One night, Modette approached Esmer's tent. To tell him that she really liked it there and intended to stay. Suddenly, she heard a second voice. Modette peeked through the crack.
Clopine was sitting on a stool. "Daisy told me she wants us to have it out."
"Have it out?" Esmer asked, the mischievous glint in his eye back he bent to pick up the sword she used to terrorize Modette. "Has the time finally come that you'd care to duel with me? I warn you, I've picked up quite a bit over the years…"
"I'd like to eat vegetable soup with you sometime too, my subject."
Huh? Modette knew the girl was a little batty, but what in the world was she talking about?
But Esmer's playful grin had vanished, and he set the sword down in front of him. "Clopine—"
"Copine."
"You know how I feel about you but right now things are confusing. Can we just put this on hold?"
"I will not be put on hold. Do not put me on hold."
Of course.
Modette was such a fool to think the ugliest face in all of Paris would actually have a chance with the finest gypsy in all of France. Everybody else's words, not his. But she sure could agree with them.
Even though she wasn't the fastest girl in Paris, Modette ran all the way back home before anyone in the colony could stop her. Crying her uneven eyeballs out. In her agony, the girl managed to climb the wall twenty-some feet, swing her feet over the balcony and land in her room. Just like Esmer taught her.
She sat on her bed, in disbelief that she had actually made it home free. Until she saw her mother standing over her vanity, waiting for her. Modette jumped up.
"I understand childish rebellion," Froella began slowly. "As you grow older I know I have to let you make your own mistakes. I just don't understand why you don't want to be with your mommy." The woman let out a sob of anguish. "I'm your mommy!"
The tears started up again. "I'm sorry, Mommy!" Modette ran towards her mother, only to have the enormous crack of the whip sound. It landed on her back and crumpled her to the ground.
"I love you, my daughter," Froella said coolly. "You know the rules; one crack for each sin."
This definitely took a while.
Modette lay on the floor that night, shivering, tears collecting in her ears and soaking the cold ground. Because no feeling was worse to her than laying your bloody bare back and your soaked wet head on a matted, filthy pillowcase.