A/N: Soooooo, I'm writing this story because I am absolutely OBSESSED with Clopin, so I hope you like it…

Arabella's POV

I walked around our new home, admiring the white stone it was made of, feeling the bedspreads, and peering intently on every piece of artwork I came across. "Oh, Clifton, isn't this wonderful? I can't believe that you are the Minister of Paris!"

My husband rolled his eyes, "Yes, my dear. It is wonderful."

"And Paris! It's beautiful, no?"

"No."

I sighed, before brightening, "Dearest? Do you think I could possibly...go out? You know, see Paris?"

"I don't care."

I took that as a yes, and scurried out of our new home before he could damper my mood any more than he already had. I stepped out onto the cobblestone paths, and was instantly entangled in crowds of rushing, bustling people. I was shoved and pushed and shouted at: no one knew that I was the wife of a public official. Eventually, I found a clearing with about six or seven children gathered around a puppet booth.

A masked man was talking about a hunchback in a belltower. I had heard of Quasimodo before, and yes, of Judge Claude Frollo as well. Although, this masked man's version was much better than whenever my husband told me that story. I couldn't help but listen to this man's story, the way he sang was captivating. When he finished his story, he was met with the applause of amused children. Me, as well.

The children waddled away, and I walked up to him wary. "That was very interesting, sir. Very accurate."

"Why thank you, ma cherie, but you know, an older lady of your stature shouldn't be listening to children's stories." The man didn't look up, but continued packing up his belongings.

"But it's a true story, no?"

"Yes, it is true. But this story was for children. Not the wife of the new minister," He inspected his gloved hands before picking up his supplies, all reduced to the size of a canvas bag.

I sputtered, perplexed at how he could have known such a thing. Most Parisians hadn't even learned my name, let alone took the time to memorize what I looked like. "How could you have known that?"

"Oh, Madame, Clopin knows everything that goes on in Paris."

"That's your name? Clopin? It's nice. Regal, almost. For a gypsy."

The masked man-Clopin- raised an eyebrow, "Now, how could you have known that?"

I laughed teasingly, "Oh, Monseiur, Arabella knows everything that goes on in Paris."

"Touche," a small smile played on the lips of the gypsy, "I'd like you to know that there is no more persecution of the gypsies in these walls anymore. That ended the day Frollo died."

"I know, and I assure you, sir, that while my husband is in charge, no harm will come to any of your people."

Clopin smiled widely for the first time, then bent down in an overly gracious bow, "I thank you, Madame Arabella, for your assurances, and I'll make sure that you keep your promise." He darkened, "Or else."

"What is this?" I asked incredulously, "You don't trust me? Or my word?"

The gypsy held up his hands in defense, "Just a precaution, my dear."

My dear? I thought before jumping in realization. "Oh, no! I must be going home. My husband, he'll be worried." I started to rush off but remembered about Clopin. I turned around and waved in the gypsy's direction, "Goodbye, Clopin! I hope to see you again!"

Once again, Clopin dropped into a ridiculously low bow, "Until we meet again, ma cherie."

A/N: Well, that's chapter one. I know it's nothing special, but please review anyways with constructive criticism or any advice. ^_^