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by Therese
When Anne came home, she found Madame Darbois deep in a serious conversation with Clopin. The tavern-keeper got up the instant she came in, and exclaimed, "There you are!" Trying as usual to conceal her stronger emotions, Madame asked, in what she meant as a businesslike tone, "So, were you able to find anything edible at the market this morning?""I'm sorry, Madame," Anne showed her the empty basket. "I guess nothing looked good."
"Well, I trust your judgment. There's nothing we can't live without till tomorrow."
"Where have you been, Anne?" Clopin piped up. "Madame's been worried sick."
"I went to Notre Dame," the girl set aside her basket and faced Madame Darbois. "I saw Captain Montblanc there, and we talked."
"What did he want this time?" asked Therese, her displeasure showing.
"He said that, even if he can't be certain I'm his niece, he'd still like to help me. He said he could set me up in a fine house, that I'd never have to work again -- " She saw Madame's lips compress to hide a frown, saw the ache in her eyes, and quickly said, "I told him no. I couldn't leave the tavern."
Clopin interceded again. "I hope you didn't cast him off too roughly; he could be very useful -- "
"Clopin, stay out of this," Therese snapped at him, and he raised his hands in surrender. "Anne, I -- " she reached out a hand, and the girl took it at once. "You don't owe me anything," said Therese. "No, you don't," she insisted, when Anne tried to protest. "You deserve to be happy, that's all I want for you."
"I am happy," said Anne. "This is my home, I don't want to go. I want to stay here, with you -- if you'll keep me."
"Oh, good heavens," Therese reached out and pulled the girl into her arms, hugging her tight. "Of course I'll keep you. I don't want you to go. How in the world would I ever manage without you?"
Anne, untangling herself enough to pat her mistress' cheek, couldn't help teasing her. "Captain Montblanc said he'd pay you enough to hire three girls to replace me."
"He said what!?" Therese gasped. "What on earth was he thinking? I couldn't possibly replace you, not with a hundred girls. Why, it would take me another eight years, at least, to train them!"
Now Anne saw that Madame was teasing, and they both laughed and hugged again.
"This is all very charming," Clopin ventured, a little more cautiously this time, "but you didn't leave the Captain of the Paris Guard too upset, I hope? He could be a very troublesome enemy."
"No, he's not angry," Anne assured him. "He's disappointed, but he's still hoping we can be friends." She looked at Therese. "I'd like that, if it's all right with you."
Madame Darbois nodded, "He's welcome here, if you want him to be. As long as he treats you respectfully, and doesn't try to bully you into anything."
"He won't," Anne assured her. "He's a good man, he means well. He just doesn't know what good friends I have already." And she put her arms around Madame's neck and kissed her on the cheek.
"All right, enough of that," Therese was beaming, waving her off. "I have decided once and for all that we are opening in two days, if we have to work straight through to get everything ready. And go find that cat; she's been mewing around all morning looking for you."
Therese and Anne kept busy the rest of that day. Quasimodo came in during the afternoon to make sure that Anne was all right after her conversation that morning in the bell tower. He stayed long enough to help with a few things, and, at the first opportunity, Anne pulled him away out of Madame's earshot to tell him that he'd better bring his gift for the tavern as soon as he could. He assured her he would finish it that night.
Next morning, Anne and Madame Darbois were out the door at daybreak, a basket over each arm, trooping off for an assault on the markets of Paris. Each had a pouch of money, a field of battle staked out, and a plan of attack to follow. "Do the best you can," said Therese, "but take what you can find. We've got to have something to feed them." With an agreement to meet back at Chez Therese, they split up and launched their campaign.
Three hours later, Therese staggered home, panting under the weight of her two baskets. Anne had beaten her back to the tavern, but not by much; the girl's cloak was flung on a table next to her own spoils. Quasimodo was there, too.
"Here, Madame," he came to meet her and reached for the baskets, "let me help you with those."
"Thank you," Therese puffed, handing them over and unfastening her own cloak. "Any luck?" she asked Anne.
"Not too bad. The Alberts had fresh lamb; I bought as much as I could carry. Most of the vegetables are awfully small, though," she warned, as Madame inspected her purchases.
"That's all right. Cut up and put in a casserole, they'll do fine. Oh, good!" she noted. "More of Madame Duret's cheese."
"She said she was holding some back especially for you," Anne told her, "but I think that was just her excuse for raising the price."
"I wouldn't doubt it," Therese chuckled. "It's worth whatever she wants to charge for it, though; I'm glad you found it."
Madame was still working her way through Anne's market baskets, when the girl finally said, "And Quasimodo's here to see you, too."
