Far Too Many Notes

The sputtering sound from Monsieur Andre's desk instantly attracted Monsieur Firmin's attention. Proceeding on the assumption that his partner had choked on his tea, Firmin attempted to slap him on his back but Andre pushed him away.

"Read this," he wheezed, handing Firmin the tea-splattered note.

Gentlemen,

I wish to call upon your offices at 11 o'clock tomorrow morning. Please be advised that Mademoiselle Christine Daaé will be in attendance with me.

I remain, &c.,

Madeleine, Comtesse de Chagny

"Andre, whatever does this mean?" The rest of Paris may have moved on to other scandals but Firmin and Andre had hardly forgotten the terror of that night in which they had providentially escaped financial ruin. While the de Chagny family had never officially withdrawn their patronage, the Comtesse had never been involved, and now she was bringing that blasted Daaé girl in tow. Had not he pointed out the Epoch's gossip page to his partner indicating the rumor of a broken engagement between the Vicomte and Mlle. Daaé?

Firmin sighed, "Andre, this is doing nothing for my nerves."

The next morning Madame imperiously swept out of her carriage and mounted the steps to the Opera Populaire while Christine followed in a more uncertain manner, nervously glancing at the cold granite splendor of the building's main entrance. She could not believe that she had agreed to this mad scheme. So many of her hopes had been shattered and burnt to ashes on this spot and yet she was walking into flames again. But if that bird of Egyptian mythology, the Phoenix, could rise from the ashes; why not could she? Christine raised her chin and adopted a regal stance. Madame looked back approvingly.

If Madame noticed the wide eyes and gaping mouths directed at Christine and her, she did not give any indication. Christine, of course, was aware; she knew many of these people. But Madame's example gave her courage as she held her head high.

As they entered the managers' offices, M. Andre was a bundle of nerves, stumbling over introductions and offers of refreshment while his taller business associate was grim and noncommittal. Madame surveyed the situation, realizing that Firmin would be the obstacle to the resurrection of Christine's career. Seated in the comfortable chair afforded her and sipping her coffee, she began her frontal assault on the two hapless managers.

"As my husband and son are out of the country on business, I have assumed the role of the de Chagny patroness for the Opera Populaire. As such I wish to sponsor Mlle. Daaé's resumption of her career…" The Comtesse' proposal was interrupted by a strangled croak from M. Andre and a thunderous scowl from M. Firmin who had not lost his voice.

"Madame you cannot be serious. The opera house is near to being renovated and you wish to resurrect the memories of the Opera Ghost with Mlle. Daaé. This is madness!"

Madame gave a little sign of exasperation. These fools did not have a clue as to the proper manner to run an opera house; no wonder it needed the Opera Ghost and perhaps, in some way, still did. Nevertheless, fools, particularly of the masculine persuasion can be swayed if one appealed to their vanity…

"Gentlemen, you were not able to amass you fortune in the scrap metal trade by being anything less than astute businessmen. The reopening of the Opera Populaire is about to test that shrewdness. The Opera Ghost, in his destructiveness, created an aura around this establishment, an aura of excitement and danger. If you do not deliver at least in part on that aura, you may find your public losing interest and finding other avenues of entertainment. I can only imagine the financial pressures you must suffer from the specter of l'Opéra-Comique. Engaging Mlle. Daaé would be a bold move in keeping with the image of the Populaire."

Christine followed Madame's discourse with morbid fascination. The thought of resurrecting her career on scandal was distasteful but less so than not singing at all. Besides, if anything, Christine was learning to be a pragmatist.

M. Andre found his voice.

"Firmin, the Comtesse may have a point. The outstanding subscription sales clearly have been driven by the mystery of the O.G., not the quality of the opera, which though the finest in Paris, still must deal with the competition of the music halls and the lesser opera houses. Why one of the patrons has engaged box five for the entire season, ordering it to remain empty in an apparent homage to the Phantom. To think otherwise is to lose profit."

