Clopine hobbled out of the cathedral, waiting until the church folks had scattered to yank of her babushka and white hair. She had been right about that old, wrinkled, dried, pinched-up head nun from the start. Why didn't anyone ever listen to her? Notre Dame—she was magnificent, but those who lived their entire lives by the cloth were bound to have it take a toll on their mind. And common sense.
There was not one holy bone in Froella's body.
Now she was going to cleanse one of the biggest cities in the world of one person. Her person—her copain. This was not happening, no. Not if she and Daisy had any say so in it.
When she returned to her kingdom, Clopine had every intention of informing Esmer of the evil witch's plot to have him hung. Nobody messed with one of her subjects and simply got away with it. She'd gather everybody in her troupe and they'd stage that uprising they had been plotting against Froella ever since they moved to Paris!
But the atmosphere around was not conducive to serious plotting. People were sleeping on the ground, on tables, drinks in hand. The rest were in the dining tent, eating and listening to probably that same stale joke Roma had told a million times, she bet. There was Esmer now, sidled up to that lily white nugget newcomer, laughing their heads off. Half-eaten bowls of vegetable soup and torn pieces of baguette lay in front of them. That was her favorite meal. He was staring at Modette with those electric green eyes. Her electric green eyes. She'd like to scoop them out of his head; she bet they tasted like mint ice cream. Then maybe—however ironically—he would finally see.
Clopine inadvertently squeezed her hand puppet.
"Ow my body, my body!" Daisy shrieked.
"Sorry."
Daisy lifted her little head and followed Clopine's eyes. "He's got a hoop earring," she said softly. "You love a man with a hoop earring."
"I know…"
"Tell him how you feel."
"Are you insane? I don't know what you're talking about," Clopine snapped, and began to pace. "Besides, I tried that already."
During that year's Feast of Fools, as a matter of fact. Before Esmer took the stage, Clopine said that she had something to tell him, but he told her to wait until after the show. And she never gathered up the courage to try again.
Until maybe now.