Don't Speak of the Night
(Ne
Parlez Pas de la Nuit)
by
Lady Trueword
Chapter 4: The Vicomte's Choice
The letter from the Vicomtesse Thérèse de Chagny arrived on a cold day in Sweden. Christine kept it sealed in its envelope and placed it on Raoul's writing desk. Her mother-in-law never addressed her any of her correspondence. This letter would not be different from the rest.
Christine had quickly learned that the vicomtesse would never accept her, despite Raoul being her favorite son. She winced as she remembered Thérèse's sharp words during their first meeting, just days after she and Raoul had escaped from the Phantom's lair.
"You were a singer at the opera, were you not?" asked the vicomtesse after a sip of tea. She looked faultless in her emerald green dress and her elegantly coiffed gray hair.
"Mother, remember little Lotte?" Raoul implored.
"I remember Little Lotte," said Thérèse with a snort. "Little Lotte was the daughter of a poor violinist. Perhaps she would make a good mistress for you, Raoul. But she certainly would not be fit to be a vicomte's wife."
She bore her green eyes into Christine and examined her from head to toe.
"How did you do it?" she asked.
"Mother!"
"You must be very cunning to think that you can seduce my Raoul."
"I… I don't understand…" replied Christine, wide-eyed.
"Mother," growled the vicomte. "I love her."
"Love? And what of your duties, Raoul? Have you forgotten your place in society?"
"You do not know what she has been through. I nearly lost her to that monster – I will not lose her again!"
"And have you no idea what losses I would suffer if you married this… this tramp?"
"No, I do not, Mother," replied Raoul coldly. "perhaps, a few invitations to some ridiculous parties?"
"You shame the name of de Chagny! If only your father could see you now!" she cried.
Raoul arose and took Christine's hand.
"If that is the case, then I will gladly resign my title! Philippe can have it!"
The vicomtesse stared at her son, her eyes bulging red.
"You… you cannot… Your brother is still in Indochina on business…"
"Raoul, please don't make any rash decisions," Christine tried to calm him down, but she knew that his mind was already made up.
Raoul gave his mother a stiff bow.
"Do as you wish, Mother," he said.
He led his fiancée to the door.
"Where are you going?" cried Thérèse.
"Christine and I will marry at once," he announced, his eyes as unyielding as flint.
Christine barely had time to collect her thoughts. Was she really going to marry Raoul today? What about her angel?
"Raoul Louis Henri de Chagny! Don't you defy your mother! Come back here at once!" yelled the vicomtesse.
Raoul paused as if to consider whether to heed her command. Christine thought she detected a bit of weariness in the old lady's voice. She felt his hand tighten around hers.
"Come, my bride," he said with a smile. "Let us go."
They left with the vicomtesse's shrill voice behind them like the wind, until at last it faded away. Their wedding was swift and simple, with only Madame Giry and Meg in attendance. It did not matter to the bride or groom that they were dressed in their traveling clothes. Christine looked radiant to all. When the priest pronounced his final blessing over them, Raoul rejoiced. She was his at last! But she could not help but think of her last glimpse of her angel, staring at her with tears in his eyes.
"You alone can make my song take flight…" strains of his song echoed in her head. He would always be a part of her…
A knock at the door jolted her out of her thoughts.
"Telegram for you, madame," said the young man who greeted her cheerily. Madame Giry had sent her a message! In her excitement she did not remember how much she paid the boy, or his friendly goodbye. She tore open the envelope, hoping for news of her angel's whereabouts.
Opera house collapsed. Stop. Whereabouts of our friend unknown. Stop.
Tears filled her eyes. Did her angel escape before the building collapsed? Or was he entombed underneath, never to be seen again? She shuddered at the thought of him being dead. Even now, she could not bear to think that his music might be lost forever. She did not notice her husband entering the house.
"Christine, what is the matter?"
She looked up into Raoul's concerned face.
"It's the opera house… It collapsed…" she gave him the telegram.
Raoul showed little emotion as he perused it.
"I am sorry, darling," he said stiffly.
Christine knew he would be glad if the Phantom was dead and buried once and for all. Then he could never haunt them again. But she could not deny the feelings she still cherished for her former mentor. Raoul gently took her in his arms.
"Let him go, Christine," he said.
He was right. A chapter in her life had closed, and she must move on. She gave Raoul her best smile.
"I will," she replied.
Pleased, Raoul went to his desk and picked up the letter. Christine watched him anxiously.
"It arrived this morning," she told him.
He opened the envelope and carefully lifted out the sheaf of parchment. His brow furrowed as he read its words.
"What is it?" she asked. She knew that the letter did not bode well.
"My brother Philippe has returned from Indochina. I am relieved of my title as Vicomte de Chagny."
"Oh, Raoul! Whatever shall you do?"
"We shall do whatever we like, my dear," he spoke like a man unafraid. "We shall go where we want, do what we want… We are free!"
He took her hands and held them.
"Dearest Christine, would you mind being the wife of a commoner?"
"I never cared about your rank, Raoul," she said sweetly. He had given up his title for her. How could she betray him now?
He swiftly crushed his lips against hers. She welcomed it, but somehow found herself half wishing that it was her angel kissing her instead.
"I've been thinking… would you like to move back to France? Not Paris, but perhaps the south coast of Provence?" he asked. "I have some investments there. They are solely in my name."
"Oh, yes!" she said as she threw her arms around his neck. It had been so long since she had lived by the sea.
"We will start a new life," he said. He knew no phantom could spoil it now. But he sensed Christine's anxiety and spoke comforting words to her.
"It will be our permanent home. We will not move again," he declared.
She nodded. Safe in her husband's arms, nothing could go wrong. A sudden wave of relief swept over her. Her angel of music was safe, she was now sure of it. Who knows but that heaven might have given him a second chance to live?