Mr. French did not look happy to see him. Gold couldn't blame him.
The portly fellow made a move to lock his door- he was surprisingly fast for a man of his girth. Too bad for him, Gold was faster. The cane again met with the man's arm, now in a sling, and with an audible crack and a scream, the man went down. Gold went in quickly, closing the door behind him, and slammed his cane down, violently just to the side of the man's head.

"Do you, by chance, have a daughter?"

Mr. French blinked up at him, a confused, stupid stare. The cane came down again, an inch from the jugular.

"Well?"

"Yes. She…." Terror and Grief went to war across the man's features, terror won. "She's dead."

Just as he feared. Nothing had changed. Time to finish what he started. He lifted the cane and rammed it into the man's good leg. Not so good anymore.

"Tell me." Cane came down again, scream. Gold knew better this time though, he wouldn't lose himself to rage; this kind of thing called for precision, logic, analysis.

Gold knelt by French's side, gripped his collar.

"How did she die?"

"It wasn't MY FAULT."

That nearly did it. He had almost killed him right then. But he wanted to savor the moment.

"How did she die?" Gold almost spat the words out; French looked up at him, and immediately calmed, something inside of him sensing that if he didn't choose his next words wisely, there would be none thereafter.

"She was troubled. She had to go to the hospital. I…I.. didn't know what to do. She wouldn't eat, she wasn't sleeping, she would have died unless I had done something…"

"And…"

French gave him a look.

"And she died in there. There was a fire…. There was nothing left to bury."

The man took a deep breath, and then burst into heaving sobs. It was disgusting.

"It was my fault. I never wanted her in there, but the Mayor insisted, said she was dangerous…."

That had Gold's attention, "What does the Mayor have to do with this?"

"She said my daughter was dangerous, that she couldn't be allowed in town, but she was my daughter, I should have been able to say something, to do something…" The man heaved a sob, cried out in pain. "I was going to, but she died before I could…"

Mr. Gold rose to his feet, there was nothing more to gain here.

"Where are you going? Why don't you just kill me?"

Gold smiled. "No, that won't be necessary. If I were you however," Gold opened the door, and gave Mr. French a smile, "I wouldn't talk about our little chat with the Sheriff."

French nodded his assent.

"Also, what was your daughter's name, if I may ask?"

French sighed deeply, tried to reign in his tears, failed.

"Her name was Belle. It means…"

"I know what it means. Good day to you Mr. French."

With that, he stepped out, closing the door behind him.

As he hobbled to his car, he wondered how he could save her if she was still alive. He wondered how he could he have ever believed the Queen in the first place. And he wondered exactly how difficult it would be to assassinate the Mayor.

Concealed in the shadows some distance from the florist's house, watching him limp away; Regina thought much the same thing.