Firmin's eyebrows raised in respect at M. Andre's last statement. He had felt that Andre had become overly sentimental about their venture into the world of the arts. It was good to hear him speak like a businessman again. The threat of l'Opéra-Comique was no laughing matter. Perhaps this might work…

"Madame la Comtesse, I believe M. Andre and I are now in agreement. We will retain Mlle. Daaé and acknowledge our destiny." He rang for the secretary to bring the decanter of wine and wine glasses. After all had accepted their glasses, Madame stood up and raised her stem in toast.

"Christine, Gentlemen---that which cannot be avoided must be embraced. After all in the Parisian coin, gossip is worth its weight in gold."

"To the Opera Ghost. May his spirit be as alive for the benefit of the Opera Populaire as his person is undoubtedly dead."

Christine obligingly tapped her glass against the others but feigned sipping the wine. She would be damned in Hell before she would drink to Erik's death.

"My managers, I ask to be excused. I must consult with Maestro Reyer and M. Gabriel the chorus-master regarding the engagement of a vocal tutor. I have much work to do. Madame, I will rejoin you shortly."

Madame arched her eyebrows at Christine in amusement. "Christine, you might urge the messieurs to recommend a female tutor."

Christine reddened while her managers paled considerably, "Madame, your point is well taken." As she exited the offices, Madame turned to Firmin and Andre.

"Gentlemen, Christine will be no demanding La Carlotta. You may rest easy on that point. But she is shrewd and it would serve you well to give great consideration to her opinions, as do I."

Firmin understood the slight edge in the Comtesse's voice and bowed his acknowledgement. Andre remained oblivious to the last remarks so wrapped up was he in thoughts of another dilemma.

"Firmin, whatever will we tell La Carlotta?"

§

Christine had decided against rushing to the ballet studio to Madame Giry and Meg with her news but instead waited patiently for their arrival at the house. Meg was naturally ecstatic at her dear friend's good fortune but Madame, while please for Christine, seemed distant and preoccupied. At Minette's suggestion that they retire early to rest from the day's excitement, Meg begged to differ, but her mother's frown silenced her. Her foster sister was tired and pleased to take to her bed to recover from the morning's grueling interview. She fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

Christine awoke with a start. Since leaving Raoul her sleep had not been cruelly disrupted by the old nightmares but neither did she have a sense of dreaming at all. What was waking her now? Did she hear noise downstairs? Meg was sleeping peaceably in the other bed in their shared room. Why was Madame moving about at this late hour?

She silently turned the knob on her door and crept like a ghost into the upstairs hallway. Certainly, Mme. Giry was downstairs; she could see the lamplight coming up the stairway. She advanced towards the stairs but froze in place at the sounds of a light tap on the front door.

Who would be calling at this unreasonable hour? Christine inched near the stairway, hearing the sound of the door opening and…

"Good evening, Minette."

Christine stumbled back as if invisible forces had noiselessly slammed her against the plaster walls of the upstairs hall. She tightly shut her eyes as if to focus all of her senses on her ability to hear. If she lived forever, she would never forget that voice, all smoke and honey.

"Good evening, Erik. As you can surmise, I received the note you had delivered to the studio this morning. This is a rather late hour to be calling socially."

Erik prepared to offer his regrets but was distracted. The room smelled lightly of violets, a scent that he knew Christine favored. Had she visited recently?

"Minette, my apologies. I was uncertain as to any reception an erstwhile phantom might receive in Paris."

"Erik in that respect you may be safer than you think but I would still err on the side of caution if I were you. I have not had any communication from you since that note when you said you had safely escaped Paris. So many strange things have occurred that I am convinced that a guardian angel has replaced that demon which was eating you alive."

Erik listened impassively to the tale of Piangi death, the nature of the rebirth of the Populaire, and the lack of interest on the part of the managers and subsequently the authorities to pursue the issue. Considering the wreck he had made of things, it was surprising how little accountability was being laid at the Phantom's feet. As for the demon he had, he was taking the appropriate steps to eradicate its existence.

"I had no intention of killing Piangi at that occasion, only rendering him senseless. I knew exactly was I was doing."

