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Marie was surprised to realize that she didn't find Gaston nearly so handsome now that he was dead. This seemed particularly odd because he looked little different. She and Claire and Annette had snuck into the mortuary to say their last au revoirs, and though there was a bit of blood smeared near his temples and a few bones that no longer lay entirely straight, the shape of him and the set of his shoulders were so like in life that, chilled, she shed but a half-dozen tears on his chest before hurrying outside to wait for her weeping sisters.
The entire village was invited to the wedding celebration, and with each invitation was an allowance to costume oneself as one wished. Claire and Annette ordered twin dresses, entirely alike except that Annette's was yellow and Claire's was pink, each ribboned and ruffled as befit garments for a royal wedding.
When they had gone, Marie told the harried dressmaker what she wanted. Green, yes--still her favorite color. But this green dress had a long slim waist and long slim gloves to match--she especially liked the pearl buttons up the sides.
She didn't know how to tell the others.
Yes, Marie agreed, the prince was moderately charming and no, he didn't have Gaston's clefted chin. Yes, he'd gazed adoringly into Belle's eyes, and no, she didn't think it quite fair that bookish, dreamy-eyed Belle should attract such eligible men.
But she couldn't summon any interest in the other villagers' frocks, nor in speculations as to the cost of the chandeliers.
She didn't know what was wrong with her. Perhaps, as Annette suggested upon seeing the pearled gloves, Marie had come to think too much of herself. That would explain why she thought so little of who she'd been before.
Only Marie was serving the afternoon Belle visited the tavern, fetching her father a stein of the local brew for old times' sake. Belle smiled at Marie, which had happened before, and seemed to actually see her, which hadn't. Marie ventured a question about the castle, something to do with feeding so huge a household, and was regaled with a long tale of kitchen mishaps featuring an Englishwoman and a boy named Chip who may or may not have been a teacup. Come meet them, Belle said. Marie dithered, and wondered about Claire and Annette, and finally just said yes.
Tea was served by the Englishwoman herself, who in no way resembled a teapot, and then Belle showed Marie the entire castle, tower to cellar. I'm just discovering it myself, Belle said, and with her even the inspection of root storage was an adventure--not that Marie had much experience with adventures.
The library was last, and then Marie was reminded of why she and Belle had never been friends. It was vast, staggering, and she was sure one of the top-shelf volumes would fall on her head.
But when Belle begged her to come again, she said she would.
The gardens were quaint and formal and splendid by turns, and Marie admired each one, but finally she asked if she and Belle might simply sit for a while. Half-chagrined, Belle sat. Polite discussion of the weather commenced.
It's so big, Belle said suddenly. It's wonderful and he's wonderful and I'm so very happy, but... Even the library, and you know how I love books--don't you? As though suddenly remembering that they didn't really know each other at all.
Marie assured her that she did know. Then, to her surprise, she asked Belle to the tavern for hot chocolate.
Belle greeted Claire and Annette, but three La Fleur sisters at once seemed too much for her. With steaming mugs she and Marie retreated to a corner table, where she asked diffidently after village gossip. Marie recited the most recent births (another for the Aloyennes) and marriages (the hatmaker to bald widowed Madame Defarge, fancy that) and said off-handedly that Gaston's death was the latest. She'd heard rumors, but she didn't expect Belle's scowl, nor the story Belle told in a sharp, tight voice.
That night, Marie burned the scavanged lock of hair and the dirt from his hunting boots.
Marie helped design Belle's special library nook (which turned out quite pleasant, she agreed, though she still didn't see the use of it). Belle suggested cinnamon in the tavern's hot chocolate. Marie met the prince, who seemed almost as shy as she, and later she asked Belle, half-joking, if there was another one like him. Belle finally got straight which was Claire and which was Annette, although she still found little to say to them. Marie couldn't really blame her.
It occurred to Marie one day that they were friends. She blinked, and considered, and decided that she didn't mind.