STILL 1506...

Someone was knocking on the door. It was a soft, timid sound, as though the person on the other side of the door was unsure. Theresa peeked through the keyhole. She did not recognize the woman standing on the step. The woman was tall and thin and wore a nun's habit. Perhaps she was collecting for charity. Theresa could spare a coin or two for someone less fortunate than herself. She opened the door.

"May I help you?"

The woman looked somewhat startled. "I – I'm looking for René Thénardier."

"He isn't home," said Theresa, shaking her head. It did not really surprise her that René might know this woman, that she might be an acquaintance of his. After all, he worked in the graveyard by the church; he probably saw the nun every day. Theresa did wonder why he'd never mentioned the nun to her, though, and this made her uneasy. "You can come in and wait for him if you like."

"Please," said the woman, "if it isn't too much trouble."

Theresa stepped aside. "It's no trouble at all."

The woman entered the house, and Theresa shut the door behind her. She led the woman to the table and chairs, and motioned for her to sit. "How do you know René?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't introduce myself. My name is Clotilde. René's my brother."

Theresa stared at her. René had a sister? He'd never mentioned his family before; it suddenly occurred to Theresa that there were many things she didn't know about her own husband. How come he hadn't told her about his sister? Clotilde must have seen the surprise in Theresa's face, because she folded her hands in her lap and sighed. "He didn't tell you about me, did he?"

Theresa shook her head. Clotilde sighed again. The silence was thick and awkward, and though she didn't know what to say, Theresa was desperate to make it go away. "Would you like some tea?" she asked.

"Yes, please."

She turned and began busying herself at the hearth, making more noise than usual in an effort to keep the silence at bay. She could feel Clotilde watching her and felt herself blush. She glanced over her shoulder at Clotilde and forced a smile. "How long have you been a nun?" she asked.

"Nearly ten years now."

Theresa poured the tea and carried a cup over to Clotilde. Clotilde thanked her, nodding as she spoke, and though she took the cup, she did not drink. Theresa stared down at her own cup, stirring the tea with a spoon. The silence was only growing, enveloping the room and suffocating them. Theresa leapt to her feet when she heard the front door open. "There's René now," she said.

"Theresa? Are you here?" He stopped in the doorway. He was dirty, and was carrying his shovel slung over his shoulder. He stared at Clotilde, his blue eyes wide with shock. "Clotilde?"

She rose and approached René. She stopped about a foot or so away from him, but did not reach out to him. She kept her hands primly clasped in front of her. "Hello, René," she said.

René set the shovel down, leaning it against the doorframe. Theresa did not notice the dirt that slid off of it and onto the floor. She usually hated when René just left the dirty shovel lying around; it meant more sweeping for her. Today, she did not care. She watched René and Clotilde. She could almost feel the tension between them, and she regretted letting Clotilde in the house.

"What are you doing here?" asked René finally.

"It's about Mother," said Clotilde. "She's very ill, René. I think it would be best if you went to see her, to make amends."

"Make amends?"

"Perhaps that isn't the right way to phrase it. When you left, it was a great shock to her," said Clotilde. "I'm afraid she disowned you."

René rolled his eyes. "And you want me to go and apologize to her?"

Clotilde was shaking her head. "You have to admit that what you did was wrong. You tried to help a witch flee justice. She murdered a child and you tried to help her escape."

Theresa took a sip of her tea, glancing at René as she did so. He did not look at her, and this made her intensely uncomfortable. What if he suddenly pointed to her and revealed who she was? Clotilde would tell. She could easily go to the Captain of the Guard and tell him where she was. He would waste no time killing her and René.

"I'd like you to leave," said René.

"Please, let me finish." Clotilde was calm. She had not moved a muscle and continued to stand like a statue before René. "That letter you left Mother broke her heart. She didn't know how you could love someone so vile."

"Get out – "

"I've forgiven you, René. I've forgiven you, and I want you to make peace with Mother before she dies."

René pointed to the door. "I can't go back to Paris," he said. "Now please leave."

Clotilde sighed. She glanced over at Theresa. "If I could talk to Jean-Claude, if I could persuade him to let you see Mother – "

"You can't."

"But if I could, would you come?"

"No."

Theresa could feel Clotilde staring at her, watching her like a cat. She focused on her teacup, staring down into the cooling liquid. "I read the letter you left," said Clotilde. "I read it before Mother destroyed it." She paused. "You've moved on quickly, as you always do."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

" 'I love her with my heart and soul, and I know that she is innocent.' That's a line from your letter, René. How long did it take you to find a new love after she died?"

