Oh, how I want to go back into the town,

To our three-house street

Where everything is simple and familiar, only for a day.

Where people visit without asking

Where there's no envy and no malice. Sweet home.

Where the birth of a child and the funeral are held

By all the neighbors on the street

Anzhelika Varum - Little town.

"...Thousand francs. Almost twice as much as for that young girl from the village."

Consciousness returned slowly, at first in the darkness were heard incomprehensible voices that spoke of strange things. The voices were speaking in French, but Gaston could not understand a word of what they were saying.

"We are so lucky," said a woman's voice. "It's amazing how the Lord God created so perfect creatures in a horrible rural wilderness. Look at her..." There was a clatter of heels. "Look... What a figure, what slender wrists, graceful hands, small feet. The skin, though, reddened, probably from washing dishes and laundry, but that can still be fixed. Eh, nothing spoils a woman like marriage! And the face... Paul, look at her face... What noble features, cheekbones, lips, nose... She's divine. I'd give you my word that she's an aristocrat. And her voice! I think the Marquis would pay a good price for her. She'll be a real fixture in his home theater. I think she could sing.

"Too bad she's not a virgin."

"Well, you can't have it all at once. It's a good thing she wasn't married long."

"The best part is, they won't be looking for them. It's a wonder how fools like them even dared to leave their village."

"Ha, he must have decided to impress his young wife with this trip."

There was laughter, male and female voices laughing so heartily.

"Yes..." said the woman. "Though he is a fool, he is as handsome as Adonis. "Look at his body, his muscles. But he has a handsome face. I can't stand those peasant's snouts, those faded pig's eyes, pockmarks, scars, sparse hair... But this one... Nature truly amazes sometimes. To give that kind of appearance to a stupid redneck."

"That's right," the man sighed. "I'm surprised he doesn't have any scars on his face. He's probably the first in fights."

"Maybe his nose was broken, but otherwise he's fine. I'll see if there are any other blemishes anywhere."

Gaston felt like a piece of meat, some carcass being examined and discussed at the market. He couldn't move a leg or an arm, couldn't even open his eyelids. He could only feel someone tearing the shirt on his chest.

"No scars on his chest!" The woman's voice was full of admiration. "Amazing luck!"

"That's great. Okay, let's lock up the room and wait for Bernard. I hope he won't keep us waiting like he did last time."

There were footsteps and the turning of a key in the lock.

Gaston waited a while and tried to open his eyes. It worked, but not at once; there was a ripple and fog in front of his eyes. Then he tried to move somehow, and began to wriggle like a worm. His mobility gradually returned to him, but he appeared to be bound.

He was lying against one wall of a wooden room. The small window was curtained with rags, but sunlight streamed in through the holes. So it was morning. Gaston turned his head the other way - Belle was lying against the opposite wall, her hands and ankles also bound.

"Belle!" Gaston called softly. "Belle!"

Her lashes fluttered, and the girl opened her eyes. The hunter became excited.

"Belle, Belle, don't worry. Everything will be all right," he said almost in a whisper. "I'm going to untie myself and kill this couple with my bare hands. It's okay."

Belle didn't say anything, but began to twist around, trying to untie the ropes. It would be easy.

Gaston was moving his legs, his wrists, trying to twirl. Just a little more and they would be free.

But time passed, time flowed away like sand through his fingers, the sun rose higher-the rays through the holey curtains even burned his body - but nothing changed.

He could not free himself.

Gaston bit his lips from the strain, ripped all the skin under the ropes, and they slid, wet with his blood. Nothing helped.

As a boy, he hunted hares. He'd set snares on hare trails. Sometimes, when he checked the snares, some hares were alive, caught not by the neck but by the shoulder in the loop. This gave them the appearance that they could get free. But they couldn't.

No, why think about that now. It's not like he's a hare. One more effort, and he'd...

"Gaston-" Belle called out for the umpteenth time.

He caught his breath:

"Wait a moment, Belle. I'll get free and then we'll talk later when we're in a safe place."

"Gaston!" The girl called out a little louder and cried. - "Talk to me, please. I'm scared."

"There is no time to talk, Belle!" muttered the hunter with irritation. "Just a little longer and everything will be all right. Just a little more and I'll tear these damn ropes."

He strained his muscles, his back wet with sweat. But it didn't work.

A shiver ran through his body.

"We can't get free," Belle said calmly. "There is no way out of some traps."

Gaston was silent, trying to catch his breath. Yes, some traps had no escape. Not the ones he'd set himself, that's for sure... For example, if he threatened to lock her father in a madhouse, then...

No, that was definitely not something to think about right now.

He turned his head so he could see his wife's face.

"It was morning, the sun was rising over the town." Belle spoke softly, remembering. " "The first to wake up is the baker."

The thoughts transported Gaston from the stuffy room to the streets of his hometown. It was fall, but the days were still warm. The town was waking up.

"The smell of bread and buns, the freshest," Gaston continued, smiling at the memories.

"It's the same every day, and there's something touching and peaceful about it. The market was bustling again. In the fish shop there was rotten fish."

"And the butcher is flirting with a pretty customer again..."

"...for which he gets a beating from his wife."

The two of them laughed softly, these memories, the usual dull days seemed the happiest now.

"We were happy, weren't we, Gaston?" - Belle said softly. "We just didn't realize it ourselves. We were surrounded by simple but kind people who never wished us harm. And we were together."

He was silent, trying again to free himself.

"Gaston... Sometimes you have to be very strong to accept, to lose. Please always believe in our meeting. You know, in that book about the two lovers... The girl drank a potion, she looked like she was dead. And her lover didn't know it, so in desperation, he took the poison. But you... always live, take care of yourself. Don't fight them, or they'll start beating you. I too will live no matter what, no matter what happens."

Those dreadful words were killing him.

"Belle, silly girl, it's gonna be all right. Just give me a little more time. Just a little more time, and then I'll-"

"Gaston, there's something else I want to tell you," she said quietly.

"Let's do it later, Belle. When we get out of here, you can tell me. Damn it, damn it!"

"I love you."

He looked at his wife almost with horror. Scrappy scary thoughts were materializing, since she had decided to confess here, in this room, lying on the floor like a sack.

"Belle, I..."

"I love you. Just the way you are. I'll always be your woman, your wife, no matter what happens. No one can take that away from me."

Footsteps were heard and the door opened.

"Come on, take her," it was Paul.

A man came in and, taking Belle in his arms, left the room.

Gaston began to beg:

"No, no, please! Let her go! I have money, I'll sell the tavern. I'll... I'll do anything!"

Paul looked down at him:

"You'll do whatever you're told, you stupid hillbilly. The tavern... Don't make me laugh, you two are worth a lot more than your filthy woodshed."

He grinned once more and walked out, closing the door behind him.