Émilie discovered her house guest had not been to bed all night, when, quietly opening the library door a slit, she found Erik sitting up in the same chair where he had last spoken to her the previous evening. He was fast asleep. She hoped that he was in a better humour than yesterday.
She asked Nicole to bring a breakfast tray with food enough for two. Émilie said she would take it in herself. The docteur opened the door and closed it after herself a bit loudly, meaning to awaken her house guest.
"Monsieur Castagne, I have brought some breakfast. I hope you will not be offended if I would join you."
Erik actually smiled. "Yes, please do."
"Why were you so abrupt last night, Erik?"
"Are you psycho-analyzing me, a la the illustrious Dr Freud?"
"Perhaps, but it is only to help you..."
"Indeed! I have no wish to listen to your prying questions."
"I am sorry, Erik. I shall not intrude on you further." Émilie picked up the tray and started to place her dishes back on them. Erik reached out a pale, skeletal hand and gently stopped her at the wrist.
"No, please don't leave. I have been rude, Émilie. But I beg you, no more questions!"
Émilie smiled and nodded.
After a few moments of silence as the docteur and her house guest finished their breakfast, Erik said, "My dear Émilie, I must have the opportunity to train your voice. You have the raw makings of a great opera diva and you will rise to the top under my tutelage. It would give me much pleasure to do this for you..."
"I thank you for your confidence in me, but even though music is a wonderful diversion, my heart is with the study and practice of medicine."
"You are wasting your talent, Madame."
"I do not agree. And furthemore, one cannot engage in too many various and sundry pursuits in one lifetime."
"Why do you not leave medicine where it belongs, in the hands of men?"
"Monsieur! I am surprised that you should say such a thing. You have no confidence in my diagnoses and medical technique?"
"No, you are obviously skilled." He paused and looked her directly in the eye. "You did save my life. I am duly grateful..."
A bit later in the day, a letter was delivered to the Tessier home addressed to Émilie. It came from Paris and was in answer to her queries. She wondered what was Erik's connection to the Opera House. She requested information as to whether they knew of an Erik Castagne and whether he had ever been connected with the Paris Opera in any way.
Erik admitted to being classically trained and having written music, including opera. He had mentioned the Paris Opera often, although not specifically saying that he had performed there. She wondered about that. He could have performed with his wonderful singing voice and, with heavy makeup and costume masks, no one would be the wiser. At least those were her speculations.
In the letter, she had not stated that Erik was staying with her, indeed, she did not make reference to the fact that she knew him at all. Her psychological background made her curious about him and she wished to know more. Therefore, she was interested when she received the reply missive.
The letter stated mysteriously that the best way to find the information she was seeking would be to visit the Opera House herself. Upon some thought, she decided that she would indeed go. She made arrangements to leave for Paris in a few days.
Dr Tessier cancelled all of her appointments for the next few weeks. She spoke to Rémy and Erik separately and asked Erik to continue taking care of the child as he had been doing. He agreed, although protesting that he had business in Paris also and wished to go along. She refused, saying she must go alone. In reality, she was did not want him to find out her real reason for going to Paris.
Émilie told the servants that she would be gone for perhaps several weeks and to keep the household running and her child and house guest happy. She told Rémy to make sure he studied his lessons with the tutor and to obey the servants and Erik. She entrusted Marie Gagnon with money to buy food and household items and told her to especially watch Rémy and see that he did not get into trouble.
On the morning of her departure, one of Émilie's neighbours took her to the village in his horse and carriage where she could take the train to Paris.
I was unhappy with the docteur's plans to go away on business to Paris. I would have wished to go with her to be able to retrieve my music. She refused. So I agreed; someone needed to stay with the boy. I did not trust her servants. Rémy as usual, was a joy to be around. I would have left long ago, had it not been for the boy.
One day I was again in the library. I wrote a letter to M. du Livey to find out about the music and whether he was willing to sell it. I had left my money, which was considerable, well hidden in my home under the Opera when I had fled. I would have to locate the money as well, presuming it was still there, in order to pay for the music.
The library was a cosy room, filled with bookshelves up to the ceiling. It was decorated with classical statuettes and lace curtains adorned the windows, letting in the bright sun and making one want to sit near the window and read. The wallpaper was dark green and the carpeting matched, adorned with small pink flowers. There were oil lamps on several tables and gas lights on the walls. A lovely crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. A long case clock stood in the corner and sounded the Westminster chime periodically.
I could see that there were many medical books, but there was also a collection of fiction and books which I could see must belong to Rémy. There were many other collections and I walked from shelf to shelf to see what other subjects were represented. On a small table in the corner, atop a lacy table scarf, stood an exquisite silver candelabra.
In front of the silver piece sat a large stack of folders. I wondered if they were the doctor's medical notes. I idly glanced at the folders and saw some titles, "Merrick, Joseph (John) - Elephant Man"; "Bunker, Chang and Eng – Siamese Twins"; "Tom Thumb - Midget" and there were many other oddities, familiar to myself as types that inhabit circus side-shows. Then I came to a folder which bore the title "Castagne, Erik." With a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, I picked it up and opened it. I was correct! She was psycho-analyzing me!
I started reading the notes in the folder entitled with my name, and as I did, I could feel the fury building in my rib cage and travelling upward toward my face. The good docteur was psycho-analyzing me, and more than that, only saw me as a deformed horror, mixed in with the other oddities of humanity! She had lied to me!
I was unable to stop the rage from enveloping me. I could not finish reading the notes. I became blind with fury and I threw down the folder, then knocked the rest of the folders off the table and they flew everywhere. I scarcely remember picking up the small wooden table and beating it on the floor as rage took over my mind. I heard glass breaking and a scream which emanated from my own throat and then...
