- Clopin? - Esmeralda called, confused and still somnolent. Her glazed eyes were barely open, and her hand was reaching out into the air.
Quasimodo took it and wrapped it inside his own big hand.
- It's okay, I'm here. - he said in a comforting tone.
Frollo was standing right behind him, but his dark robes blended his figure with the darkness of the room, so Esmeralda didn't notice his presence at first. He was staring like a hawk over Quasimodo's shoulder, and couldn't help to feel a pinch of jealousy when he saw the ease and naturalness with which he touched her.
- Where am I? - she asked, trying to focus her gaze in her dim surroundings.
- You're at my home, in Notre Dame. - Quasimodo explained.
- What? Why? What happened? - Esmeralda was getting nervous and she tried to raise herself from the bed.
Frollo quickly intervened, moving past Quasimodo and pushing her bare shoulder back into the pillow.
- Don't move – he instructed.
Esmeralda immediately flinched away from his touch, and Frollo felt his heart sunk at her obvious rejection. She saw the sudden pain in his expression and quickly clarified:
- No, it's... You're just so cold.
Frollo looked confused for an instant, and then he understood. He had just been outside, and his usually cold hands must have gotten even colder, specially in comparison to her burning feverish skin.
- Forgive me – he whispered, retiring his hand and placing his palms together to rub them and blow some hot breath on them.
- Where is Clopin? - she asked, looking around, still feeling misplaced.
- He had to go. - Quasimodo explained carefully. She looked at him, aware of the caution in his tone, and then right back at Frollo, suspecting the cause of Clopin's departure. Quasimodo followed her gaze and quickly added – But he's okay. He will return in the morning.
That seemed to finally reassure her, and she let her head sink back into the pillow. She rubbed her eyes, as she began to become aware of the pain in her foot.
- What happened? - she asked Frollo.
- Your wound was infected. That got you ill. We cleaned it up and we're hoping you will get better in the upcoming hours.
- Thank you. - she said with a scratchy voice.
- Bring her some water. - Frollo ordered Quasimodo, noticing the dryness in her mouth.
When he left the room, the silence between them became suddenly awkward and dense. He didn't know what else to say and she knew better than to say any of what she was thinking.
- The fever is good. - he eventually spoke, trying to break the tension. - It means your body is fighting the illness.
- Aham. - she nodded, feeling kind of stupid. - So let's be thankful for that.
- Yes. - he agreed, nodding back.
But he would have to swallow his words.
An hour later, Esmeralda had gotten much worse. A sudden spike in her temperature had her shivering in bed, with her hair damp in cold sweat, and her eyes wide at some hallucination brought by the fever. She was panting heavily, clearly scared.
Watching her like that tortured Frollo to his very core. He was unsure what to do, unable to help her anymore. The battle was taking place inside her veins, and it was all up to her to win it or to surrender to the illness. He kept repeating his prayer internally, over and over again. Take me instead. Take me instead. But nothing happened, and he was getting terrified by the minute.
Quasimodo was pacing back and forth, unable to stand still. He kept trying to give her water but she would shake her head violently and spill it every time.
- She's cold. - he stated, watching her shiver. - I'm gonna get her more blankets.
- No, wait. - Frollo stopped him, finally speaking out loud.- That will only raise her temperature. We need to lower it down.
- How? - Quasimodo asked, raising his arms in desperation.
- Bring some towels and more water. We'll damp them and place them on her skin. That will do.
The lad obeyed disposed. When he returned, he found his master kneeling by the bedside, slowly rolling up Esmeralda's sleeves and skirt to expose her arms and legs. He was doing so with such reverence, Quasimodo felt as if he was interrupting something intimate. But Frollo noticed his presence and with a hand gesture, he hurried him along. So the young man placed a basin full of water at his knees, with an already wet cloth coming out of it.
Frollo took the cloth, and after twisting it to get rid of the excess water, he placed it on Esmeralda's skin, above her wrist.
She screamed at the cold contact. Frollo's whole body stiffened. He knew this was good for her, but he also knew that to her, it felt like torture. He inhaled deeply, and sinking another piece of cloth in the water, repeated the process on her other arm.
She screamed again, and her eyes moved from one side to the other, watching something that they couldn't see.
- No! No! Let me go! Let me go! - she pleaded, shaking her shoulders as if she was trying to get away from someone's grip.
- What's happening to her? - Quasimodo was frightened at the sight.
- She's hallucinating. She's seeing things, maybe it's her imagination, or memories. - Frollo explained, trying to reassure him as much as himself.