"And what of Joseph Buquet?"

"I killed him before he killed me. And perhaps the Phantom enjoyed that a bit too much. Buquet had seen my face when I interrupted his attempt to violate Meg. I would have been tempted to kill him then but I needed to get Meg to you for attention. I was uncharacteristically careless the night of Il Muto; he saw me exchange Carlotta's atomizer and was determined to hunt me down"

Minette closed her eyes as if shielding herself from that night when Erik carried a half-conscious Meg to her room. Joseph had sought revenge on her through her daughter for that slap in the dormitory. After Buquet's death, she informed the managers of his failed attempt on her daughter and his more successful attacks on other dancers who unburdened themselves to her after his demise. Fearing scandal, the managers made Buquet's death an accident. In some ways, the chief sceneshifter's death was more convenient than the possible alternative. It had not gone unnoticed in the flys that Buquet harbored a twisted interest in young Christine Daaé. If he had harmed her, that Erik would have pulled down the opera house stone by stone.

She opened her eyes to take a long look at him. He was the same yet he was different. The white mask was firmly in place in stark contrast to his dark hair and apparel. But his eyes seemed different; their icy blueness had softened, reflecting a greater inner peace and a different sadness. Christine had left her mark on him.

"Erik, you have not asked about her."

"Minette, Christine made it possible for me to walk out of that lair and begin the search for my soul. But I am a work in progress and I would not deny her the stability that de Chagny can provide. At the time, I hoped that perhaps I might… But no, this is my gift to her."

Minette exerted great control not to box his ears. The girl had spent months emotionally walking barefoot on shattered glass for him and he was resorting to noble platitudes.

These same months had given Minette Giry ample opportunity to reflect on Erik, Christine and her role in the whole sad affair. She had trusted Erik with Christine beyond anything imaginable, knowing that he had the means to both promote the girl as a great diva and provide stability for her future. The ballet mistress had no wish for such a guileless young woman to fall into the traps that had so often led to degradation and ruin for other members of the corps. Erik would protect her fiercely and treat her honorably, satisfying Minette's obligation to the girl's late father. She had hoped that Christine's utter devotion to her music teacher would evolve into more tender feelings. Christine was no shallow ballet dancer; she had the innate ability to see beyond his face, given the chance. And God knows, she could have been Erik's desperately needed salvation.

Neither she nor Erik had foreseen the reappearance of the Vicomte de Chagny.

Christine's opportunity to choose became Erik's madness.

Minette became torn between loyalty to Erik, borne out of obligation for rescuing him as a young boy and gratitude for his financial assistance to her after her widowhood, and her promise to Gustave Daaé to guard Christine. Erik's blackness had spiraled out of control, only to be broken by that confrontation in the lair after Don Juan Triumphant. He walked away a better man while Raoul walked away a lesser man. Christine walked away with love.

Offering a brief prayer for guidance, Minette continued.

"She and Raoul did not marry and are no longer betrothed."

Erik felt suddenly light-headed. In a moment he found his hard-fought peace at war with an emotion that had mostly eluded him all of his life and that he in turn had learned to reject. God help him, he must not feel hope.

"So de Chagny thought better of an alliance with a scandalous opera-singer. I had expected more of him." Erik's voice lightly dripped with sarcasm. He sensed the old animosity rising.

"No, she broke with him." Minette was both relieved and frightened to see evidence of his passion for Christine. This must be handled carefully.

"Then in time, she will regret her decision and he will take her back. Christine has that power over the both of us." Erik twisted his lips in a rueful smile.

You are wrong, Erik. This break will not be mended."

"Why are you so certain, Minette? What happened between them?" Erik felt hope attempting to twist like a silken thread around his heart; he would break it with his bare hands if need be.

"It is not my place to tell you but I will tell you that whatever was said has driven him from France to America."

"Do you mean he left her to fend for herself?" Erik felt his anger rising after months of trying to master it. The fact that it was righteous anger at that idiotic boy's actions somewhat assuaged his fear of not being able to control it.

