Half an hour before the performance Reyer went to find Christine.
The remainder of the day had been pure hell. Now that Christine had been put in the role of Elissa the corps de ballet was short one dancer, which was the way it would have to stay—it was too short of a notice to teach one of the younger ballet rats all the choreography. The baritone singing Dido, a youngish chap by the name of Joseph Arsenault, had been promoted to the role of Hannibal, which meant Reyer had to pick an inconsequential member of the chorus to replace him. That ended up being a young man fresh out of the conservatory. The whole thing reeked of disaster, but Reyer spent a few hours working with all three of them—Christine, Joseph, and the kid—going over their new lines and blocking, and he was reasonably certain that they would be able to make it through the opera without seriously bungling things. Still, he foresaw a large number of refunds in the future.
Then the costume department had wanted them for emergency fittings, and was the last he'd seen of Christine for some time—the head costumer had bundled her off to places unknown, Christine looking back at him with an overwhelmed expression on her face. In the bustle of very-last-minute preparations Reyer had lost her, but now, so close to curtain time, he figured he ought to find her and give a pep talk of sorts. From an assistant costumer he learned Christine had been temporarily set up in an old, unused dressing room to get ready for the performance.
It took him a few minutes to find it, but finally Reyer was standing at the end of a dimly-lit hallway, knocking on the dressing room door.
"Yes?" a voice answered faintly.
"Monsieur Reyer," he said, and after a moment the door opened. Reyer stepped inside. Christine was standing in the middle of the small room, dressed in Elissa's ornate gown, with one of the costumers putting away her sewing materials. In full makeup and costume Christine looked like such a different person that Reyer almost did a double-take. She looked older, more regal, and was fairly glowing in the light of the gas lamp on the vanity table.
Christine smiled wanly at him as he entered, slowly turning in front of the mirror that had been set up to help in the alterations, as the costumer edged past Reyer and left the room. "What do you think?" she asked shyly.
Reyer cocked his head musingly at her, and impulsively grinned. "I think that dress becomes you better than it does La Carlotta."
The remark had its intended effect; Christine smiled and ducked her head, relaxing a little. "I'm nervous," she confessed.
"Don't be." Reyer brought out the arm he'd been holding behind his back, producing a rose he'd liberated on spur of the moment from one of the floral displays in the grand foyer, thinking Christine would need any confidence it might bring. She took it from him with wide eyes. "Think of it as a good luck gift, I suppose," he said, adding, "Lord only knows you'll need it."
"Thank you," Christine breathed, her face alight. "Thank you so much. If it weren't for you—"
Reyer shook his head quickly. "No time for platitudes," he interrupted. "Listen, mademoiselle, you have no justifiable reason to be nervous. You know this role. But if you let yourself be struck by stage fright… then it will all be over." He didn't know quite what to say to reassure her; he'd never had to do such a thing before. "If it helps, I suppose you could always pretend that the auditorium is empty."
Christine smiled again, timidly. "Have… have there been any refunds yet?" she asked hesitantly.
"No," Reyer replied. He knew what she was thinking of. "Messieurs Andre and Firmin decided not to announce the cast changes until directly before the curtain goes up. You're going to have a full house."
Christine was silent for a moment, looking off into empty space and carefully fingering the rose. Finally she drew in a deep breath, as if fortifying herself, and gently laid the flower down on the vanity table.
"This is your moment," Reyer added quietly. "Your chance to show your talent. The managers are putting a lot of faith in you, Mademoiselle Daaé. You convinced them not to cancel this performance. You are not singing only to me now, and if you fail, you fail in front of Paris."
Christine nodded. Under the heavy makeup, Reyer could see that she was very pale-faced. "I know."
From out in the hallway, a voice called, "Christine?" A second later Meg Giry appeared in the doorway, and when she saw Christine she gasped. "Christine, you look beautiful!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to give her friend a hug. "Doesn't she look beautiful, monsieur?"
Reyer merely raised his eyebrows and smiled faintly, but said nothing. Meg pulled back to smile warmly at Christine. "I feel so plain in comparison!" she cried, indicating her own costume, that of a slave girl.
Christine flushed pink. "It's only a costume," she protested. "I—I wish I were still with you."
