A/N: Yes, I know, it's short, but since I've kept everyone waiting for ages I decided to hurry up and finish this one. Hopefully there's more in the next update! I need more muses 

"Belle," D'Arque said in a chillingly business-like voice. "There is one reason that you are here, and one reason alone."

"Because I would not marry Gaston," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"That is correct. I take it you do not like it here?"

"There is only one place I would rather be LESS and that is Gaston's house."

"So you STILL refuse to marry that man?"

"Yes, I do." D'Arque was turning this obstinate refusal over in his mind, trying not to show the fact that any confusion had eroded his heart. What was this girl trying to do? If she married Gaston, she would have all of the things that the other women seemed to fall over themselves imagining. Why did Belle not want it? It seemed that she was a special breed of girl, a strange stubborn creature who refused to look at her best interest. What could he do? Could he keep her here… forever?

"May I ask you why?"

"No, you may not. You have seen Gaston, he is a brute who believes women are worth nothing more than cookers and cleaners that make babies. I refuse to enter into such a marriage… In fact, I don't really want ANY marriage at the moment. I enjoy reading."

"Reading what?" inquired D'Arque.

"Oh, anything. Though it's been a while since I've gotten to read anything." Since I've been locked up here with YOU, her eyes added accusingly.

"I think I may have something," D'Arque replied, walking over to his desk. He opened a few drawers before coming across what he was looking for. He handed her a ratty, weathered copy of The Merchant of Venice.

"The Merchant of Venice?" Belle inquired, taking the book from his hand and flipping it open. A few pages fell out, and she quickly picked them up and placed them in their respective sections.

"Yes, that's it. My mother liked Shakespeare a great deal. I never really saw the appeal," D'Arque said in a bored voice.

"Did you ever TRY to read it?" Belle asked, her voice a mix of sympathy and annoyance.

"Never found the time," D'Arque replied, "Nor the need. This asylum takes up the lot of my time, and what time I don't use here I use to sell hats in town. I don't really have time for frivolous pleasure." His voice cracked slightly, and he narrowed his eye on her again. She seemed to be looking him over again, gazing at his patch and at his strange form. "Not polite to stare, is it, ma cherie?"

"Oh, I didn't mean to…" she said quickly.

"Yes, you did," D'Arque shot back, "But forget it. Enjoy your little reading exercise, and then figure out whether you're going to marry that idiot and get out of my hair or not. I have things to do."

He stomped off, leaving her pondering his words. She flipped to the beginning of the play and began to read intently, but dancing worriedly in her mind was the one question of… what made D'Arque this way? Why is he so cold, so uncaring? It seemed as if she would be here for quite awhile, so she resolutely decided to solve the mystery. The mystery of Monsieur D'Arque, she thought to herself, it was like one of her books…