"No, she is here with me." Minette was tempted not to tell him that piece of the puzzle but some inner voice prompted her.

Erik glanced up the stairs. That she was so close by… He willed himself to stay in his chair and not run up those stairs to hold her as she lay sleeping. Too often, he had hurt her and their love by his selfish, destructive actions. And what of her feelings? It was one thing to break with de Chagny but another to turn to him after all this time. Minette interrupted his thoughts.

"Erik, there is more. She has been retained by the Populaire and will start tomorrow training for lead soprano."

He snorted at the insanity of it all. Somehow, Christine had accomplished what he had unsuccessfully attempted for her.

"Minette is she even aware of my existence? Does she know that I have written you?"

"Everyone in Paris assumes you are dead. I am the only one here who knows that you live. I have not talked to her about my contact with you. She only asked if I knew where you were to which I truthfully replied no. My intuition tells me that she believes you to be alive but she is keeping her own counsel."

Erik toyed with disappointment that she had not sought him but dismissed it out of hand. Of course, she had no way of finding him. He had taken great pains conceal any trails that might lead to the Phantom. His presumed death fit well with that scheme.

For a man accustomed to meticulous planning, the past few months his life had been a series of daily resolutions to claim his peace and sanity after that mad night in the lair. Christine's love had given him the impetus to make the journey out of that hellish prison. That fate had interceded for hope in offering her as a possible traveling companion terrified him to his core. He needed time to reflect.

"Minette, I will take my leave of you and return to my estate in Normandy. You look surprised. It was my intent to take Christine there after Don Juan Triumphant. Events decided otherwise."

She observed a wave of pain slip over his face. Yes, there were many things to regret from that night.

"And Christine?"

"Tell her nothing of this meeting. She has been given a second chance in her career in spite of my actions. I would not deny her that. My one request is that you notify me of her premier opera so that I may witness her triumph. I will not deny myself that."

Minette attempted to form words of protest but thought better of it. Erik was exhibiting a cautious, albeit, welcome maturity regarding Christine; perhaps it was the better plan. Still she worried about his walking into the lion's den of the Populaire. Her fear must have been evident on her face in light of his next statement.

"The Phantom no longer exists. I am now Erik de Carpentier. Think, Minette, only four people alive have seen the Phantom and this particular mask; to others he was a dark presence just out of their focus. I believe I can rely on your, Meg's, and Christine's discretion. De Chagny is no longer in France. I am more concerned about my unmasked face."

She could at least offer him some small reassurance on that point.

"Erik, the period of time between your unmasking and descent through the trapdoor was brief. Eyewitness accounts of your appearance ranged from the hideous to the amusing. The trauma of the chandelier collapse seemed to have distorted people's memories and may have offered you the best protection. Meg and I offered our own embellishments. She insisted to the police that you were 215 centimeters while I reported you were not a millimeter above 200."

Minette was please to see him truly smile for the first time that evening but then it changed in an instant.

"Surely the authorities interviewed Christine and de Chagny. They witnessed everything in the cellars."

"Christine swore in her statement to the examining magistrate that she had no memory of ever seeing you at any point including your appearance during Don Juan Triumphant. Her claim was that you mesmerized her and erase all memory of your appearance from her mind. Furthermore, she claimed Raoul found her walking around in a wedding dress unsure of how she got there but with no indication of your whereabouts. Raoul corroborated her version of those events. The authorities were in no position to question the word of a politically connected Vicomte and his fiancée. I have since gained respect for Christine's gifts of persuasion. Raoul was not particularly adverse to the mob killing you. She secured his cooperation by threatening to return to you and risk being killed with you. Still, I was glad she left for the de Chagny chateau immediately. She had endured enough gossip about her relationship with a nobleman. The scandal of the Phantom and a diva in a wedding gown with no memory of events destroyed any remaining shreds of her reputation."

Erik was torn between pride at her courage in protecting him and shame that his actions had driven her to such a point. That she was willing to risk her life for his moved him profoundly.