"Yes," Therese gave him a friendly nod, "I'm not ignoring you. I'm afraid I don't really have any work for you today. But, I will expect you to be here for our grand opening, of course."
"I'll try, Madame," he assured her, "although I don't know what use I'll be. I've never served tables before, or…"
"Oh, no, not to work!" Therese smiled and shook her head. "As our guest! Come around when you can; I'll treat you to dinner, and some of Phoebus's Favorite Wines. My way of saying thank you."
"That's very kind of you." Quasimodo was touched by her invitation.
"Not at all," said Therese. "You're a fine young man, and I'm glad we've gotten to know each other."
"So am I," he smiled. "That's why -- I brought you something."
Therese followed his bashful glance to the bar, and finally noticed a huge, square thing sitting there, covered by a cloth. "What in the world…?" she walked over to see what it was.
"I hope you like it," Quasimodo fretted, following her. "I wanted to give you something for the new tavern."
"Bless your heart!" said Madame. "Here, help me take this off; I can't reach the top."
Quasimodo pulled off the cloth and uncovered her present, and she gasped -- literally gasped at the sight of it.
Even he had to admit, the cabinet had turned out magnificently. He had even guessed right as to what color to stain the wood so that it would match the bar. Therese ran her fingers over the carved clusters of grapes that seemed to burst from the edges of the shelves.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"I haven't had anything this nice since -- " Not since the Maison Gercourt in Rouen, but she didn't say that. "-- well, not in a long time. Where on earth," she breathed, "did you manage to get this?"
"I made it."
"You -- what?" she stared at him, amazed. "You made this?" She would have been less surprised if he'd told her he'd stolen it.
"I've always liked to carve things," Quasimodo explained. "To pass the time. There's always lots of old wood, you see, up in the tower. I make things from it."
Anne chimed in, "He's made a model of the Cathedral, and the square, with little people and everything; it's amazing."
Therese admired the cabinet again, and said, "Well, if you ever get tired of bell-ringing, you could certainly make a living at this! It's beautiful."
"Look at the top," Anne pointed, as Therese hadn't seemed to notice this yet. "Can you set it down lower," she asked Quasimodo, "so she can see the top?"
He lifted the cabinet down onto a bench, and Anne again pointed out the figures mounted at the corners. "Look," she beamed at Madame, "who's that?"
"Oh, good heavens!" The tavern-keeper laughed out loud. "You didn't! Is that supposed to be me?"
"I hope you don't mind," Quasimodo smiled a little.
"Mind!? I only wish I were half so charming," Therese examined her little wooden image. "I'll never hear the end of this from Clopin," she warned, still laughing. "He knows what a fuss I made about hanging my face over the door. Oh, and here's Anne," she found the other figure. "Look at this, she's perfect! Right down to the tilt of her head; I'd know her anywhere. I take it back," she shook a finger at Quasimodo, "I do have a job for you. I want you to hang this up on the wall for me right now. We'll put it up here," she walked around behind the bar and studied the wall, considering the exact spot where it should go. "You can pull over a bench to stand on, and I'll go find a hammer."
Madame scurried off to the kitchen to fetch the tools they needed, and Quasimodo, beaming, let out a huge sigh of relief. "She likes it!"
"She loves it," Anne corrected. "And she's right, it is beautiful. You know, if you wanted to, you could make things like this, and sell them."
"I don't think I'd be allowed to," Quasimodo shook his head. "Aren't there guilds and things for that?"
"Clopin, and his friends -- the people who trade with us -- I don't think they'd care. And I know they wouldn't tell on you."
He shook his head again and said, "I still don't think I'm ready to go into business. I would like to make something for you, though," he ventured, turning just faintly red in the process.
"But, you already made this," she indicated the cabinet.
"That's for the tavern. I'd like to make something just for you. A sewing box, maybe? Or -- or…"
They were interrupted by a scream from the kitchen. "Madame!" Anne exclaimed, dashing to see what was wrong. Quasimodo followed on her heels. The two of them charged into the room, to see Madame Darbois standing stock still in the middle of the floor, staring at something at her feet. Without raising her eyes, she heard them come in, and pointed dramatically at the floor. "LOOK!"
Chinon the cat sat demurely, thoughtfully licking her paw. Lying in front of her was a small, gray, very dead mouse. Therese finally looked up, and Anne saw that she was not horrified, she was positively glowing with pleasure. "She caught a mouse!" The tavern-keeper, hands on her knees, bent down to the cat. "Didn't you, you clever girl! Who's the cleverest cat in all Paris?" Chinon looked up at the woman and replied with a "Mew," that clearly said, "I am, of course." "Who's a smart girl? Who's a good girl?" Therese was still cooing over the cat, who allowed her ears to be scratched, then picked up the mouse in her teeth and carried it to Anne.
