[AN: The film has an odd relationship with the passage of time. The background art suggests a whole season goes by with Belle at the castle, but dialogue in the script suggests only about three days (four if you count by midnight rather than dawn) occur between the time Belle arrives at the castle to the time the Prince transforms. Either path comes with its own unique set of continuity errors. But given that both Little Mermaid and Aladdin explicitly used three days as the amount of time that characters had in which to solve their romantic entanglements, it seems it is most probably also intended as three days for this film.
The second draft screenplay for Beauty and the Beast declares Belle's age to be 18 years, so I've put that here. Most people online say 17, but I don't know where that's sourced from or if it's any more valid (such as from a later draft of the script.)
The idea that Belle is from a family that had raised her upper class in the city, before a financial issue forced them to move to the country and live in worse conditions, is derived from the original fairy tale.]

A nightmare –

And before Belle even opened her eyes, she knew that the nightmare was real. Her own bed, in her papa's tiny cottage in the village, did not have this soft, warm, feather-stuffed mattress; no, that was a hard cot with a thin woolen bolster that was hers. Her own bedding was rough wool sheets and thin quilts, not luxurious down comforters and soft imported cottons that weighed upon her. And all of this finery in which she was bundled reeked of perfume, as if the actual wash water for laundry had used the kind of scented soap only fine ladies and that ludicrous Gaston ever employed.

Without opening her eyes, she groaned. A day ago she'd thought a marriage proposal from Gaston was as bad as it could get. Now… well, she didn't know what to think now.

Belle opened her eyes. White sunlight diffused through the East Wing's enormous glass windows. This lone bedroom was nearly as large as her whole cottage, and that didn't include the closet which was big enough to stage an opera. She knew that she and her papa weren't rolling in cash, but she had never truly felt like they were poor until she'd seen this regal palace for comparison.

Her papa – how she prayed that he had made it home safely! Hopes and prayers were all she could expect, for she knew she'd never see him again. Faintly, she wondered if her papa would have been treated to similar luxury at this castle as she now knew, had she not interfered. Maybe the Beast (she didn't know what else to call him – she certainly wasn't going to address him as "master") had been intending to release her father, Maurice, into more comfortable conditions, and only kept him in the prison temporarily? It was hard to say, for the creature seemed to demonstrate strangely, wildly, opposing tendencies. She'd seen his lair in the West Wing: a den of filth amidst an otherwise sumptuous – if somewhat dim and dusty – castle. If he was the master of the whole castle, why did he only let the one area fall into disrepair? She'd seen his matted fur and tattered silk clothing, too. Did he simply like things that way? Had he just inherited someone else's beautiful castle – or worse, disposed of the original owners?

"Oh, you're up! Wonderful!" came chiming a friendly female voice which Belle recognized as belonging to the wardrobe (yes, the wardrobe, par l'amour de Dieu…) "I'll let them know to get breakfast started," she cried mirthfully.

The hulking form of the Wardrobe hobbled to the door, nudged it ajar and called out in as gentle a tone as she could: "She's awake!"

Belle could hear what sounded like furniture being flung and shuffled around a house, and surmised that it was the servants getting ready for breakfast. She sat up, cold air hitting her skin through her lace-trimmed nightgown. "So what…" Belle hesitated, realizing the question she wanted might come off as rude.

The Wardrobe turned attentively. "Hmm?" she intonated.

Belle continued, "Well… what are you? Why does the furniture in this place talk and move – but, not all of the furniture?" She'd not heard a peep out of the bed all night, and happily the chamber pot had kept mute as well.

The Wardrobe laughed uncomfortably. "Ah, well, who knows why any of us exist?" she said.

Belle frowned. She could tell the Wardrobe was avoiding her question. She wasn't about to stand for it. "If you don't want to tell me, that's alright. I'll find out myself."