"Get out, Clotilde, get out or so help me – "

Clotilde finally moved, holding her hands up as if in surrender. "I am sorry," she said, "I misspoke. Still, René, I think you should make peace with Mother before she dies."

René did not speak, but glared at her and pointed emphatically at the door. Clotilde nodded. She turned to Theresa. "Thank you for your hospitality," she said. "I am sorry if I've offended you."

Theresa only shook her head, unable to speak. She did not know what to say; she only knew that she wanted this strange woman out of her house. Clotilde left, closing the door quietly behind her. René sighed, his posture changing immediately. He came to her and sat beside her, his shoulders slumped from fatigue. "I'm sorry," said Theresa, "I shouldn't have let her in."

"Don't be." René put his hand on her shoulder. "We need to leave Lyon."

~xXx~

Finding René had not been difficult. Clotilde had feared that she wouldn't be able to find her younger brother; René had always been a boy who couldn't sit still or stay in one place for very long. That was his reason for joining the army. Oh, he claimed that he did it out of love for his country, but Clotilde knew better. He had joined for the freedom that came with constant travel. And for the women. Soldiers rarely stayed in the same place for very long. Being married to one would be difficult for both parties; it made sense that soldiers sought tenderness in brothels, where a commitment wasn't expected or wanted.

Her brother's licentiousness had always disgusted and embarrassed her. Perhaps that was why she had taken the vow of chastity and become a nun; on some level, she was atoning for René's wantonness. He saw nothing wrong with visiting brothels and sharing the company of loose women. Perhaps it was normal for a man to indulge in such sinfulness every now and then, but to do so often and unrepentantly was wrong.

René's expulsion from Paris had caused their mother great distress. She was still in shock from the events, and her health was quickly deteriorating because of it. Running off with a Gypsy, and a witch at that! The shame of it was slowly killing their mother, and René didn't care in the least. He had clearly forgotten about the dead Gypsy witch – he was living in sin with another woman as if she'd never even existed.

Clotilde firmly believed that God answered all prayers. Sometimes, His answers were vague, and sometimes they did not come right away, but they always came. René's soul was tarnished, but not completely lost. No one was completely lost; everyone could be redeemed through prayer and sacrifice. Their mother was the key to René's redemption. If Clotilde could get René to see what his actions had done to their mother, his remorse would drive him to purge his soul.

He was stubborn, but Clotilde was patient. Patience was, after all, a virtue, and it was one she was proud to possess. The only thing preventing René from returning to Paris was Jean-Claude Frollo, the Captain of the Guard, and his order that René be executed should he set foot in Paris. Clotilde had never officially met Captain Frollo, but she knew well enough who he was. He was a just man, very fair and pious. She had seen him in the church and knew that he attended confession regularly.

If she convinced Captain Frollo that René was not a lost cause, that his soul could be redeemed through prayer and penance, then surely the captain would let him return to Paris to do so. Forgiveness was, after all, a great virtue, and one that surely the captain possessed.

~xXx~

"Oh, it's horrible! Just horrible!"

"What is?"

Tess shook her head. "Didn't you hear?" she asked, "Oxana thinks she might be pregnant!" She shook her head again. "It's horrible."

"It is?"

"Of course it is! She can't be an acrobat if she's pregnant! The baby will ruin her body! It's absolutely horrible."

"Oh."

Pierre supposed that he loved Tess. He was fond of her, he liked being around her. She was easy to talk to, and she made him laugh. He certainly didn't dislike her. He didn't find himself particularly attracted to her, though. Oh, she was pretty enough. She had a cute face and an infectious air of sweetness, but he didn't desire her. He didn't want to touch or kiss or caress her, and he certainly didn't want to make love to her.

The feeling seemed mutual. Tess loved being an acrobat, and was convinced that becoming pregnant would ruin her career. They had only made love three times, and afterwards Tess had spent an hour jumping up and down in an attempt to rid herself of his seed. Pierre wasn't even sure if this act offended him; Tess looked downright silly whenever she did it, her curly brown hair flying in all different directions.

He liked being part of the circus. It was steady work, and it paid well. Hans and Frieda didn't care that he had once been a thief. They paid him the same amount as everyone else, and no one commented about his missing finger. Pierre was relieved to finally be free of the stigma that came with the old wound. He liked the traveling. He was endlessly amazed by each new city they visited. Each city seemed foreign and familiar at the same time; it was strange how almost everything reminded him of his childhood in Paris.