"I must leave, Minette. I will write you with my address so that you may apprise me of Christine's premier. She need never know that I will be there. I may no longer be a ghost but I do remember his tricks." With an unexpected kiss to her cheek, he disappeared into the night.

Once outside Erik fought to maintain his composure against the emotions that threaten to overtake him. Was he mad to leave without seeing her? No, the madness would lie in seeing her. He needed to feel confident in his sanity before he would approach her and risk her life again. He entered the waiting carriage to journey to a small flat in the Rue de Rivoli.

Christine willed her breathing to return to normal upon hearing the front door latched for the night. She had not allowed herself the luxury of a deep breath, fearing detection from Madame and Erik. She instinctively fled to her bedroom upon hearing Madame's steps on the stairs but returned to the hall upon hearing Madame's bedroom door close. As she crept down the stairs to the parlor, her eyes became more accustomed to the shadows. No, she was not dreaming; he had been here. Memories of his scent as he embraced her on the bridge washed over her. In this room, she felt she was drowning in him. Her feet propelled her to the largest chair in the room. Yes, he was here and she sank down into the cushions with a sigh of transcendent joy.

§

The Persian, as he was known throughout Paris, had long become accustomed to Erik's unconventional comings and goings. Receiving a note yesterday and having the former opera ghost land on his doorstep a short time earlier this evening was tame in comparison to some of the Frenchman's other exploits. Nadir, as he was know to a very few, sighed that his Eastern sense of hospitality was keeping him up at such a late hour to welcome Erik back, nonetheless was hopeful that something entertaining would come of it. Though they had exchanged but a few pleasantries earlier, Erik had been uncharacteristically straightforward in admitting he was visiting Mme Giry. And visiting Mme. Giry meant that he was visiting the little Daaé, except that Nadir had not divulged that piece. It was the Persian's custom to frequent the opera house and he knew its gossip as well as any dresser or musician. The young diva had returned but this time without the protection of her powerful Opera Ghost.

Erik quietly entered the unlock entry door, not particularly surprised to see the daroga waiting up for him. It would give him a chance to settle matters between them over his visit to Minette's.

"Well, Erik, I trust you found the good widow in excellent health?" Nadir was beginning to relish this.

Erik sauntered gracefully into the sitting room, unbuttoning his coat along the way. Settling into a large, comfortable chair across from the Persian, he then pocketed his stickpin and loosened his cravat. The daroga had always been amazed by Erick's ability to disguise his age by means of his posture and the expression on the exposed side of his face. What a brilliant future in the theater would have been his except for the wreck that was the other side of his face. Right now, the Frenchman appeared younger by several years and uncharacteristically relaxed except…Erik informally crossed his legs and leaned his chin on folded palms in an attitude of prayer. From the look in his eyes, Nadir did not think he was praying.

"Daroga, what purpose did it serve your devious Persian mind in not informing me of Christine's living arrangement with Mme. Giry?"

Nadir mused that some aspics regarding Erik might never change, particularly his habit of sardonic retorts when crossed. The managers felt that often enough. "Why, Erik, the little Daaé is residing with the lovely Girys? How cozy. Why would I be privy to such information?"

"My friend, you know the name of the Emperor's next mistress before he knows it himself. There is nothing at the Populaire or for that matter Paris, which escapes your attention. Your knowledge of gossip would put the ballet brats and ladies of the Court to shame."

"Well, I might know something of her situation. Shall I tell you, Erik or perhaps the exquisite mademoiselle has already told you her story?" Nadir knew his speech was reckless and he knew what kind of man Erik was. Picking at this scab, though inherently dangerous, would give him a clue as to how much Erik had changed.

Erik continued to stare impassively at the daroga, willing his intellect to control his emotions that had been sorely exposed earlier in the evening. He knew the Persian was goading him and he would not rise to the bait.

"I did not see or speak to Christine. She was abed as would be expected this late hour."

Nadir snorted at the younger man's composure, "By Allah, Erik, you have become so civilized. That in itself deserves a reward. I will tell you what I know in any case."