The Wardrobe's eyes widened briefly with surprise, but in a flash her good-natured smile was back on. "Full of that good old fashioned, down home, country spunk, aren't you! Well, let's see what we have for you to wear to breakfast…"

Belle shook her head in disbelief, but moved on. Little did she know the enchanted furnishings had an agreement amongst themselves not to divulge their situation, for fear that Belle might realize they only wanted her because she could break their curse. They knew how to be good servants, but any person of reasonable intelligence could perceive that they acted out of self interest rather than true wishes for Belle's wellbeing.

The Wardrobe pulled a bulky velvet robe à la française from her drawers, sized just for Belle, as if by magic. "How about this? Fit for a queen!"

"Doesn't that look like a lot for – just wearing around the castle?" said Belle. There was a hint of gloom in her voice.

The Wardrobe understood, but sought to keep things upbeat. "Just because you have to stay indoors doesn't mean you can't look ravishing."

"Maybe I'll just wear my kirtle again," said Belle.

"Don't be silly! It's covered in wolf spit after your adventure last night. It has to be washed. Now, let's see. Maybe for you, a more understated style will do… how about this?" The Wardrobe lifted out a green velvet gown in a romantic Romeo-and-Juliet design.

Belle didn't see any objection to that, and put it on.

When she emerged from the bedchamber, Belle was surprised that by daylight the castle didn't seem nearly so dreary and dusty as it had the night before. In fact, she didn't know the staff had rushed to clean the place while she was asleep. They knew she'd fall in love faster if she was in good spirits, and they knew how important it would be to keep her comfortable and cheerful over the next few days.

Which wasn't going to be easy for them with a big, glum Beast to contend with.

He was waiting downstairs for Belle. Catching his reflection in a silver fruit bowl, he grumbled. "Lipstick on a pig!" He swatted the bowl angrily, sending it to the floor with a crash.

Lumiere, standing behind him near the foot of the stairs, cleared his throat and hurriedly directed Beast's attention to the fact that Belle was in sight, coming down from her room. Beast looked up and saw her, and his heart sank. Soon as he had woken that day, the servants had oh so politely lectured him about his behavior, including that his ongoing habit of smashing furniture was just going to scare the girl away again. He needed to get control of himself fast. Quickly he picked up the fruit bowl he had knocked over, and tried to replace it.

He was dressed in a new shirt and cape, and for the first time in an age was wearing clean breeches. The right shirtsleeve was rolled up, exposing the bandage on his arm in case it needed further tending. No one was sure what to expect from a wolf bite on a Beast – could a Beast get rabies? Frankly it was better for everyone, including him, if he fell in love and promptly died of rabies, rather than surviving at the expense of Belle before that last rose petal fell.

The girl descended the stairs, and smiled at him in a polite way. The Beast bowed politely, as he was reminded was right to do, and then he intonated, "Good morning – "

He had been planning to say her name when he realized he couldn't even remember what it was. It started with a D, didn't it? Or a P. Or… peste, it was never going to work. Under his fur he blushed with shame, and he wanted to give up already. A growl escaped his gullet.

Cogsworth's nervous warble rose to an equal volume as he stepped into view and tried to work damage control before there got to be too many holes in the dyke.

"Good morning, milady! I hope you found everything comfortable last night?" he almost screamed. He called Belle's attention to himself and bowed with a flourish to her as she stepped from the stairway to the floor.

Belle had noticed something was amiss with the Beast but she automatically answered to Cogsworth's inquiry. "Oh, yes. It's a lovely room, it's… big."

"Good, good!" cried Cogsworth loudly while peeking over his shoulder to see whether his master had pulled himself back together. Lumiere had hopped up onto the Beast's shoulder and was whispering soothing encouragements. "Er – is there anything we can provide you with, mademoiselle, that would make it more comfortable?" Cogsworth continued. "We will be most happy to oblige."

Belle muttered under her breath: "Freedom." But knowing it was the one thing the servants couldn't grant, she forced a smile and replied aloud, "Everything is fine. Everything is… really nice."

Belle could hear the candelabrum perched on Beast's shoulder mutter more audibly than he probably meant: "Go on, ask her!"

