Christine opened her eyes to feel a stinging pain in her shoulder.
She looked around her and saw that she was in some sort of parlor, lying on the sofa. Then everything came back to her - she'd escaped from her cell and come to a house. When she'd knocked on the door, a man had answered, and then she'd pleaded for help and passed out.
But what had happened after that? Fear went through her. Was she caught again?
Her thoughts were interrupted by feeling another stinging pain in her shoulder. She turned her head and saw a handsome man with brown hair and brown eyes who looked to be a few years older than herself, his head turned away from her.
She stared at him in fascination for a moment. He was astonishingly good - looking... just like Cameron had been.
"Cameron's dead," she mumbled. "Dead!"
He heard her and jolted, then spun around to face her. When he saw her staring at him, he let out a relieved sigh. "Oh, good - you're conscious!"
"Where am I?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.
"You are in my house, mademoiselle. I brought you inside," he explained, giving her a kind smile that took her breath away for a moment.
"Did - Did they get me?" she stammered nervously, trying to sit up. "Am I caught?"
He placed a hand on her shoulder. "No. Nobody's caught you," he said calmly. "I assure you, mademoiselle, you are quite safe here. No harm will come to you. Now please, lie back down and let me finish."
Feeling calmer now, she relaxed and lay back down on the sofa, sighing softly. She didn't know who this man was, and she'd learned not to trust anyone within the past few days, but she felt that she needed to trust this stranger.
He spoke again as he continued nursing her. "What is your name, mademoiselle?"
"Christine," she replied. "I'm Christine."
"Christine what? What is your surname?"
"Vasille. Christine Vasille."
"Christine Vasille," he murmured. "That's a lovely name."
"Thank you. What is your name?"
"Marc - Marc Wellington."
"Marc," she said softly. "Are you British? You sound it."
"Yes, I am," he replied. "I moved here from London about two years ago. Are you French?"
"Yes. I was born right here in Paris."
He smiled at her again. He had a nice smile. "Lovely." He paused. "Now, Christine Vasille, you shall have to undress to take care of the rest of your wounds, so I imagine that you'll want to take care of them yourself." He tied a bandage on her shoulder wound.
"Yes," she replied, wincing as he tightened the bandage on her shoulder. She sat up slowly on the sofa. "Just point me to your bathroom, please."
He handed her the bandages and cleaning solution. "It's the third door to the right, down that hallway," he said, pointing towards where he was telling her to go. "You might also wish to wash up as well. I don't imagine you have any extra clothes with you."
"I'm afraid not," she confessed. "All I've got is what I have on."
He considered. "Well, don't worry," he finally said. "I shall find you something to wear." He rose. "Wait here a moment, and I'll find you a robe to put on when you finish."
He went upstairs and was gone for a few moments. Then he returned with a robe and handed it to her. "There. I'll have something for you in the upstairs room - the first one on your left - for you to wear by the time you're done."
She nodded. "Thank you." Then she rose and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
When Marc heard the bath water running, he made his way upstairs to find something suitable for her to wear.
As he dug through closets and dressers that contained clothes that belonged to his older sisters, he thought about Christine. She seemed nice enough. She had good manners.
He thought about the many wounds that covered her. Where had she gotten them from?
His thoughts turned to the mask on her face. Was it because of what lay beneath it? It seemed the most logical explanation.
After a moment, he shrugged and sighed, deciding that if she wanted to tell him about it, she would.
Christine sat in the bathtub, her head resting on the wall with her eyes closed, as she thought about Marc. He seemed to be a kind person - after all, he was helping a wanted criminal and a monster, and who would do that? Something about that gave her a peaceful feeling.
Then a new thought occured to her. Would he have to be told of her recent past? Would he be told by someone else? Surely then she'd be turned in to the authorities.
"No," she finally decided, "he doesn't need to know anything about me but my name. I'll be gone by the time he finds out - if he finds out at all."
Doubts assauged, she stepped out of the tub and dried herself off. Then she bandaged her remaining wounds and pulled on the robe, which was soft and warm. She was just about to walk out the door when she remembered her mask, which she'd taken off to bathe. She quickly grabbed it and put it in place, then opened the door and walked upstairs to the room that Marc had said her clothes would be.
On the bed there was a simple white lace nightgown with long sleeves and a v - neck. She took off the robe and pulled the nightgown on over her head. Just as luck would have it, it fit her perfectly, and it was comfortable. She went downstairs to thank Marc.
She found him in the parlor, sitting in a chair and reading a book. She stood at the doorway quietly, waiting for him to look up, since she didn't want to disturb his reading.
Marc suddenly felt another's presence and looked up from his book. Christine stood at the doorway, dressed in the nightgown. "Why, it fits perfectly!" He smiled at her. "It's just the right size."
She nodded. "Thank you, Marc," she said quietly. "You're very kind."
He smiled again. "You're welcome. Are you off to bed?"
"You're going to let me stay the night?" she asked, incredulous.
"Of course. I assumed - perhaps I am wrong - that you have nowhere to go.
She sighed. "No, you're right." Then she thought to herself, "The mob will be looking for me in every imaginable place at the Opera."
He nodded and smiled. "Well, then you're welcome to stay as long as you like."
She smiled the tiniest smile at him. "Again, thank you. Shall I just use the upstairs room?"
"That's fine." He paused. "By the way, I put an assortment of dresses in the closet for you to wear."
"Thank you." She stood there for a minute. "Well, good night, Marc."
"Good night, Christine. Sleep well."
She nodded and went upstairs to the room that she would be sleeping in. He looked after her until she was out of sight, then resumed his reading.
