Months passed and it was soon summer. Claude Frollo frequented the tower more often. He also came to notice Quasimodo talking to stone, which occurred initially due to Quasi's not hearing Frollo approach. Frollo would constantly remind Quasimodo "stone cannot talk" , without any success.

Despite Frollo's frustrations with the boy, Quasimodo's lessons continued. There was, however, greater focus on distracting him from this habit, which appeared to cease after a morning of "convincing". Haunted partially by his own guilt, Frollo resumed bringing books where the monks had left off.

Quasimodo soon decided to return the gargoyles to the parapet. Frollo may lay off of him a bit now and leave him in peace if they were out of the tower. Aside from that, the bellringer found them irritating to his solitude.

Indeed, come that evening, Frollo smiled when he saw the stone was no longer watching him. A cruel smile, a smile that spelled evil intentions; an expression of domination and superiority. He had something that was sure to end this nonsense about gargoyles.

Quasimodo carefully retrieved the dishes from the shelf as always. A crust of bread and a dry sausage on his own wooden plate; crossaints and grapes on the silver one.

"Are you ready for your lesson?"

"Oh, yes, Master." It was mechanical. He would much rather read on his own, where he could hide himself.

"Very good." Frollo opened the book that lay on his lap. "I have here a scroll in Greek. I want you to read it to me."

"Sir?" Quasimodo's left eyebrow rose, his right lowered, making his left eye more visible than his right.

"I would much rather hear the words from you, dear boy." Frollo passed the scroll across the table to Quasimodo. The scroll was rough. Quasimodo unrolled it to reveal his own handwriting.

"Read it", commanded Frollo.

Quasimodo cleared his throat and began to read the scroll aloud. His voice wavered nervously and he started the first sentence.

"The last birds have flown their nests, leaving nothing in the tower but my friends. Laverne tells me it's only a matter of time before I leave too. I pray she's right, to be free to..."

"That is enough, Quasimodo. Quite enough." Frollo calmly, yet swiftly, arose from his seat and walked over to the young bellringer. "So help me, boy. You've yet to learn that there is more for you in here than anywhere else. This is your home, your sanctuary. You dream of freedom from this place? What would come to you out there is far worse than anything that could happen to you within these walls. The friends you speak of? Stone, boy. Mere stone. I am your only friend, need I remind you again?"

Frollo's eyes flamed as he approached Quasimodo.

"No master, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do any harm."

"You hid something from me."

"Master, I didn't realize it was so important to you..."

"You are ungrateful to me."

"Master, I am very grateful. I owe you my life. I'm sorry." Quasimodo's expression was one of fear. Not again. After so long, Lord, not again.

Quasimodo's prayer went unanswered. Frollo pushed him backwards out of his chair, knocking him onto the floor. A sharp pang caughht him in his side; the carving knife had fallen with him. He lay on the cold floor of the tower while Frollo shouted cruel words and wailed his frustrations out on him. Although he was deaf he could see the words, he could feel the words. They cut worse than the knife in his side. He lay still on the floor while Frollo left, calm and collected, down the stairs and out of the tower.

The blood flowed freely from his flank yet no tears fell from his eyes. Pulling together all of his strength, he staggered towards the cot that was his bed. The water basin sat on the table, ready for tomorrow. He needed the water now. He needed to rest, the pain was great. The mental pain was worse. It was nearly too much for him to bear, why did Frollo treat him so visciously? Quasimodo sat on his cot, then lay down on it. He couldn't wash off now, he had to rest. The wound could wait.