After an anxious growl, the Beast asked – in a tone that to Belle almost sounded anxious – "Would you… like to sit with me for breakfast?"

Belle was a little surprised by the request, especially after the prior night's demands that she join him for dinner. Soon it dawned on her that this was a deliberate effort to amend for that. "Well… alright. I'll join you," she said, thinking she should try to reward good behavior. He evidently did have it in him. "Thank you for asking."

For the first time, Belle saw the Beast smile. He didn't look as terrible when he smiled. Funny the way that happiness seemed to depict goodness in a person – it made the Beast look like he had a soul, to see him happy. It made her smile back at him genuinely.

Lumiere, still clinging to the Beast's shoulder, whispered something to him. Belle watched as the creature's eyes widened in brief alarm, then his brows furrowed in thought, then his face softened into a pure and innocent eagerness. He crooked his arm and pointed his elbow at her.

Belle was from a peculiar family, that had once been better off than its current finances would indicate. She'd grown up in a city, using utensils at the table, reading books, and in her youth there was even a housekeeper she'd learned to interact with. But that was before moving to a poor provincial town where the classiest guy around was the fellow who ran the insane asylum. At eighteen, Belle had not had many interactions with men who knew "the rules" and it took Belle a moment to comprehend what the Beast had just done.

Realizing he'd offered his arm to escort her, like a gentleman was supposed to, she took it.

They walked together to the breakfast room. The previous night, after the wolf attack, when she had used her cape to drag and sling his unconscious body onto her horse's back, she had gained a very good sense of his bulk. Now it traveled alongside her freely, radiating heat, making a soft clicking as his paws came in contact with the marble floors. He seemed… tamer. But still not at ease. The odd image of the animate candelabrum clinging to his head and whispering what were obviously instructions to him, further sillified his appearance – like seeing a housecat whose owner has playfully laid a sock on its back.

They took seats at opposite ends of the table. Belle was a little uneasy, unsure what the point of all of this was meant to be.

"You know," she said aloud, hoping to make conversation, "when I offered to take papa's place here… I was imagining you'd intended to eat him." She said it comfortably because she was certain now that it was untrue and indeed a silly thought to have ever entertained; but to her surprise she saw the Beast across the table wither at her words.

The candelabrum crept forward and appeared to whisper something to the Beast, who whispered something back. Then wide-eyed, almost terrified, he looked at her. "You think I eat people?" he said, aghast.

"I don't think that now," said Belle, fearing she'd hit upon a sensitive subject. "I mean, M. Lumiere showed me how much food you have around… it wouldn't make sense if you ate people instead."

The Beast suddenly furrowed his brow angrily and snapped his head to glare at Lumiere. Lumiere seemed a tad embarrassed.

"Come now, we couldn't let her think you intended to starve her," answered Lumiere to the master's unasked question. "What kind of impression would that have made?"

The Beast growled but let it go, returning his attention to his breakfast partner, albeit in a slightly soured mood.

A small table laden with trays and a tea service waddled up to the dining table of its own accord. The plates and dishes crawled off by themselves to settle in front of the diners. Belle recognized the teapot right away, but her teacup was someone new.

"No Chip today?" said Belle, almost disappointed.

"Chip was up late last night," lied Mrs. Potts, letting liquid pour from her nose into the pretty young cup before her. In truth Chip had been forbidden from the service because the staff wanted Belle's attention to stay on the Master, and not on her overly friendly tableware. "Instead we have Melanie. Say hello to Belle, dear."

Melanie's greeting was drowned by the Beast's cry of dismay at hearing aloud the name he had forgotten.

Belle. How could he have forgotten so easy a name as Belle? Was he stupid? He figured he must be. God, this was never going to work! She was never going to fall in love with a stupid cannibal monster – in three days no less!

The Beast abruptly rose from the table and stormed out of the room, flailing his arm in rage and taking a protesting Lumiere with him.

Belle stared in amazement, baffled as to what that had been about. She looked to Mrs. Potts, as if she might explain.

