Summary: Gringoire talks to Jehan about his dinner with Fleur. Claude and Esmeralda continue talking about the state of their marriage.

Mentally exhausted and with a sigh of relief, Pierre Gringoire exited the Gondelier household. For three hours Dame Aloise had questioned him, as a judge would a man standing trial. His hopes of convincing the woman that he had no romantic interest in her daughter were dashed. Dame Aloise now expected that he and Fleur-De-Lys be wed sometime next year. The girl too had attempted to quell her mother's questions, but alas all was in vain.

Gringoire had never been much of a drinker; he enjoyed a tankard every now and again and liked a glass of wine with each meal, but he was not the type of man who frequented taverns for the sole purpose of leaving drunk. However, on a night like this, he found himself casually walking into a tavern and ordering a drink…then another.

"I don't believe I've seen you in here before. Is my brother so terrible a boss that he has driven you to drink?"

Gringoire recognized the jovial voice and turned to see the man taking a seat next to him.

"I know you!"

Gringoire exclaimed, ordering another tankard of mead. His words already began to slur and his head felt fuzzy and numb.

"You're Claude's brother."

Jehan gave a chuckle.

"Yes. But you seem out of your element here sir. What brings you here?"

Jehan ordered some bread and offered a large portion to Pierre.

"I was at a dinner with a young lady friend and her mother. Dinner with the damsel would have been delightful, as I am always happy for a meal, especially with such a lovely companion. But the good Dame Aloise has decided that I am her daughter's betrothed."

Jehan nodded to show that he was listening.

"Fleur-De-Lys de Chateaupers? Was she not the wife of Captain Phoebus?"

"Indeed she was. He passed recently…not certain of what. The gossip is that is was foul play. Some are saying that she caught the cad in bed with another woman and ran him through with his very own sword."

"You did not ask her then?"

Gringoire shook his head in a negative fashion, downed his third drink and ordered another.

"Perhaps if her mother had not been present, it would have put me more at ease to ask such a blunt question."

"Do you want to marry this girl?"

For several moments Gringoire only stared at the bar and then began to speak, as though to himself.

"You know, I kissed her once. I kissed square on the lips! She and I have often joked about being husband and wife…how Claude cannot truly be her husband, because she is still married to me. I kissed her once, just to know what it would feel like. It was late in the evening, after a long lesson and I was leaving for the night. She was lying, asleep on the pallet in the drawing room. She looked so at peace and Claude was in his study, retrieving some book or another. I cannot recall what book it was! I saw that I was alone with her, knelt down and placed my lips to hers. But then your brother came back into the room and I must have turned at least ten different shades of red from indignation. He never questioned me about it, so I am not entirely certain of what he saw."

Jehan listened intently, hoping to hear something scandalous.

"I do not think I want to kiss the pretty blonde girl."

Jehan watched as his friend drifted toward the drowsy lull of sleep, picked him up and placed one arm around him. He paid for the drinks and bread, holding Gringoire up as the poor man stumbled out of the tavern and down the street. Jehan knew not where Pierre lived and he, along with Isabeau's knowledge of the situation, allowed Gringoire to sleep in their drawing room for the night.

Esmeralda was not a serious girl and seemed to detest any form of conversation, lacking gaiety. Claude attempted to avoid anything unpleasant. Yet here they sat, as the bells chimed six in the evening, in silence. Each knew the other needed to say something, yet neither wanted to be the first to speak. This was the most serious and least pleasant topic either of them had ever come across and neither knew in what manner they should deal with it.

"Claude."

Esmeralda began tentatively and saw her husband's head turn, slightly toward her.

"Do you still believe in God?"

Her voice broke, seeming to cut in and out and was barely audible. There was fear in what his reaction might be.

"I…"

Here Claude felt his own voice falter and cleared his throat.

"I often say that I do. But then what kind of God would create something to tempt me away from what he had destined me for? What kind of God would allow me to stray so far as to leave?"

His voice quivered and tears began to drift from his eyes.

"Then does our marriage make you unhappy?"

Here she tried to take his hands in hers, but he batted hers away. He would not stand to allow her influence on what he needed to say.

"In many ways, it does. Yes."

Esmeralda could feel emotions welling up, making her feel as though she was choking and she did not want for him to go on.

"Why?"

The only word she could clearly muster and he had not an answer.

With that he slunk off to his study to sulk.