"Set one foot outside and you’re mine!"

        Judge Claude Frollo slammed the door behind himself. He gave orders to one of his soldiers and heard him repeat to the rest of his men, "Frollo’s orders! Post a guard at every door."

        The men went to their stations and Frollo hurried quickly to his awaiting coach.

        "To the Palace of Justice," he said distractedly when the driver asked where to. The wheels splashed in the rain as the coach hurried along the wet cobblestone streets. Frollo could feel a chill even inside the coach! It would be good to get home, have a nice bowl of soup for supper, and get warm by the fire.

        He pulled his cassock tighter around him. As he did so, he felt something against his collarbone. What was this? He pulled out a silken purple scarf with gold embroidery. Ah, yes! It was the scarf she had wrapped around his neck at the festival this afternoon. Curse the gypsy girl! If it wasn't for her, he would be himself, the same Minister of Justice everybody knew. He would still be as pious as any one of the priests at Notre Dame. Yet that gypsy girl! That sin-filled heathen! He wanted her. He couldn't resist himself.

       Frollo clasped the scarf between his fingers. He kissed it, nuzzled it, and smelled it. It smelled of strange spices, spices he did not know of. It was the same scent as her hair had been. Perhaps she had used this as a hair ribbon. Oh, to think he had sniffed those raven locks!

        He smiled wickedly, remembering what his mind had conjured up when he had nuzzled her with closed eyes. He had undressed her in his mind—and himself, too. Instead of being in the cathedral, they were in his private chambers. Instead of standing, they were sitting on his bed. He could practically feel the familiar Chinese silk comforter beneath him...

        "What are you doing?" she had asked in disgust, interrupting his vision. Claude could feel her twitching in loathing, but in his mind, she squirmed in pleasure in response to his nuzzling.

        "I was just imagining a rope... around that beautiful neck..." Now his hand curled around her throat. He was about to kiss the gypsy's ear when she twisted away from him.

        "I know what you're imagining!" Esmeralda hissed. She glared at him like an angry lioness.

        "Such a clever witch..."

        And so she was. She was nothing more than a witch sent from hell to torment him. Frollo gritted his teeth and clenched the scarf.

        I will have her! I will! She will succumb to me one way or another.

        The carriage jolted to a stop. Frollo quickly ran inside. The cook stood at the kitchen doorway. As she did every night, she asked,

        "What would you like for supper tonight, Your Honor?"

       "Soup," Frollo replied. "Some bread as well."

       "Yes, sir and for dessert, I made your favorite tonight... cheesecake!"

       As he headed up the stairs, Frollo couldn't help but smile. Cheesecake had been his favorite since he was a child. He had fastened into Quasimodo an early love of this dessert and now it was the hunchback's favorite, too. On Quasimodo's supposed "birthday," master and charge always shared a cake together up in the bell tower. Quasimodo always insisted on saving three pieces for his "friends." Frollo let the boy do so, knowing he was only playing. He knew Quasimodo ate the cake himself, and later claimed the gargoyles did it, which was complete nonsense, but one year, Claude found a smear of strawberry on the cheek of the fattest gargoyle—the one Quasimodo called Hugo. From then on, Judge Frollo secretly wondered... Sometimes the cake was topped with strawberries, other times drizzled with chocolate sauce—a rare and exquisite treat—and other times it was just plain, but the two didn't care how it came. Cheesecake is cheesecake!

        Frollo reached his chambers and shut the door. He hurried to his bed and quickly undressed. Lying down on top of the comforter, Claude indulged himself in that scarf. He inhaled its scent. He let it touch every inch of his body, even his most forbidden place. Ah, she soon will be mine... soon this scarf will not touch me, it will be her, La Esmeralda... she will be with me right here, in my bed, in my arms, oh!

        There was a knock at the door.

       "Minister Frollo?"

        Frollo quickly redressed and hurried to the door. He opened it.

        It was Martha, the servant girl who always brought him his meals. He had rather taken a liking to her and secretly thought of her as a niece. He wondered if she and Quasimodo would ever become friends, perhaps beyond friends, too. Still, he forbade any servants to visit the bell ringer, so that was out of the question. Still, Frollo secretly wanted to play matchmaker for the boy...

        Martha went and set the tray down at the judge's desk. Frollo could smell the soup. It smelled like chili. Yea!

        "Thank you, Martha. You may go."

       Frollo sat down to eat, muttered grace, crossed himself, and put his napkin in his lap. He realized he was still holding the scarf and quickly tucked it back into his cassock, but not before Martha saw.

       "That's a beautiful scarf, Minister. Wherever did you get it?"

       Frollo hesitated, and finally replied,

       "I confiscated it from a gypsy dancer."