He missed Giovanni, and he hated himself for it. He still loved Giovanni. Even after meeting Tess, even after moving away from Giovanni, Pierre still loved him. It seemed like everything reminded him of Giovanni; it was like he couldn't escape his memory. It was frustrating the way his mind kept wandering back to the one person he wasn't supposed to love. Clopin had assured him that falling in love with Tess would erase all of the unnatural feelings he harbored for Giovanni. Clopin had been wrong.

"God," said Tess, lying down beside him, "I don't know what she'll do."

Pierre pulled the blanket up over them. He did not mind sharing a chaste bed with Tess. It was much more comfortable than sleeping on the floor. "I'm sure she'll think of something," he said, "I mean, Hans and Frieda won't throw her out."

"But if she can't be an acrobat, how can she earn money?"

Pierre shrugged. "Maybe she isn't pregnant," he said.

Tess shook her head. "She's very promiscuous," she said, "she's slept with so many men, she doesn't even know who the father is."

"Maybe she can give it up."

"Even if she gives it away, she still can't be an acrobat again," said Tess, rolling her eyes. "A woman's body changes when she gets pregnant."

"I know that. But won't it change back? After the baby's born, I mean."

"No. Babies make women fat, and they can't get rid of it."

"Oh." He found himself thinking of his sister. Marie did seem to retain some chubbiness after she'd had her baby. Giovanni's wife, Katarina, certainly hadn't; she was still tall and rail-thin, even after bearing twins. Maybe it was different for each woman. It was something his mother would know the answer to, and he suddenly wished that he could ask her.

Tess yawned. "I'm going to sleep." She kissed him. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he said. He watched as she rolled over, her back to him. "I love you," he said after a moment.

She turned to him. "I love you, too." She kissed him again, smiling. "You know, Pierre, I don't know what I'd do without you."

~xXx~

"You never told me you had a sister." Theresa was staring at him. She had not spoken since he'd told her that they would be leaving Lyon. René looked up from the map he'd been examining. Theresa was sitting on the floor, an open valise in front of her. She was folding clothes, holding them in her slim hands.

René shrugged. "I didn't think it was important," he said. "I thought that after we left Paris, I'd never see her again."

Seeing Clotilde had been completely and totally unexpected. He'd been in Lyon for nearly a year now, and neither his mother nor his sister had attempted to contact him. He'd assumed that they had disowned him; neither one of them had attempted to contact him. It hurt to think that his own mother had renounced him. He could not deny missing her immensely. It hurt even more to think that his actions had given her such grief. If she'd known Theresa, she would have understood why he'd thrown everything away just to help her. He hated to think that she would die hating him, or that he'd never see her again.

Theresa continued to stare at him. "Do you have a brother?"

He shook his head. "No," he said. "Only Clotilde."

Theresa nodded. She looked down at the garment she was holding, then placed it in the valise. "Where are we going to go?"

"I don't know yet," he said. He glanced at the map. "Marseille or Barcelona. I can speak Spanish. It isn't hard, I'll teach you."

"They speak Spanish in Barcelona?"

"Yes."

Theresa sighed. She was staring down at the open valise. She suddenly looked much older than eighteen. She looked old and sad and frail, as though she would wither away before his very eyes, and this frightened René. He stood up and went to her. He knelt beside her and slid his arm around her. She continued staring down into the valise. "Theresa, we need to leave."

"I know." Her voice was hollow and unconvincing. He pulled her closer to him. He could smell her, and he closed his eyes as he inhaled. He loved her scent. He couldn't describe it, couldn't name it, but he loved it nonetheless.

"We'll go to Marseille," he said. "It's much closer than Barcelona. Your family can come and visit us."

He personally did not like the idea of staying in France. He would be more likely to run into Jean-Claude or Clotilde in Marseille than Barcelona. Theresa was a Gypsy; all Gypsies wandered, it was in their blood, part of who they were; she should not mind moving so much. Still, she looked so miserable and homesick even though they hadn't even left. She clearly didn't want to leave her friends and family. He didn't want to be the one to uproot her like this, but they had no choice. Jean-Claude would return to Lyon. As long as he was married to Cosette, as long as her relatives lived here, they would both return time and time again. It would only be a matter of time before Jean-Claude caught sight of Theresa, and if he did, he would execute them both.