"So, are those photos actually originals?"

Dianna had been in his office for about an hour now, helping him sort through the research he had already collected before classes had ended for the year. It was her first day, but already she felt at ease around the man. He was a little staunchy and guarded, but a friendly man nonetheless.

"They are indeed. It took quite a while to find a good photo of both of the women. The Tsarina's wasn't that difficult, you only have to open any history book that deals with the Romanov's to find one. The photo of Ekaterina, however, I had to retrieve from the Grand Duchess' great-granddaughter-in-law."

Dianna raised her eyes in surprise.

"There is still a living line of Romanov's?"

"Oh yes, living right here in Paris. The Chagny family is the descendants of Ekaterina."

Chagny. The name from the book.

"Is that your starting place? I mean, did you just happen to watch the movie and recognize the name from the phone book or something?"

"No," he said. Abruptly, he stood up from his chair and walked to the other end of the office. She saw that he was going over to a bookcase, where he retrieved two books. He returned, plopping the novels on the desk.

"Parisians are well versed in the tales of their two most notorious monsters. Both, by happenstance, dwell in perhaps the two most well known buildings in the whole city. The first is Quasimoto, invented by Victor Hugo. The second is Erik, or the Phantom of the Opera, that Gaston Leroux famously wrote about."

"Yes, but—"

"Wait!" This was the first time he had really raised his voice at her, and it slightly unnerved her. However, he appeared to be in a passion now, sharing his most beloved secret with her, and yet, she had the feeling that he was only partly speaking to her. She guessed that he simply loved to hear himself talk about that which he was so obsessed.

"My connection," he continued, "was a little more complex than that. I was able to get a copy of a list of employees that worked for the royal family during Tsar Alexander II's rule. Don't ask how, my methods walked a fine line between legal and criminal. Anyhow, as I was reading the list, trying to discern names that could've possibly had a hand in the future outcome of the empire, I ran across a name that seemed so out of place. The man was a part of the Imperial orchestra, yet his name was not Russian, like all the others. It was Swedish."

"Swedish? But how—"

He waved her question away.

"The name I found was Gustav Daae."

-----------------------------------------------

The subway car they were riding in slowly rocked back and forth, and Dianna could feel her eyes start to close. Every stop, however, jolted her back awake, as she had a fear that Dr. Ramsey would leave the train without her, and she would be lost in the Paris underground for hours. It was a silly fear, she knew, but a present one nonetheless.

Turning her head away from the window and the gloomy tunnel outside the train, she glanced around the car. There were a wide variety of people, yet she had noticed that the more eccentric people had gradually left the train the further away from the city center they traveled. She knew that they were now on la linge huit, heading southwest out of the city. She knew eventually the line had to end somewhere, but after that, she had no idea what was next.

The people left on the train looked mostly like commuters or students. Dianna quickly checked her watch, and she saw that it was indeed nearing rush hour. The car wasn't that full at the moment, but she knew that on it's return trip, it would be packed like a cattle car. She said a prayer of thanks for the small favour. She wasn't comfortable in confined quarters.

Bored, and sick of the silence, Dianna turned to Dr. Ramsey, who was staring ahead with a blank gaze.

"Dr. Ramsey? Where are we going?" she asked tentatively. Her voice seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he had been in. He took his glasses off his face, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Replacing the spectacles, he then opened his briefcase, and pulled out an old photo of a mansion.

"We are going here," he said cryptically.

"Where is that?"

"This, Miss Timperley, is the ancestral home of the Chagnys. The only surviving person left now lives there, a widow by the name of Françoise de Chagny. The house is on the outskirts of a town called Nangis. Once we get off the subway, we'll have to taxi it the rest of the way. Shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes."

Chagny. The name from the story. Dianna took the picture from Dr. Ramsey's hand and looked more closely at it. Was she looking at an estate that actually existed outside of a well-written, yet still very fictional, novel?

