Henri had soon the displeasure of meeting Rhett Butler. They didn't need to exchange that many words before he shed light on one of the most pressing matters to Henri's troubled heart: Scarlett's preference towards Albert. Rhett possessed Henri's same bravado and brutish manners, always too honest for his own good—consequences be damned for him or anyone else. The future Count understood himself well enough to realize that he would sooner fly in one of Nadar's crazy contraptions than become a gentleman like the Duke. Even for Scarlett, he could never betray his true self. Rhett probably couldn't either.

After that first encounter, they drank together too many nights, with the excuse of gambling or playing cards, two peas in a pod as Scarlett exasperatedly said. He had learnt then about Ashley, Melanie, Bonnie and so many other tragedies in Scarlett's life, that made him only love her more passionately. While each piece of information was hard-won from Rhett in exchange for details about her time in Paris, Henri—though not a gambler on Captain Butler's level—knew how to hold his liquor. He was confident he hadn't provided Rhett with any weapon to use against her.

Rhett's account of their shared past was likely biased, but Henri believed in his reasons to resent Ashley. How could he not? Henri despised Ashley even without having met him. But Albert seemed a suitable replacement for his contempt in Ashley's absence, especially after learning from Camille about his clumsy advances and how Scarlett had admirably rebuffed them. Right there was the reason he had always disliked Albert. Once again, he was placing his title and social prestige above his honest feelings. And Henri couldn't respect a character capable of such mundane concessions, even if the world looked favorably upon them.

He had never been curious about Scarlett's children though. He found children annoying in general, specially the little girls. But he had remarked, to his friends' hilarity, that he could see a lot of Scarlett in Ella.

"I don't think Scarlett would appreciate the comparison," Camille had said. Scarlett was one of the few subjects where they never agreed about.

"You are only looking at the face. Look at how curious Ella is—life has not given her much until now, yet she keeps seeking," Henri had insisted.

The young man had smiled, and Henri had been troubled by his smile. Lately, it had become difficult to discern what lay behind it.

"They will never admit defeat," Camille had conceded.

Scarlett was trying not to, but she was struggling to understand Wade and Ella. She had already attempted to get closer to her children in the past and had failed miserably. She had blamed the war first, and then her business obligations, but the truth was that whatever Melly had possessed, Scarlett sorely lacked. Her own upbringing probably hadn't help, but if she had been gifted by nature with even a quarter of her dear friend's nurturing instincts, Wade would truly love her instead of revering her from a safe distance. And although she was sure of her son's quiet affection, with Ella it was impossible to know how she really felt about almost anything. Wade adored Rhett, yet even that paragon of fatherly virtues couldn't engage in a conversation with that little sphinx for more than five minutes without becoming perplexed and uninterested.

Henri had also felt uneasy when he noticed Ella's presence behind him while painting a bridge over the Seine on a calm Sunday morning. The weather was perfect—cloudy and gray, the water's reflections stained silver. Henri knew Scarlett or Rhett must not be far, and he would likely miss the perfect lighting due to the interruption. Nevertheless, he resigned himself to the loss and turned his attention to the child. Ella didn't meet his eye, her interest solely on the canvas.

"What are you painting?" she asked.

"The bridge and the water."

Ella looked again, unsure.

"They don't look like that," was her verdict after careful consideration.

Henri turned his gaze to the canvas and quickly outlined the entire perspective in front of them—the bridge, the river, even some boats the child hadn't noticed before—all completed in no more than five minutes, to her amazement.

"That's how a drawing usually looks, right?"

She nodded.

"But that's not how the bridge and the water look, that's just how you are used to see them on paper. Just an imitation, not the reality."

Ella noticed the smile on his voice and looked at him. She had found him a bit scary before, but not anymore.

"Look at the Seine again," he requested, almost gently. "How does she feel now?"

She looked. Some clouds had moved apart, the light now danced on the currents.

"Ella!"

Wade had called her from a farther point on the promenade, impatiently. How wonderful that trip with Rhett could have been if she had stayed behind in Tara. But he knew Aunt Suellen didn't like her either.

His sister hesitated. Henri nodded and turned his head back to his canvas; Scarlett was probably waiting.

"It's smiling!" she exclaimed as she ran towards Wade. "The Seine is smiling," she told her brother once she reached him.

Wade sighed. Rhett had asked him to be gentle with Ella and his mother, especially with his mother. And Rhett always knew what was right.

He glanced at the river briefly.

"Yes, it's beautiful. We are late," he said, taking her hand and beginning to walk.

Ella turned her head towards Henri, but he was painting again and didn't notice her. From there, she could better appreciate the full image on his canvas—the Seine alternately frowning and smiling. She loved it.

From that day on, whenever they met, Ella became his shadow. This earned him the nickname "Mère Poule," Mother Hen, within his circle. Henri loved it so much that he even began signing his paintings with it. Under his guidance, Ella found her path. While she had always been imaginative, no one had provided an outlet for the hundred directions her mind wished to explore. She began painting as well, and finally, Scarlett found out the reason for the distance between them: Ella possessed an artistic temperament that she couldn't grasp. Where could a child of hers get that propension, was a mystery though. It didn't come from Frank, and God knew it didn't come from her. Armed with this understanding, Scarlett began to appreciate her daughter, and Ella blossomed under the newfound attention. Scarlett didn't even find her ugly anymore.

The transformation in mother and daughter was a joy to witness, and Henri began worrying about saying goodbye to these two souls that had become so dear to his heart. Rhett Butler and the children had arrived in Paris over a fortnight ago, and the Captain was likely already itching for new scenarios and adventures. Even if Ella stayed behind with her mother, Scarlett had shared her plans to leave Paris before January, some time ago.

