the grease and mud, then dried off. Now was a good time. Belle took a step forward, ready to go over and congratulate him.
But before she could, another girl suddenly sidled up to him. Belle stopped short, uncertain. The girl had long, shiny, copper-colored hair, big blue eyes, a voluptuous figure, and long shapely legs.
Gaston hadn't noticed the girl yet. But she caught his attention by brazenly putting her hand on his arm just as he was about to put his shirt back on. "Ooh, not so fast!" she said flirtatiously, in an exotic accent. "Let a girl enjoy the view a little longer, won't you?" She ran her eye over his muscular arms and chest. "Very, very nice," she said appreciatively.
Gaston grinned. "I know, I'm a sight to behold!" he said, flexing his muscles proudly. "But sorry, I'll have to put my shirt back on now. It is November, after all."
She pouted. "Oh, all right."
"You'll have to let go of my arm first," Gaston pointed out.
The girl looked down at the muscular bicep she was still clinging to. "You just have to spoil all my fun, don't you?" she teased. "Okay, whatever you say." She let go.
"That's a good girl," Gaston said, putting his shirt back on.
She smiled meaningfully. "Oh, I wouldn't say that," she said with a wink. "So…you must be that Gaston everyone's been talking about. 'The strongest, handsomest man in all of France,' they said." She gave him another admiring once-over. "They were telling the truth, I see."
"Yep, that's me," Gaston agreed. "And who might you be?"
"I'm Klaske," she said, fluttering her eyelashes.
"Klaske? That's an unusual name," Gaston commented.
"It's Dutch," Klaske explained. "I'm from the Netherlands - we just moved to France recently. I didn't want to move at first…but if I'd known there were men like you here, I would have been a lot more eager to come! We don't have any men like you back home!"
Gaston grinned. "They don't have any men like me here in France, either," he pointed out. "I'm one of a kind."
"You can say that again," she purred. "So, why haven't I seen you around here before?"
"I don't live in Clermont-Ferrand," Gaston said. "I'm from Molyneaux, a few miles away."
"A few miles, hmmm?" Klaske said. "Then we'll just have to find a reason for you to come here more often, won't we?"
Belle felt a wave of jealousy overtake her. She couldn't stand it anymore. "Gaston?" she called.
He looked up and saw her, and immediately his eyes lit up. "Belle!" He came over to her. Then, belatedly remembering that he was supposed to be polite, he half-turned and said over his shoulder, "It was nice meeting you, Klaske."
"Likewise," Klaske said, glaring daggers at Belle. She was about to say something else, but a young man who had been admiring her from afar throughout the conversation saw his opportunity, and quickly stepped in front of her to say hello.
Gaston gazed at her, taking her in as though he was thrilled simply to be looking at her. He smiled. "So, Belle, are you enjoying the fair?"
She nodded, relieved to see that he didn't appear angry at her after all. He actually seemed glad to see her. "It's a lot of fun. And congratulations on winning the greased pig contest!"
He grinned. "You saw that, huh?"
"Yes. And from what I heard, you won every contest they had today!"
"Of course. Who else?" he said proudly.
Belle smiled at his familiar egotism. That was the Gaston she knew. It just felt so good to be talking to him, after so long.
Gaston was bragging about the various contests he'd won. "Then, in the last round of the archery contest, they moved the target back to 100 feet. Everyone said it was impossible to hit it from so far away—"
Suddenly he broke off, and Belle saw him smile slightly and give a little involuntary shake of the head, as though admonishing himself. He looked at her attentively. "Belle, how have you been? Are you reading any good books now?"
Belle smiled, amused and touched at the way he consciously remembered to be more polite. There was just something so dear and sweet about him. "Yes, a few."
He looked interested. "Anything with monsters? Or lots of fighting and action?"
"Actually, yes," she said. "I just read one about a hero called Beowulf, who fought a terrifying monster called Grendel…" She went on telling him about the story, and he listened, asking questions. Her shyness had vanished. Now, talking to him felt as natural as though they'd never been apart.
Suddenly she was interrupted by a voice calling, "Belle! Thank heavens! There you are!"
She turned around, and her eyes widened. "Hervé?" she said in surprise. She couldn't believe it – he was really here!
Her face broke into a delighted smile, and she beamed at Hervé. He had actually come after all! He must have felt bad about disappointing her, and wanted to make amends.
A wild surge of hope swelled within her. Maybe there was more to him than she had realized. The fact that he had overcome his objections to the fair and come all this way, just to make her happy – that meant a lot to her. "Hervé, I'm so glad you came!" she said warmly. "Come on, let me show you around. The fair is mostly over, but there are still some things we can see."
"No, I can't stay. I didn't come for the fair," Hervé said.
Belle was confused. "You didn't?"
Hervé shook his head. "No, I just need that reference book you have in your basket. The one you were supposed to give me yesterday. It's very important."
She looked startled. "Oh, the reference book! I'm so sorry, I forgot all about it." She rummaged in her basket. "Oh, look, here it is. It was underneath all the picnic things." She handed it to Hervé.