"Er…" Mrs. Potts herself was unsure what had just gone down. "Why don't you go ahead and start, dearie? I'm sure the master will be back once he's ready."

Breakfast was a concoction of sweetened crême fraiche, fruit compote and toasted oats and nuts. It was delicious – not as sweet as to be taken for dessert, but getting there. It was so delicious Belle had eaten it all up before she noticed the growls outside the breakfast room windows.

The Beast had been urged outside by Lumiere, to lessen the odds of Belle overhearing his tantrum. Accustomed to privacy and isolation, Beast didn't realize he could still be seen from the breakfast room by people within, flailing his bandaged arms like a maddo and wailing at Lumiere who seemed to be endeavoring to calm him down.

Belle sipped at her tea, watching, while Mrs. Potts shook her head in embarrassment.

"What is he doing out there?" asked Belle.

"Obviously not making a good impression," said Mrs. Potts with a tinge of indignation.

Belle laughed at the answer, and Mrs. Potts softened almost immediately. She looked to Belle. "The master has been here alone for a very long time," she said sympathetically. "He's not accustomed to having company."

"He might have more if he didn't take all his company prisoner," said Belle.

"I'm sure you're right about that," Mrs. Potts sighed.

Belle looked at the empty bowl that had held her delicious and elaborate morning meal. She reflected upon its lusciousness, in contrast to the simple oatmeal or buttered toast she would normally have eaten with her father. She suddenly felt glum. "I do wish papa were here," she said. "Maybe… I should have just offered to stay with him, instead of trading myself in his place. Then at least he'd have some company; and it looks like he wasn't ever really in danger – right?"

"I'm sure the master wouldn't have let him come to any harm," Mrs. Potts hurried to reply. "He was just… startled by the intrusion, and didn't know how to react. You can imagine the kind of people who show up here looking to harry and hassle a beast."

As it happened, Belle hadn't thought about it till now. But she could envision it: rotten teenagers, giggling and hurling insults before darting off again, or daring hunters wanting some trophy for their wall. And she had witnessed for herself, when the Beast battled the wolves, just how incompetent a fighter he was. Now that she thought about it, it was no wonder the fellow was on edge.

"So… what is he doing out there now?" She looked outside where the Beast was presently throwing his head back and roaring while ripping apart a shrubbery, the sounds of which penetrated the windows.

Melanie the teacup replied: "Throwing another tantrum."

"Melanie!" Mrs. Potts scolded. She suddenly hopped across the table and whispered to Pierre, the other teacup who had been meant for the Beast, that he should hurry outside and let the master know that everyone could see him in the garden. Meanwhile, she began to regret not having brought Chip, since if Belle was breakfasting alone she actually did need someone to keep her entertained.

"Well, if you're all done with your tea," said Mrs. Potts, trying to think of something that would occupy a peasant girl fresh from the farm, "perhaps you'd like to go out and gather some flowers?"

"In the snow?" asked Belle.

"Oh! Silly me," said Mrs. Potts with a sweet smile. "The weather changed so suddenly, I plum forgot. What about… er…" almost everything the Englishwoman knew about French peasant girls was based on the paintings of François Boucher, who had contributed several pieces to the palace art collection: well dressed grisettes in pastoral settings, dancing and singing 'hey nonny nonny' or herding sheep or flirting with handsome boys. That last one was ideal if they could swap out the handsome boy for a monstrous beast, but, he was outside screaming his head off instead, so… "Some music? We have a music room and some lovely musicians."

Belle agreed to this, and Mrs. Potts leapt from the table to convey her there.

As the young beauty rose from the table, she stole one last look outside at the snowy garden. Beast and Lumiere were looking at the teacup who had just arrived to relay Mrs. Potts' message. Belle observed the Beast look sadly from the cup and up to the window. Their eyes met.

Beast winced, flung himself to all fours and immediately bolted out of view, leaving only a trail in the snow.

Belle frowned, then followed Mrs. Potts.