Well you should learn to control your temper!
This was the first short-lived idea that came to him when she said that: he was going to stay calm. He was going to take her, very calmly, by one of her puny little wrists, and take her back up to the tower. There he'd explain to her, with an even, patient smile, that she was going back into a cell. But not the spacious, luxurious that her father had sampled: no, he had somewhere much better suited to her, somewhere as small and dark as a coffin, somewhere so dank and grim the rats only ever used it as a toilet. He might even whistle a happy tune as he chained her to the wall and bade her farewell. Because he'd be in a fantastic mood as he shut the heavy door and listened to her wailing – because he'd very much enjoy seeing how her saintly disposition would stand up to being shut away from the world and treated like an animal. Perhaps then she might understand why he had something of a temper.
But another thought came straight away, clinging to the tails of the first: maybe this is what she's talking about.
And when she thanked him, he felt vaguely ashamed of those malicious thoughts. She took his arm and dabbed at it with genuine care; he felt the warmth of her touch, the softness of her fingers. Her delicate wrist suddenly looked so precious, so fragile. She was even prettier with her hair damp and splayed over her shoulders, with her big hazel eyes dipped in concentration. How could her life have been in danger? Surely even the wolves could see her beauty!
When she left for bed, he stayed in his chair staring at the fire. The room was silent... lifeless... colourless. Amazing how dramatically a simple blue dress could light up a whole castle, even when that dress was darkened by the water it had soaked in.
He rang for his servants.
When Mrs Potts, Cogsworth and Luminere were gathered before him, he had a simple question: "What do you think about Belle?"
Cogsworth stepped forward to speak first, as was his habit. He stammered his way into a response: "Well... well, that's an interesting question... perhaps... what do you think of her, Sir?"
He's nervous, thought the Beast. Do I have that effect on my staff?
"It doesn't matter what I think of her," he said. "I'm asking your opinion. Because... I respect your judgement."
There was a moment's pause before anybody spoke, like his servants were trying to process this information. Eventually Luminere, trusty old Luminere, spoke up.
"She is, uhh, certainly a lively one, Sir," he said. "She knows her own mind."
"That's true," said the Beast.
"And surely you must have noticed her... physical attributes, Sir," Luminere said with a leery wink. The Beast was observant enough to know how bawdy Luminere could be, even though he was never like that around his master. The Beast was pleased that his candlestick was talking to him like this.
"She's a lovely girl," Mrs Potts said. Her eyes lit up – it was hard to believe that pottery could shine that way. "She certainly seems very brave to me. Caring, intelligent-"
"Irresponsible," Cogsworth cut in. He gestured at the bandage on the Beast's arm. "Look what she made you do."
"I may have played some part in that," the Beast said. "Wouldn't you agree?"
Now his servants glanced around nervously. He could tell they sensed danger here, that they didn't want to get drawn on this topic. Two revelations occurred to him. Firstly, he dearly loved these servants – even Cogsworth – even if he couldn't tell them so. Secondly, even as much as he loved them, he knew he couldn't trust them to be entirely straight with him – to tell him things he didn't want to hear. Would any of these have told him to control his temper?
"Take her breakfast tomorrow morning. The best we've got, anything she likes." The Beast paused for reflection. He had something to add. "Please."
Once they were gone, he once again felt the weight of that silence. The room's emptiness hung thick on his giant shoulders.
There was another reason – equally shameful – why locking her away seemed like a good idea. Hope was dangerous.