Esmeralda cried as he placed a third wet cloth on her neck.
- No!- she begged again, sinking her nails into Frollo's forearm. - Please don't do this! We didn't do anything!
He wanted to talk to her, comfort her, take her out of her horrid visions. But he was paralyzed, his mind completely blank, unable to react. Quasimodo step forward, and leaning over her face, he stroked her hair.
- Esmeralda, it's me, Quasimodo. - he whispered in a soothing tone.
- Quasi? - she asked, her eyes looking for him. When she finally found his face, her gaze seemed to focus. But her expression remained terrified.- Quasi you have to leave! Run, now, or he'll burn you too!
The shock from those words hit Frollo like a hammer to his guts. Of course. That's what she was hallucinating with. Her worst fear, triggered by the burning sensation on her body. She was seeing the execution pyre, and himself as the executioner. That was the true image of him, carved into her mind, despite his attempts to redeem himself at her eyes and his own. To her, he would always be the man that intended to burn her and her people alive. How had he been so naive as to believe that she could see something else in him, other than that horrifying, yet truthful version of himself?
His hands began to shake heavily again. He was spinning out of control. He felt he was gonna be sick.
Quasimodo noticed his master's face turning yellowish, he saw him grabbing his hands to keep them from trembling, and he understood how Esmeralda's words had affected him.
- I can do it – he kindly offered, gesturing towards the basin and wet towels. - I'll continue. You can go get some air.
Frollo wanted to refuse, he wanted to stay by her side and help her, even if that meant enduring her heartbreaking visions. It was the least he could do, a fair punishment. But he just couldn't. So he nodded grateful, and raced towards the exterior, where he leaned against the freezing stone wall.
When Quasimodo showed up there it was nearly dawn. Though the sky was still dark, there was a fine line of pale gray behind the clouds, near the horizon. He found Frollo still sitting there, with his eyes fixed on the empty darkness before him. He was so inexpressive, he almost resembled a stone statue himself.
- Are you alright? - Quasimodo asked softly. Frollo seemed to break out of his stupor, and gazed at him with worried eyes. - She's finally asleep. Her temperature has gone down. - he informed the judge.
Frollo nodded, and exhaled heavily in relief. He looked exhausted. Quasimodo walked towards him and sat by his side, in silence, though he couldn't help to shiver when the cold wall touched his skin. He thought of suggesting to go inside, but Frollo seemed to be nailed in his fixed position, so he assumed he wouldn't want to move. He studied the older man's features, and he realized his eyes were reddened, as if he had been crying. He hesitated for a moment, but at last he said the words:
- You care about her. - it wasn't a question. Just a plain statement.
Frollo looked at him again, neither affirming or denying. He just looked defeated and sad.
- I heard you before. - Quasimodo added, his head pointing towards the Mary statue on the north wall.
The implications of these words sunk deeply into Frollo's heart. He considered trying to explain himself, trying to camouflage his feelings, pass them as just regular medical concern, or something like that, anything except the truth. But before he could decide his strategy, his own body betrayed him, and he found himself sobbing uncontrollably into Quasimodo's arms.
The lad was paralyzed, taken completely by surprise. But even if he couldn't understand what was going on inside Frollo's mind to appear so out of control and vulnerable, his compassionate heart guided him to comfort the man and reassure him, gently stroking his silver hair.
After a few minutes, Frollo's breathing calmed and he raised his head, clearing his throat and drying his wet cheeks, unable to look Quasimodo in the face. He stood up and looked over the balustrade, and suddenly he said in a thoughtful tone:
- The bells…
- What? - Quasimodo asked, unsure he had heard him well.
- The bells. It's almost dawn. You'll have to ring the bells. They will wake her up.
- You're right. - Quasimodo replied, frowning. - What can we do?
- I'll take her to the palace. - Frollo quickly resolved. - She will be able to rest there, with no interruptions.
- What about Clopin? He said he would come back in the morning. If he doesn't find her here…
- I'm not worried about that buffoon. - Frollo claimed firmly.
Quasimodo frowned again, for he wasn't comfortable with his master's attitude towards the gypsies, and people in general. But he knew better than to try to reason with him, let alone at this particular situation, given what he had just witnessed.
- Alright… I can help you carry her there. - he offered.
Frollo pondered for a second. He didn't like the thought of Quasimodo leaving the cathedral, but it was still dark enough to not have any prying eyes set upon them. If they were fast enough, the lad could be back at Notre Dame by the time the sunlight started creeping into the narrow streets of Paris.
- That's what we'll do then. - he finally agreed. - Come on. There's no time to waste.