She handed the photo back to him, and he gently stuffed it back into pocket in his briefcase. Dianna noticed that he was nervously shaking his leg to a quick, inaudible tune, and she smiled when he became acutely aware of her gaze and stopped.

"Sorry, I'm a little anxious," he apologized.

"Why are you anxious?"

"I am resting my career on the insight this woman may have toward what I've pieced together so far. If she has photos, or journals from her husband's family, it could change everything. Not only will it bring new light to Leroux's writing, but it'll firmly establish another branch of Russian royalty. It could be groundbreaking."

Dianna considered his words. This man, who could be jeopardizing his scholastic career by researching a project that many would consider bogus, may now have the power to change not only the past, but also the future. He could be the next Howard Carter or Robert Ballard. She chided herself on the poor comparisons, but although he was not making a huge physical discovery, the political implications went far and beyond what Carter and Ballard had done.

The voice of the subway conductor crackled over the speakers, announcing in French that they had come to the end of the line. Of course, the seven years of core French Dianna had learned in school did not help her a bit in translating. She knew because Dr. Ramsey had stood from his seat and motioned to her that it was time to go. Grabbing the backpack she had brought with her, Dianna flipped it over her shoulders, and exited the car. Ramsey stepped off right behind her, pulling on his brown leather jacket as he went. Even though it was the beginning of May, the nights still became cool and Dianna mentally kicked herself for not thinking ahead. Of course, she hadn't known she would be making this trek.

Following him up the stairs, she struggled at the top from the weight of her backpack. Dr. Ramsey looked back and saw that she was out of breath. Grabbing the bag from her, he put the straps over his own shoulders, relieving her of the burden. It was a mixed blessing if anything. It was heavy, but it was the only thing keeping her warm. She decided that she would allow him to play gallant hero for a while, just to keep on his good side.

"So where now, Dr. Ramsey?" They were still at the top of the stairs, and she saw him scanning the traffic, as if looking for something particular.

"Call me just Ramsey, like everyone else," he said, more as a demand than a request. "I called ahead to a taxi company to have a car meet me here. Oh, there it is now. Come on."

The little driver rushed out of the vehicle, apologizing profusely for being late.

"Je suis désolé! Pardonne moi." The man opened the backseat door for them, and after being motioned in by Ramsey, she entered first, scooting over to let him in. The driver climbed back into the front, and looked over his shoulder.

"A où?"

"Nangis, s'il vous plait."

The little car took off at high speed. Dianna squeezed the door handle in fright, positive that they were going to be in an accident. The city congestion was incredible. They were far outside of the downtown core of the city, yet the streets were still packed with every make of car imaginable. It was really interesting to see the British cars mixed in with the others, the poor drivers seated on the wrong side to see properly what was going on. After about five minutes, the crowds thinned, and Dianna got her first glimpse of pastureland. The driver also seemed to relax his hurried pace, and for the first time, Dianna sat back in the seat.

"So," she began slowly. "Why exactly is it that you hired me?"

"I told you before. You just showed the appropriate interest in the job," he said, looking away from her out the window as he spoke.

"Is that all?" she pressed. "I mean, I'm only an undergrad student. Surely a master's candidate would have been more suitable."

There was a long pause before Ramsey spoke.

"You are here because I want you here," he said softly. Dianna gaped at his response. Did that mean what she thought that meant? He was nearly ten years older than she was.

"What?" she asked, unsure whether she wanted clarification or not. It was just the first word that popped out of her mouth.

"Well," he began. "I'm not quite sure that a student of higher learning would've participated in this research project, I'm afraid. You see, this is going to be quite a challenge for the both of us, and even if we gather hard empirical evidence, many still will not accept our findings."

His answer was not what she expected. She wasn't even sure if that was the answer she wanted. She had quickly considered the alternative, and had felt the presence of little butterflies in her stomach for about ten seconds before he stomped on them.

He glanced her way, but when her eyes met his, he quickly averted them back to the window. Dianna felt the twin feelings of smugness and excitement. He had said it all in one look.

He wanted more than just a research assistant.