Gaston groaned in annoyance. He watched as the woman stepped farther away, gazing at his face with curiosity and fear. All his schemes were beginning to melt away like smoke in the wind, only one last possibility remained.
Anger.
Anger and rage are the hunter's enemies. A hunter must be patient, impassive. If you give in to rage, you can shoot before the time, you can miss your prey.
"Stupid woman!" he yelled. "You and me, how dare you think such a thing?"
Jeannette's eyebrows rose as he began to spew insults.
"I almost threw up when you groped me! How dare you even think about someone like me? What girls were chasing after me... Blondes, figures, blush, everything with them... I didn't even look at them. But you... You have the walk of a goose and rare hair."
Jeannette kicked him in the ribs.
"Shut up! Shut your mouth, you bastard!"
"Wrinkles on your neck! Aged beyond your years!"
She kicked him again and again, not noticing that Gaston, clenched in a lump from the blows, took a breath, as if preparing for something.
Jeannette came too close, and Gaston stretched out his legs with all his beastly strength, aiming for her shin.
There was a crunch and Jeannette collapsed to the floor with a scream. The hunter pinned her throat with his legs and she began to choke.
"Untie the ropes, you bitch," Gaston hissed, loosening his grip.
Jeannette took a few breaths:
"You'll never make it, you bastard," she whispered. - Paul will come and..."
He pressed harder, and she was silent.
"Let them come, you'll die first. Well? Will you untie me?"
Gaston loosened his leg muscles again, and the woman coughed. Anger and lust for life fought in her, and yet the lust for life won out. She began to untie the knots in his legs.
"Hurry up," said the hunter.
"It's not working... You pulled the knots, damn it..."
"I don't care. Bite with your teeth if you have to. I repeat, if the door opens, I'll break your neck. I have nothing to lose."
Jeannette, grumbling, strengthened her efforts and finally untangled his legs. It was easier to grab her neck, which Gaston immediately took advantage of and pulled her closer.
"Now the hands."
"Nothing will help you, our men will be here soon enough."
"Shut up!"
"You'll never find your wife..."
"Shut up, shut up!"
His hands were finally free, but Gaston could already hear voices and the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
He got up, hit Jeannette on the head, struggling to contain his strength not to kill her but only to make her unconscious and ran out of the room. The window was larger in the other room, and the hunter climbed out of it and ran as hard as he could through the streets.
There were only a couple streets in their little town, but here in the big city was some kind of stone maze. Houses, houses, streets, alleyways, Gaston ran like some kind of hunted animal. At one point he stopped and looked up - the roofs of the houses were closing in, almost covering the sky. He was dizzy, and he didn't know where to go next, which way to go.
In his town, he was always helped. The townspeople were happy to help their hero.
But here, as he called out to passersby with incoherent requests for help in finding Belle, he was met with the same stony indifference that these tall houses were.
"Madman!"
Gaston turned around to see where the madman was and immediately received a lump of dirt in his face.
" "Crazy, crazy, lunatic!" A bunch of boys were dancing around him and laughing.
Gaston leaned against the wall of the house, wiping his face furiously. For some reason he remembered that night in the tavern, when Belle's father had come running in and started raving about some beast that had locked Belle in the castle. What nonsense comes into his head...
He suddenly realized how he looked from the outside - in a torn shirt with bruises on his chest, with blood on his wrists, dirty and scared. He have to calm down.
The boys ran away, and Gaston tried to think of what to do next. Time was running away, slipping through his fingers, and so his thoughts were torn apart. He suddenly realized with horror that he was crying, and bit his palm to calm himself.
Tavern.
Yes, all news, all rumors flock there. In the taverns.
Gaston walked slowly along the homeward side, scrutinizing the houses, the passersby, and the gaps between the houses.
When he saw a cloak drying on one of the clotheslines, he took a quick, quiet step, as if hunting, and pulled it off and threw it over his shoulders, hiding his torn shirt. Gaston was walking on and on when he noticed a barrel of rainwater and bent down to wash the mud off his face. He wondered what was the best thing to do, unconsciously scrutinizing his face in the rainwater.
Handsome as ever, blue eyes tinted with dark lashes that seemed huge, black eyebrows apart and sharp cheekbones. The pallor of the past day's turmoil was perfectly set off by hair as black as a raven's wing.
This beauty proved to be a curse. Ordinary people were better off not being beautiful.
A drunkard passed by, and Gaston followed him. Yes, he led the hunter into the tavern.
The hunter wrapped himself in his cloak as best he could and threw his hood up. Silently he opened the door and sat down at the table by the door and listened.
He was lucky; after only half an hour he heard talk that some marquis did not want to pay.
Gaston, without further ado, took a seat at the table.
His imposing figure and fists were respectful. A mug of beer was silently slid to him.
"I'm not from around here, mateys," he said. "I brought the girl to the marquis, and he refused to pay. Didn't pay a single ecu."
"Hush!"The red-haired man shut Gaston's mouth with his dirty hand. "You talk like a woman. You shouldn't boast about such matters. He'll pay in the end."
- But how? I don't know where to find him. I've been working through middlemen.
"Oh, I had the same thing," whispered the white-haired wretch. "But when I went to his apartment, everything was all right. Marquis doesn't like noise."
"You went to his apartment?" Gaston whistled.
"Yes. I tracked down his servant and voila!"
Gaston held his breath.
"Can you tell me where it is? I'm not going to hurt him, I just want my money."
"Yeah, look, he's got guards. And hurry up, when he gets fresh girls, he leaves the next day for his estate. He won't be at the apartment in Toulon until tonight."
The wretch began to draw a plan with a piece of charcoal on the table, and Gaston stared at it to memorize everything.