Drizella pushed her way through the crowd, fighting to get close to Nakoma. She couldn't lose her; the young, dark-skinned woman was the only friend she had! As the other girl, Esmeralda, threw the crown toward the judge, she squeezed past the front row of people and shouted up to her.
"Nakoma!" She was holding tightly to Quasimodo's arm and watching the quarrel, but at the sound of her name she turned and stared.
"What are you doing—"
"Captain Phoebus!" shouted the judge. "Arrest them." Drizella spun and watched in horror as the crowd parted behind her to let the captain and his guards through. They began to surround the stage; she glanced around, seeing no way of escape without also abandoning her friend.
"Now, let's see," said Esmeralda from behind her. "One, two three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, so there's ten of you, and two of us. What's a poor girl to do?" She pulled a kerchief from her blouse and began to sob, collapsing onto Nakoma in a fit of tears.
Suddenly an explosion of smoke surrounded the two women, and they disappeared, much like Clopin's trick from before.
"Hey!" Someone grabbed her arm and began tugging her away from the crowd, and she pulled and struggled against them. "Let me go—"
"Hush!" Drizella recognized the voice immediately and stopped struggling. Instead she ran with Clopin toward the tents, dodging frantic townsfolk and skirting Frollo's guards. Once or twice she almost lost him, but soon they were in the safety of the tents. Many of the gypsies were hurriedly packing their wares and booths away. Clopin found an empty tent and ducked inside, pulling Drizella with him.
"I have to help Nakoma!" Drizella blurted as soon as they were inside. "What if they arrest her?"
Clopin sat down and began to laugh, and Drizella considered slapping him.
"Not to worry, she'll be safe with Esmeralda. We gypsies are very good at escaping the law." He winked at her. She smiled halfheartedly, but the doubt must have showed on her face. Clopin's smile faded and he sighed. "I can't promise you that she will be safe, but with Esmeralda there's a very good chance. Just think of what might have happened if I hadn't rescued you, for instance. It was very fortunate that we met before. Otherwise, you might even now be bound and thrown in a cart!"
Drizella shrugged.
"I guess so." An uncomfortable silence filled the tent, and Drizella became lost in her worried thoughts.
"Please, sit down," Clopin said finally, patting the ground in front of him. "You're making me uncomfortable." Drizella knelt and smoothed down her skirts, and then began to pick at her gloves. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her face and clothes with interest. "You're not from Paris, are you?"
Drizella glanced up and shook her head.
"No, I'm from England. My sister is—" Suddenly she stopped; she'd all but forgotten about Cinderella's instructions! It took her only a second to sift through her memory and recall what the princess had told her.
"I have a good friend there who can take care of you...she's a big hit at the Festival of Fools."
Had she meant Esmeralda? The gypsy woman was the the only person she'd seen who fit Cinderella's description. And Clopin seemed to know her well. Maybe he could take Drizella to her!
"I only just remembered—I needed to find someone here in Paris who could take care of me for a while. And I think I might know who she is."
"You might know?" Clopin laughed confusedly. "Did you not know who this person was before you came all the way to Paris?"
"Well, no. My sister told me she'd been sworn to secrecy. But she gave me some clues, and one of them was that this woman was a 'big hit' at the Festival."
Clopin's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he scratched his chin.
"You mean to tell me your sister sent you here to look for Esmeralda?"
Drizella nodded.
"That's how it appears to me." Clopin laughed again. "What's so funny?" Drizella crossed her arms and furrowed her brows. Clopin immediately stopped laughing and adopted a more sober expression.
"I didn't mean to offend you, madame," he said. "It just seems...well, it's just so-so unusual. I don't think anything like this has ever happened before. Well, except—" He suddenly stopped, much like Drizella had before.
"Except what?" Drizella leaned forward eagerly, hands pressed to the top of her chest. Clopin shook his head.
"I, too, have been sworn to secrecy," he said, but he couldn't keep the rogueish grin from his lips. Drizella tried to frown, but found she couldn't, not when he was smiling at her like that.
"You're just trying to trick me," she said. Clopin chuckled.
"Perhaps," he said, and then grew serious once more. "Tell me, mademoiselle, has your sister ever been to Paris?" Drizella gaped at him.
"How did you know?"
"Family resemblance." Immediately Drizella stood and went for the tent flap.
"Of all the nerve—"
"Madame, wait!" Clopin called, leaping to his feet; the sound of tiny bells jingling filled the tent. She pushed the fabric apart and stepped through, but Clopin caught her hand and pulled her back. "You can't leave. The guards haven't gone."
"Well, I'm not staying here with you!" she cried, wrenching her hand away.
"Please, mademoiselle, if you go, I should never forgive myself!" Drizella hesitated, simply out of shock. She turned and studied him; he seemed genuinely concerned. His black-gloved hand stretched out toward her questioningly, and his round black eyes were no longer turned up with laughter but wide with worry.
"And why is that?" she asked, letting the flap close behind her. Clopin visibly relaxed as she did so and returned to his seated position on the floor.
"Please, sit," he said again. Drizella shook her head.
"I prefer to stand." Clopin then stood himself.
"Then I shall stand with you." She couldn't help but chuckle, and Clopin's smile returned.
"Now tell me what that whole speech was about," she pressed.
