Belle: A Retelling of “Beauty and the Beast” By Cameron Dokey Read Online Free

before I could even make the attempt, Monsieur LeGrand stepped forward as well. To my astonishment, he knelt down – in that way grown-ups have sometimes when meeting a young person for the first time. Not condescendingly, just wanting to view the world from their
    perspective.
    For several moments, Monsieur LeGrand and I gazed at each other, face-to-face
    and eye-to-eye. I’ve often wondered whether I’d have seen what happened next if we hadn’t been so close.
    For, ever so slowly, Monsieur LeGrand’s face began to change. The only way I
    can describe it is to say it became kind. As if he found the way to smooth out all the harsh angles until what lay beneath was revealed: kindness in it purest, most generous form.
    I forgot my aching feet and trembling legs then, as a terrible possibility, an
    explanation for everything that had happened since I’d first entered the room, shot like a bolt of lightning across my ten-year-old mind.
    What if my name was wrong? What if Monsieur LeGrand’s kindness was not
    only a simple gift but also a consolation prize, one designed to make up for the fact that I was not a Beauty, not truly Belle at all? What if my bane was not my true measure, but was the lie I told?
    It would explain so much , I thought. Such as why Monsieur LeGrand had not seen me standing between my sisters, as close as the reach of his arm. He had looked for a Beauty to go with theirs, but he failed to find it. My face did not live up to the promise of my name.
    My legs did give way then, and I heard Monsieur LeGrand give a startled
    exclamation as I suddenly swayed and closed my eyes. If I stared into his one moment longer, I feared I might begin to weep, for now I could see that there was more than kindness in his look. There was pity there as well.
    “Why, Belle!” I heard my mother exclaim as, with a swish of silk, she, too, knelt down. I sensed Monsieur getting to his feet even as I felt my mother’s arms enfold me. I leaned my head against her shoulder, drinking in the scent of lavender that always hovers about her like a soft and fragrant cloud.
    “Whatever is the matter? Are you ill?” my mother inquired.
    Maman , my heart pounded out in hard, fast strokes. Oh, Maman, Maman. Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you warn me that this day would come?
    For I had heard more than just the way my mother’s dress moved. My legs might
    have been refusing to function, but my ears still worked just fine. Running through my mother’s voice like a strand of errant-colored thread was a tone that was the perfect match for the expression in Monsieur LeGrand’s eyes. Maman pitied me too.
    It must be true, then , I thought.
    I was not a Beauty, and my own mother knew it.
    How long had she known? Surely she must have believed I was beautiful on the
    day of my birth, or she would not have insisted on calling me Belle .
    When had I lost my Beauty? I wondered. Where had it gone?
    “Belle?” I suddenly heard my father’s quiet voice. Say. “Are you all right?”
    At the sound of it, I felt the rapid beating of my heart begin to slow. For Papa’s voice sounded just at it always did. There was nothing in it to show that he had noticed anything different about me, nothing to indicate that anything was wrong.
    And suddenly, with that, nothing was. I opened my eyes and stepped out of the
    circle of my mother’s arms.
    “I’m fine, Papa,” I assured him.
    Maman got to her feet and went to stand at Papa’s side, a faint frown between her brows. I curtsied then, the buckles on my new shoes squeezing like vise grips. As I straightened, I snuck a quick glance upward at Monsieur LeGrand. If his expression held any hidden meaning now, for the life of me, I could not see it.
    “I am pleased to meet you, Monsieur,” I went on. “I apologize for causing a
    fuss…I didn’t mean…it’s just…”
    “It’s just that she’s so excited to meet you, Alphonse,” my father said, coming to my rescue. “It’s all