"No you don't, silly!" Meg took Christine's hands and squeezed them reassuringly. "You are going to go out on that stage and make a mockery out of La Carlotta. Now you'd better go; Mother wants to talk to you." She turned to Reyer. "And Monsieur Gabriel is looking for you."
Picking Elissa's scarf up from where it had been draped over the back of a chair, Christine checked her headdress in the mirror one last time, then looked at Reyer. "It's now or never, right?" she joked nervously.
"That it is. After you, mademoiselles." Reyer waved Meg and Christine ahead of him out of the dressing room, then exited himself and closed the door behind him. "I'll go find Gabriel. Mademoiselle Daaé, I will see you backstage."
Meg, chattering and cheerful as ever, dragged Christine off down the hallway. Reyer watched them go, the gaslight glinting off the faux jewels on their costumes, and sighed heavily. He didn't want to admit it, but he was nervous as well—nervous for Christine, nervous for the entire production. Bad reviews would be disastrous. Part of him was furious at Carlotta and Piangi for walking out and leaving them in such a position, but the rest of him would quite readily be willing dance a jig in bidding them good riddance for good. God willing, he'd make good on his words that Hannibal could go on without them…
Later he stood in the wings, listening to Andre and Firmin address the audience. They had already introduced themselves as the new managers of the Opera Populaire and were now presenting the name of the opera about to be performed.
Madame Giry glided up behind him. "Mademoiselle Daaé is asking for you," she murmured.
Reyer's brow furrowed. "Is she?" He followed the ballet mistress around a side curtain to where Christine stood waiting to go on—she was featured in the opening scene of the opera. Standing a few feet away from Joseph the baritone, who looked nervous but determined to prove himself, she was more pale than ever and clutching the scarf tightly in her small hands.
"Mademoiselle, what is wrong?" Reyer whispered as he approached her. In the background, he could hear Andre's voice speaking to the audience: "We regret to inform you that there has been a last-minute change in casting…"
Christine was breathing heavily, almost hyperventilating. "I can't do this, Monsieur Reyer!" she whispered back, clearly in a panic. "What if I forget my lines? What if they all hate me? If they boo or hiss at me I'll—"
Reyer quickly put a hand over Christine's mouth to silence her. Andre's voice continued speaking outside the curtain. "The role of Elissa, Queen of Carthage will be sung by Mademoiselle Christine Daaé. The role of Hannibal will be sung by Joseph Arsenault. The role of Dido will be sung by…"
"You can't lose your nerve now!" Reyer hissed fiercely. "Where is that backbone of yours? Listen—everyone out there in the audience is wondering who this Mademoiselle Daaé is. They're wondering if she can sing. You have to show them that you're the best singer in Paris—give all those ridiculous noblemen their money's worth. I've heard you sing; I know you can do this." He stared intently at her for a moment. "Did I not once hear you say that you would never let me down?"
Staring back at him, Christine drew in a shuddering breath and nodded shakily. "I won't—I swear I won't."
Reyer smiled—it seemed an unnatural expression for his face to wear—and briefly patted her shoulder. "Good." Then he looked past her to Joseph. "Monsieur Arsenault?"
Joseph blinked and looked at him. "Yes?"
"Are you feeling confident or must I give another speech?"
The baritone smiled. "I think you can save your breath, Monsieur. But thank you for the offer."
In the pit, the orchestra struck up the overture and other members of the company began filing onstage to take their places for the opening scene. Joseph, who would be making a later entrance than Christine, smiled encouragingly at her. "Into the snake pit, yes, mademoiselle?"
Christine merely exhaled and redoubled her grip on the scarf. "Most definitely," Reyer agreed, "but I think the three of you will do fine. Mademoiselle Daaé, you have your scarf; Monsieur Arsenault, here is your flunky." The conservatory kid appeared, dressed as Dido and looking younger than ever. "I think all of you are ready. Dido, go take your place. Good luck." The kid stepped out onto the stage while Joseph adjusted his costume and took one last look at his score. The overture drew to a close. Christine gave Reyer a despairing look.
"I'll make a mistake, I know I will—"
"Stop your fretting!" Reyer hissed. "You'll give yourself spasms. Just remember everything I have told you, and you will do fine." He gave her a little push towards the stage. "Now go out there and prove that you're better than a simple chorus girl."
And with that, the curtain rose.