"Well, part of it was simply to stop you," he admitted. "But another part was the truth. I would never forgive myself if I let you come to harm." Drizella frowned.
"Why such an interest in my well-being?" she asked.
"You were kind enough to pay my booth a visit," he said with a grin. "It is my personal way of...satisfying a debt, if you will." Drizella nodded, but didn't quite understand. Clopin cleared his throat. "Well, think nothing more of it. Now we must discover what connection your sister has with Esmeralda."
"Well, maybe you should tell me," Drizella said. "Since it seems you've seen her here."
Clopin giggled, a curious sound coming from a man.
"I did imply that, didn't I? Clever, clever." He smirked, though, and continued, "But then again, I may not have seen her. I may just be assuming that since you are sisters, you would look similar." So that was the meaning of his comment. It was meant simply to trick her. And it had worked, but with another side effect he hadn't expected. "So, your negative reaction to my comment hinted to me that you do not think yourself similar to your sister at all. Am I right?"
Drizella simply stared at him. This elicited a bigger grin from him.
"You are the cleverest man I've ever met!" she exclaimed. He bowed extravagantly, setting the bells on his tunic to jingling.
"Thank you, mademoiselle." Drizella stepped to the middle of the room, where she had been sitting before, and knelt once more. Clopin took his place in front of her.
"Well, I suppose I can tell you what Cind—I mean, my sister told me, since you will find out anyway."
"Cind...not your sister's entire name, I assume?" Drizella hesitated, but slowly shook her head. "It seems to me that there was a girl called Cindy here in Paris once, who was connected with the gypsies." He smiled at her. "But you must tell me what she looks like."
"Alright, that's easy. She's tall, and thin, and has yellow hair and blue eyes. She would have been wearing a peasant costume, because—" Drizella clamped her hand over her mouth; she'd said too much. She couldn't reveal that Cinderella was the princess. Esmeralda hadn't even known that. It would just confuse them.
"Why would she wear a peasant 'costume?' What would she normally wear?"
"Oh, nicer dresses. She didn't want to get them dirty," Drizella explained hurriedly. Clopin eyed her suspiciously. It was then that she remembered the slip of paper with the drawing. She took the pack from her back and dug through it. "She also gave me this. She said Esmeralda had given it to her." After a few seconds she produced the folded parchment and handed it to Clopin. The gypsy took it and opened it out. Almost immediately he refolded it and tucked it into his own pocket. His expression was unreadable, but he leaned forward toward her and fixed her with a wary gaze.
"It may be that what you are telling me is true, mademoiselle. But we gypsies cannot be too careful. One false move could end our lives. We have a precarious balance we have to maintain, and if this balance is in danger of being upset...well...we must do what we must do in order to preserve the lives of our people."
Drizella sensed the shift in atmosphere, and suddenly she was afraid. He must have noticed, for he moved away and spoke in a gentler tone. "I want to trust you. Everything you have told me about your sister is true. I know you have not deceived me in this. But it could be that you are a spy—sent unwittingly, of course—but still a spy nonetheless."
"But I—"
"You implied that your sister is of higher social standing when you said that she was dressed as a peasant—not a peasant, but dressed like one. Now tell me: what would a noblewoman want with the gypsies, other than to bring an end to them?"
"Not all people are like that," Drizella said. "And Cinderella was a peasant once, or at least the equivalent of one. She knows what it's like to have to work. She was forced to work in her own home, and when she finally had a chance at freedom, we almost squandered it for her." She was getting close to tears; she struggled to keep her emotion under control. "We were terrible to her, my mother and my other sister."
"You have another sister?" Clopin asked delicately. Drizella nodded.
"She's married to the baker now. Well, back in our village, anyway."
"And what of Cinderella? And your mother?" Drizella wiped at her eyes.
"Mother is all alone in that mansion now. And Cinderella..." she hesitated, but knew she would have to continue in order to keep his trust. "Cinderella is the future queen of England."
Clopin was silent at this. Drizella sniffled loudly; she couldn't believe she'd just told a complete stranger things she hadn't even told Nakoma.
"What would the queen of England want with the gypsies?" he thought aloud.
"Maybe she just wanted out of those stiff princess clothes. Maybe she wanted to make a new friend. Maybe she just wanted to enjoy Paris. I know I would." Drizella glared at him through misty eyes. "You can't assume that everyone is a murderer."
"Ah, I suppose you're right," said Clopin. "But it is difficult when almost everyone is."
"Well, what of me?" Drizella asked. "Am I a murderer?"
"Of course not."
"How do you know?" Drizella pressed.
"I see the way you act: toward me and toward your friend," Clopin said. "I listen to how you describe your family, I watch your reactions to everything. I wait for the person inside to show themselves, and when it does, that's when I know if I can trust. This is why I question you so thoroughly. It is a habit I cannot afford to break, for it is what keeps us safe."
Drizella realized then that their entire conversation had been Clopin's evaluation of her. She felt so utterly silly and ridiculous that she promptly burst into tears.
"Mademoiselle?" She covered her face with her hands and sniffed, calming herself enough to speak.
"You've examined everything I've said, haven't you?" she asked. "And I didn't even know it. Tell me: does that make me gullible?"
"No," said Clopin with a smile, "it makes you genuine."