“And now, if you’ll excuse me, Archdeacon, I must give these to the Belles of Notre Dame.”
Le Jour d'Amour was everyone in Paris’ favourite holiday, and it had rapidly become Clopin Trouillefou’s too. As he stood on the steps of Notre Dame, selling the yellow roses that were the symbol of this particular holiday, to those who would proclaim their love for their partners in a matter of days, Clopin smiled to himself. Eight years ago, he had met the woman of his dreams. Well, no, that wasn’t strictly true – they had met once before that, back when he was seventeen and she only seven – but eight years geleden their paths had crossed again and they had been swept up in an adventure...
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