On the Opera Populaire scale of people you didn't want mad at you, Madame Giry fell just above Carlotta and just below the Opera Ghost, so needless to say Monsieur Lefevre wished he hadn't gotten on her bad side. Sadly, though, it had been unavoidable.

"Do you not trust me to choose my ballerinas wisely?" she asked, raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips. Lefevre cowered behind his desk. "Or do you think me blinded by familial pride? Watch her dance for yourself, Monsieur, if you do not believe me."

"I believe you perfectly, Madame," he insisted, his eyes wide in fear. Dressed in all black and with a braid that defied gravity, the ballet mistress was a frightening figure. "Your daughter seems perfectly qualified as a dancer."

"Of course she is," snapped Madame Giry. "She is my daughter, is she not?"

"Yes, yes," agreed Lefevre. In an attempt to avoid her glare he began to shuffle the papers on his desk. "I'm simply afraid that we cannot hire her."

Madame Giry stomped her cane on the floor, causing Lefevre to jump wildly and scatter all the newly ordered papers. "Monsieur Lefevre, I understand perfectly well that Meg has her failings. She is silly and ignorant, but no different from any of the other ballet rats. But when she dances, well," she paused, allowing a bit of maternal pride to crack her stern façade. "With discipline she could one day be a great dancer."

"Yes, yes, I understand," said the by now very agitated Lefevre. "But we still can't hire her."

"And why ever not?" snapped the ballet mistress. "Monsieur Lefevre, I am the ballet mistress. I told you my plans out of courtesy but I was of the impression that this matter was my domain."

"Yes, but –"

"But what? You have not given me one good reason to not hire Meg."

Lefevre was about to burst. "For Christ's sake, Giry, we can't hire her because she's blonde!"

This was by no means the answer Madame Giry had been expecting. She stepped back slightly, staring at him in disbelief.

"Surely you realized by now that we have a strict brunettes-only policy for the ballerinas! Your daughter's hair is absolutely wrong."

"Her hair?" repeated Madame Giry. "You are denying her because of her hair?"

"Yes, her hair! It just wouldn't do to have a blonde ballerina. We've worked very hard to maintain our values here, you know. We're always having to turn away blondes and red heads, and don't even get me started on the straight-haired girls. At least your daughter has the wild curls."

"Her hair," said Madame Giry again, unable to comprehend the conversation. "Why, that's the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard! As if hair color has any weight in dancing ability! Brunettes only? Monsieur Lefevre, where on earth did you get such an idea."

Lefevre rolled his eyes. "It's not mine, Giry! It's just another ridiculous demand from that horrible Opera Ghost! He has a thing for brunettes, apparently."

The Opera Ghost. Of course. Without another word Madame Giry turned on her heel and left the office, leaving a rather confused Lefevre behind. Brunettes only! She shook her head. It was time for Erik to learn what reasonable demands for an Opera Ghost were.