"Thank you. Although I really wish you hadn't forgotten it yesterday," Hervé said, a bit petulantly. "It would have saved me a trip."
"I'm sorry," Belle said.
"Well, what's done is done," Hervé said. "Now, how do I get back to Molyneaux?"
Belle looked at him in disbelief. "Hervé, look…whatever the reason, you're here now. Why don't you stay, and spend some time with me, and try to have a good time? We'll be leaving in a couple of hours; then you can ride home with my father and me."
Hervé shook his head in distaste. "Believe me, Belle, I've already seen far more of this so-called 'fun' fair than I ever wished to, or ever hope to again. Noise, crowds, mess, ridiculous contests and vulgar displays…Right now, all I want to do is to get back to my uncle's house and get some work done."
Belle stared at him. With a crushing sense of disappointment, she faced the truth: this relationship just wasn't going to work. She had tried her best, heaven knew, and Hervé wasn't a bad person, but there was simply no way on earth that she could ever be happy with this man. He just wasn't the right one for her. She knew that now, once and for all. She would have to end it.
But this was not the time or place to talk to him about it. It was too crowded and too public. Tomorrow, back at home, she would have a long talk with him in private, explain how she felt, and break it off with him. She wasn't looking forward to that conversation, but it would have to be done.
She sighed, feeling desolate. She had had such high hopes at the start. Now all her dreams had turned to dust.
"Fine, Hervé," she said quietly. "Whatever you want. Just take the main road through the forest – it leads straight to Molyneaux. There are always a lot of carriages on that road, in both directions; I'm sure you'll be able to get a ride with no problem."
"All right," Hervé said. He smiled, in a much better mood now that he had his reference book back, and feeling relieved to know that he could now leave the odious fair. "You have a good time, Belle," he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Stay as long as you like. I shall see you back at Molyneaux."
"Sure," Belle said, trying to smile. Hervé headed out of the barn.
Gaston watched the entire exchange with growing jealousy, scowling. When Belle had first said hello to him, he had felt a moment of hope. At least she did still seem to like him a little. She had been friendly. But the moment she'd seen Hervé, Gaston had felt his heart sink. Belle's whole face had lit up at the mere sight of Hervé. She was clearly thrilled to see him at the fair. Then when he had said he couldn't stay, she had looked absolutely crushed.
Even though Belle had been spending all of her time with Hervé over the past few weeks…even though she would surely see him again tonight when she got home from the fair… she was clearly so attached to him that the thought of being apart from him even for a few hours was devastating to her. And the way he'd kissed her on the cheek, so familiar, as though they were already married.
That brief conversation confirmed all of Gaston's worst fears. Belle was deeply in love with Hervé. LeFou was right. What chance did his one poem have against that?
But at least Hervé was gone for the moment, Gaston thought. "Belle," he said, "I'm done with my contests, so I'm going to the tavern. Everyone goes there to celebrate on fair day. Why don't you come with me? Everyone from Molyneaux will be there too. It'll be fun."
Belle smiled at him gratefully, glad he was trying to cheer her up. "Thanks, Gaston, I'd like that. I just have to go find my father first, and then we'll both meet you at the tavern."
"Great!" Gaston said. They left the barn, and Belle went off to find Maurice.
Gaston watched her go, then turned to go to the tavern. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hervé heading toward the forest. He shook his head in disgust. How could Belle possibly be attracted to a guy like that?
Then Gaston suddenly noticed something. Hervé was on the wrong side of the town square, facing the wrong part of the forest. He had been looking around in confusion, but now he suddenly straightened up, as though he'd seen something. As Gaston watched, Hervé headed confidently toward the old hunting path that led into the woods, apparently thinking it was the road back to Molyneaux. Hunters used that path as a shortcut to get quickly into the heart of the forest, where the most game was to be found; once there, the trail faded out, and the hunter made his own way through the woods, tracking the game and choosing where to go. If Hervé took that path, he'd end up in the deepest part of the forest, far from any town, and no doubt hopelessly lost.
Gaston cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hervé!" he called. "Hervé!"
Hearing his name, the scholar turned around. But on seeing that the caller was Gaston, he quickly turned back, hunched over, and ran into the woods as fast as he could.
Gaston swore under his breath. The idiot. Gaston had only been trying to warn him that he was going the wrong way. The hell with him then, Gaston thought. I tried to tell him. If he didn't listen, it's his problem.
He started to turn away. But then he paused. Maybe he should go after Herve. The little wimp was probably going to get lost in the woods…and the odds were that he wasn't going to be able to find his way out. And if the wolves found him…
If the wolves found him…then he wouldn't be able to marry Belle, Gaston suddenly realized, startled, his eyes widening. If Hervé was gone, Belle's affections would return to Gaston, and she would marry him. He would have no competition.
He stood still, his heart pounding. This was his one chance. He could have Belle. All he had to do was…nothing. Just do nothing at all…and Belle would be his.
As he stood there, hesitating, Claude and Francois came up to him. "Come on, Gaston! Everyone's waiting for you in the tavern!" Francois said.
Gaston straightened up. "Sure," he said firmly. "Let's go." Without a backward glance, he joined them.