"Yes, I see!" Anne knelt and petted her little girl in turn. "What a good mouser you are!" Looking up at Therese, Anne smiled and said, "I guess the lessons worked."
"Apparently so. Now you can start teaching her to take them outside once she's caught them."
Anne and Therese spent the rest of their day in the kitchen, preparing for tomorrow's opening. By nightfall, they were exhausted, but satisfied that they were now ready for their first customers. Chinon, who had not caught another mouse all day ("She's so good, she's scared them all away, haven't you?" Therese fawned over her), followed them up the stairs to the fireside. Anne sat down on the floor and tried to interest the cat in her toy mouse, wondering how to teach her to carry her prey outside, but Chinon wanted only to stretch out on the hearth rug and sleep.
Therese, having shed her shoes and apron, plopped down in her chair by the fire. She made enough noise to attract the notice of Chinon, who glanced up at her, and Therese made a little face at the cat and said again, "Who's the best cat in all Paris?"
"I can't believe she's the same cat at all," Anne marvelled. "Remember how scrawny and frightened she was when I brought her home? Now look at her."
Therese smiled and remarked, "She's a lot like you, really. It's a wonder what regular meals and a warm bed can do."
Anne nodded, glancing up at Madame to smile and add, "And having someone to watch over you."
Therese was quiet for a moment, then said, "Anne, can you keep a secret?"
"Of course I can."
"I've never told this to anyone, not even Clopin," Therese impressed upon the girl. "And I'm not looking for pity now. But there's something I want you to know, that I should have told you long ago, and it will make more sense if I tell it this way."
Anne scooted closer to Madame's chair and turned to face her. "You can tell me anything, Madame; I won't breathe a word, I promise."
"I know," Therese smiled down at her and stroked her hair. It had grown so long in eight years. They were both quiet for a moment, then Therese reached for the girl's hand, and held it lightly in her lap. Finally, she looked into Anne's blue eye and told her, "I had a baby once. A long time ago, when I was married. A little girl."
"What happened to her?" Anne asked softly.
"She died," the woman sighed, then shook her head. "She never lived. She was stillborn."
"Oh, Madame, I'm so sorry…"
"No, no," Therese scolded gently, "I didn't tell you for that. The truth is, it was for the best. Oh, I didn't think so then; I was heartbroken then, but I finally realized that God had been right to take her from me. I couldn't have been a good mother to her, I was so unhappy, my marriage was -- " Therese stopped herself from going farther, and recast the thought. "When I was widowed, she wouldn't have been a year old. I don't know how I ever would have managed on my own with a baby to care for; it wouldn't have been fair to her. I think He knew. God knew the path my life was on, and He knew I could never put my child through that. Her name was Cecile," Therese added this as a hasty turn of the subject. Having started to speak of her old life, she suddenly felt herself tempted to tell Anne everything, and probably would have if the girl had asked.
Instead, Anne simply offered, "Cecile is a pretty name."
"It's my middle name, and I'll bet you didn't know that," Therese informed her, stuffing the rest of her history back into its dark closet. "Anyhow," she fondled Anne's hand, "I came to Paris, and took over the old Goose and Grapes, and forgot all about having any more children. I didn't want them or need them, and frankly, I still thought I'd make a terrible excuse for a mother. Then you came. You were such a poor little scrap of a thing, I didn't know what I was going to do with you, but you didn't deserve to be battered to death by that--" Therese stopped and took a breath to calm down before she went on. "I thought, if nothing else, I could keep you long enough to get you fed, and on your feet, and once you were healthy, you might be some help in the tavern; enough, at least, to earn your bed and board. That was what I thought at first," Therese smiled ruefully. "But then… I suppose I started getting attached to you. You were such a brave little thing, and I still don't know how you managed to be so sweet-tempered, and so hopeful, after all you'd been through. You were just like that cat," she chuckled, shaking her finger at Chinon. "All you needed was someone to feed you, and take a little interest in you, and before I knew it, there was this bright, charming little girl in my house, and my kitchen -- And I began to have the oddest feeling that God had sent you to me for a reason. Almost as if you were His way of giving me back the baby I'd lost, now that I was ready to take care of her." Therese reached out and wiped a tear from Anne's face, and the girl nestled her cheek in the woman's palm. "And the whole point of this story," said Therese, her smiling face glowing as she held back a tear of her own, "is that I want you to know, that if my own little girl had lived, she could not possibly be any dearer to me than you are."
"Oh, Madame," Anne rose to her knees and reached up to hug Therese in her chair, "I love you, too."