"Why are you certain I wish to know anything?"

"Because we are not talking about the latest Court gossip or the newest production at the opera house. We are talking about the little Daaé." Nadir was not fooled by Erik's apathy. He had known this man a number of years and he knew the girl was a wound that had never quite healed.

Shrugging his shoulders in that infuriating French manner guaranteed to annoy Nadir, he purred, "Do as you wish."

"Erik, stop being an ass; you can't humbug me. It is no secret in the gossip pages that M. le Vicomte and Mlle. Daaé are no longer betrothed. In any case, I was at the Populaire today to witness the little Daaé's triumph. Might I say she looked particularly fetching? This past year seems to have wiped that adolescent dreaminess out of her face and replaced it a woman's self-assurance. She and the beautiful boy's maman marched up to the front doors like a princess imperial and her empress mother. I followed behind at a discreet distance, watching the eyes pop out of the heads of the stray chorus members as the two passed through the foyer. The ladies met with the managers for a period and then the little Daaé came out and met with Reyer and Gabriel. At some point later, the ladies rejoined to march out the front entry and enter the waiting carriage. The amiability between the two was a wonder to behold. I suspect that the beautiful boy's maman was gratified to have her man-child back in the family bosom, singularly unencumbered, and that the little Daaé was equally gratified to have accommodated her wishes. Perhaps M. le Vicomte overestimated his charms, meaning perhaps that you underestimated yours, Erik."

"Charming is hardly a feature I would include in my arsenal of character traits." Erik decided to allow some of the daroga's less flattering remarks to fall harmless by the wayside. "Very well, I will bite since it amuses you so to puncture my dignity. What of the "beautiful boy"?"

"Ah, that is still a mystery, my dear fellow. M. le Vicomte's coterie of equally beautiful but vapid noble bloods is mystified by his actions. He bade them goodbye but told them nothing of his reasons for leave-taking to America. All agree that he was in a thunderous mood, a telltale sign that the lady in question ended the engagement. Perhaps the little Daaé would have found him more appealing if he had exhibited such passionate decisiveness with her while they were still betrothed. But you would know more about that than I, would you not, Erik?"

Erik gave the Persian a warning flash of light from glacial eyes. "Daroga, I wish to believe I have evolved from that beast under the opera house to a reasonable semblance of a human being. Thus said, please remember that I aspire merely to be human, not saintly."

Nadir's unexpected laugh elicited a hint of a smile from Erik. "Erik, I should hate you if you aspired to sainthood. Be satisfied with humanity."

With that, Erik arose abruptly. "Nadir, I bid you goodnight. Tomorrow I return to Bezancourt."

The Persian was stunned, "But the little Da…"

"Mademoiselle Daaé will be in deep preparations for her opera role. I will return for her debut."

Nadir wondered how Erik expected to execute that little feat but expected it to be imaginative. For the Persian, haunting the Populaire would prove to be far more gratifying with the little Daaé in residence.

"Erik," said Nadir to the Frenchman's retreating back.

"Yes, Daroga?"

"Pleasant dreams."

§

Minette gave up on sleep that night and rose early to begin preparations for breakfast. This was to be Christine's first day back at the opera house. A special breakfast would celebrate the occasion and take her mind off events of the previous night. She stopped by the parlor to retrieve her forgotten shawl and was dumbstruck by the sight before her eyes. Christine, still in her nightgown, was curled up asleep in the very chair that Erik had occupied. Mother of God, did the girl know he had been there?

As she put her hand on the girl's dark curls, Christine awoke with a start. Minette watched as sleep faded from her eyes to be replaced by a blazing intensity that she thought only Erik's possessed.

Minette knelt beside her chair and stroked her hair. "So my child, I see you are aware of what occurred in this room last night."

Christine nodded mutely. "Madame, I was standing upstairs in the hallway. I beg you, please, do not let him know any of this. He is battling his fear both for me and of me. Heaven knows I have given him reason to distrust me with my inconstancy."

Madame frowned at the last sentence. Erik was not the only one who needed absolution; Christine would need to forgive herself at some point.