He inquired about it, but even Scarlett couldn't give him a clear answer. She wished with all her heart also to know Rhett's plans and further intentions, but even if she considered herself a more experienced player nowadays, he remained impossible to decipher. She had to fight tooth and nail just to keep their conversations from devolving into the old dynamic of him extracting information from her, while she struggled to determine if his words were serious or in jest.

"A Grand Tour, of course," he had cheekily replied when she had asked him the motive of their presence in Paris that first evening.

"Nonsense," she had retorted. "Wade isn't even twelve."

Rhett had shrugged.

"Look at me, Scarlett. I'm getting old. What kind of sad cicerone would I be for Wade and Ella if we waited for him to finish his studies at Harvard first?"

She knew he was bringing up that point of contention to distract her and ignored it.

"You look as healthy as a horse."

He did. Rhett at forty-five was still a sight to behold. Scarlett had noticed more than one lady in the dining room looking at him with marked interest, and more than one gentleman taking note of his jacket's cut and his well-arranged cravat.

"You flatter me, but I'm past my prime. All that's left is to spend my days as gracefully as possible in my old age."

Scarlett had risen her eyes to heaven. The contrast between their last heated conversation at Butler House and his easy, joking manners in that enchanting, candlelit space was infuriating. Her dinner had arrived, as in response to her silent prayer, and she had begun to attack her meal with a fork and knife until Rhett's laughter stole that simple pleasure from her as well.

"Manners, Miss O'Hara," he had chided, glancing at the children. "What will the crème de la crème of Paris society think?"

Scarlett had been tempted to retort that the cream of Paris society loved her, including her table manners, but that would have given Rhett the chance to pry into her life. So, she focused on eating, as calmly as possible under the circumstances.

Rhett had taken a sip of wine, savoring it. His silence had grated on Scarlett's nerves as he carefully considered his next words.

"We've been in Paris for a week, did you know?" he had asked.

Scarlett had paused her eating, but he hadn't noticed. He had sprinkled some lemon on his sole and started extracting the fish bones, unconcerned. Without waiting for her response, he had continued:

"We thought we would find you here, but it seems you were lodging with a friend?"

He had lifted his gaze from his plate. Scarlett had felt her face flush, though she knew she was innocent of any impropriety. She hadn't even enjoyed that kiss. Not much, at least.

Rhett had smiled, apparently deeming that answer sufficient. He had raised his glass to her.

"Don't worry, my dear. I'm well aware that we are divorced. To new lives!"

Scarlett had raised her glass, defiantly. She had resolved not to let Rhett confuse her any longer. She didn't need his permission to do or feel anything.

If Henri had asked Rhett himself about his plans after more than a fortnight of renewed acquaintance with the woman who had been his wife, he wouldn't have been able to provide an answer either.

A part of the Scarlett he knew so well would always remain intact—there was no doubt. However, he had to admit that reading her current feelings and thoughts was proving more challenging than he'd anticipated. He had put considerable effort into grasping how much of the woman he'd loved was still present, even before arriving in Paris, with little success.

Sometimes he caught glimpses of her—enchantingly naive, just as he'd met her for the first time, drawn to him like a kitten, more fascinated than repulsed by his forcefulness. But those moments were far and between, most of the time Scarlett met his gaze directly, confidently. He couldn't laugh at her expense as he used to, without retaliation. This Scarlett wouldn't be his plaything. At least, not without a formidable battle, and he wasn't sure it was worth the effort to return her to that state.

It would also be cruel to bring back the old Scarlett. Especially for Ella, who was finally finding some acceptance and love in this world. Something he would have tried to provide himself if Bonnie hadn't taken his heart with her when she died. He just couldn't bring himself to love another daughter, it would feel like a new betrayal to his lost princess. Wade was a different matter; he had always known how to love a son without giving his entire soul. Bringing the children hadn't been honorable, he knew that. However, they were one of the few unshakable connections between Scarlett and him, and it would have been foolish not to take advantage.

The thought he was losing the affection Scarlett had so passionately professed him just as he had decided to give her up, was unbearable. She probably hadn't even meant her words that night; she was the one that had played cruelly with his heart for years, thinking of Ashley while on their bed, while in his arms. She had been distraught due to Melly's death, and finally came to see that Mr. Wilkes couldn't bear the weight of her fall, as he had always warned her. Now, she was pinning again for another Ashley. He had seen him at the races and hadn't been impressed, but he had to admit the Spaniard was astute enough to have already secured a direct route to Scarlett's heart. He had made himself unavailable, so she would chase him. If only he could bring himself to do the same...

He had observed her expression closely after mentioning him during their first dinner together. It had been a shot in the dark; he had no inkling of Scarlett's reasons for leaving the Grand Hotel or returning to it shortly after. Yet, her face had betrayed not only some kind of intimacy between them, but also a lack of regret. During her many years of infatuation with Ashley, he had convinced himself he cared only for her mind. It shouldn't matter to him if she kissed anyone else or engaged in something more. However, the idea of Scarlett kissing another man now was driving him mad, and he didn't know how much longer he could hide it from her. Her mind and her body, he wanted everything. He recognized it was somewhat unreasonable, especially after their divorce. Yet, that's what he felt.

He regretted feeling that way. He should be true to his word for once. He should leave for Florence after a few weeks with Scarlett, as he'd promised the children before arriving in Paris. Ella would love its winter. And he would entertain Wade with stories of ancient battles, family rivalries, and treasons, poisons and daggers. They could have a tolerable, peaceful time far from Scarlett in Italy and England, and met her again in America later, more calmly. If she hadn't become a duchess or something worse by then.

Rhett needed just a bit more time to snuff out the last ember of hope. Then, they could leave France as he wished.