"Come, Christine, waken our sleepy ballet dancer upstairs. Both of you dress as quickly as possible. We will prepare a sumptuous breakfast and take a cab to the opera house together."

§

Christine's meeting with Messieurs Reyer and Gabriel proved successful. Together they had devised a list of suitable vocal tutors, evaluating the positive and negative attributes of each candidate. She was to deliver the list to M. Rémy, the managers' secretary, to arrange interviews. Until the Opera had hired her tutor, she would train under the auspices of M. Gabriel. After this matter had been settled, Christine sweetly asked Maestro Reyer for permission to visit the orchestral library. She wished to review its inventory of operas to familiarize herself with possible offerings in the future. Reyer escorted her there and bade her to take her time but not to forget to give the list to the secretary.

The maestro would have been surprised at just how little time Christine spent in the library. Because the operas were arrange by title she was able to locate the score she needed in due course. She tucked it under her arm and made her way to the managers' offices, deep in thought about her scheme.

I know you will be there when I perform this opera. My Angel, music is our first language. In Don Juan Triumphant, you would have me know of your rage and desire. In this, I would have you know of my rage and grief.

"M. Rémy, here is the list of candidates for my vocal tutor. Would you contact them for interviews? As I will be in lessons with M. Gabriel in the mornings, the afternoons would be more suitable for appointments. Also, would it be possible for my managers to see me on such little notice?"

M. Andre had not expected to see Mlle. Daaé so soon after yesterday but Firmin seemed unsurprised. He remembered the Comtesse's veiled remarks about the young girl's opinions. Still, he would hear her out.

"Messieurs, the Maestro has informed me that Carlotta will reopen the Opera in mid-December with The Marriage of Figaro. Both men inwardly groaned. Was Mlle. Daaé about to challenge their choice of Carlotta for the opening opera? The idea of the two divas battling over this honor was enough to induce an attack of dyspepsia in both men.

"I think you have made a wise decision. I am in no way ready to present myself on such a momentous occasion. I have another idea for my debut." The managers' surprise and obvious relief amused Christine. She would use it to her advantage.

"I would suggest a single performance on December 30th of an opera of my choosing. One performance is nearly unheard of and is bound to gather attention and interest in my career. By the way, the title of the opera would remain secret until the actual performance. The billboards would simply announce the return engagement of Christine Daaé with appropriate date and time. The rehearsals would be held offsite as to maintain the suspense. I assure you that ticket sales will topple any previous receipts.

Andre found himself warming to the mystery of it while Firmin envisioned even further increases in future ticket sales. Neither could contain their curiosity and asked in unison the name of the opera. She handed the score to Andre who in turn handed it to Firmin.

Firmin was relieved to see that it wasn't that damnable Don Juan Triumphant. Although he was not aware of any remaining copies in existence, he would not have put it past this girl to have obtained a score. Still, he approved of her choice. It would prove an excellent foil to La Carlotta's inaugural role. The lead soprano role would play in the audience's memory long after they had left their seats. Since the Populaire had mounted it two seasons ago, the scenery would need little refurbishing.

"Andre, what do you think?" Firmin posed the question to his partner.

"Firmin, I think Mlle Daaé's choice may be a stroke of genius. This is certain to draw attention."

Christine threw him a dazzling smile. Yes, I intend it to draw attention but not in the way either of my managers could imagine.

"By the way, messieurs, what plans have been made for the annual New Year's masquerade ball?"

Andre and Firmin looked at her as if her riot of curls had turned into Medusan snakes.

"Due to last year's fiasco, the masquerade has been cancelled." Firmin replied with a shudder. Christine gave a little frown and allowed her reemerging smile to charm them.

"But gentlemen we are to embrace the Opera Ghost, not fear him. He cannot harm us now."

Andre responded, "That may well be, Mlle Daaé, but the thought of every other man donning a Red Death costume in order to emulate the Phantom would overset my constitution."

"Then M. Andre I may have a solution that will keep your constitution in good health. Why not hold a black and white masquerade? Anyone in any other color, particularly red, would be denied admission. And while we are celebrating why not add a gala performance to showcase the company's talent before the actual masquerade dance?"

M. Andre warmed to the boldness of her suggestion. Perhaps they could even advertise by billboard and newspaper that no one in other than black and white would be allowed to enter. Such a blatant restriction would incite gossip and increased ticket sales. "What do you think, Firmin?" queried Andre while explaining the advantages of Mlle. Daaé's proposal.

M. Firmin still felt uneasy but it did seem to be a sound business proposition. The other musical venues would have their own New Year's Eve's offerings in competition. This publicity would give the Populaire a decided advantage in sales.

"Mademoiselle, you, M. Andre, and I are in agreement. We shall have M. Mercier, the business manager, formulate the arrangements."

Christine hoped her smile was not reflecting the amusement she felt inside. What had Erik called them, "those two fools running his opera house"? Oh, my Angel, it is so obvious they respond more agreeably to a woman's flattery than a man's threats.

§

A few days later Madame Giry presented her a letter from Erik. Christine's hands trembled slightly as she read it.

Dear Minette,

I trust this letter finds you, Meg, and Christine enjoying good health. My current address will be found on the enclosed sheet. Again, I would ask that you contact me regarding the dates surrounding Christine's opening performance.

As always, I rely on your silence in not acknowledging my existence to Christine.

Your obedient servant,

Erik de Carpentier

Christine was torn between elation and vexation—elation that she wasn't dreaming, that he did exist, and vexation that his letter was so brief and unrevealing.

The following Sunday afternoon Christine was sitting at the keyboard of an extravagance afforded by her new salary. M. Reyer had been delighted to learn of her earnest studies at the chateau and offered lessons as both their schedules allowed. The weekdays were bearable due to her work at the opera house but the Lord's Day allowed her too much time for reflection when she desperately wanted resolution to her dilemma with Erik. Would her plan work? God help her it must, because the alternative was unbearable. Her fingers roamed slightly over the keys before settling on the Allegretto from Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, except that her mood changed it to andante. Its sad, urgent beauty seemed to reflect her inner state.

Her musical train of thought was broken by a knock at the door. Upon opening it she was delighted to see the Comtesse de Chagny. They had not communicated since the meeting with the managers.

"Christine, my dear, you look very well. No, do not offer me a seat. Gather your wrap. I have my carriage and am here to invite you for a ride." The Comtesse looked at the girl more closely as they walked toward the carriage. Something had happened; Christine glow could still be seen in the bright sunlight.

The next few minutes in the carriage were filled with descriptions of Christine's life at the Populaire and her plans for her opera debut. Madame tried to teased its title out of her but the girl wouldn't budge--only giving the date and time for it and the annual masquerade with its accompanying gala.

"Christine, the main reason I wished to see you this afternoon is to apprise you of my intention to leave for the chateau this week. I have arranged delivery of your new dresses to Mme Giry's…"

Christine choked on her refusals. "No, Madame I cannot accept those dresses; they were meant for the Vicomtesse de Chagny."

Madame sighed. "Proud girl, I expected as much. As a diva, you will need an appropriate wardrobe. I know your salary is handsome as I negotiated it while you were speaking with the maestro and chorus master. I will have my secretary send the bill to you. Do you find that acceptable?'

Christine felt somewhat dubious about the offer but had to admit the dresses were beautiful and chosen with her taste. She would accept but with reservations.

"Now that the matter is settled, I want to know what happened to you, girl, and I will not be put off as I was with your mysterious opera."

Christine gave a slight gasp and stared at Madame. The woman was uncanny. Before she could think of any plausible excuses, Madame broke in again.

"It's about him, I'm sure of it. Nothing else could explain your radiant complexion."

Realizing the futility of constructing a plausible tale, Christine nodded mutely. "Madame, not only is he alive, he visited Madame Giry late one night though he has no clue I overheard them."

Madame was dumbstruck, not that a ghost had come back to life but that Christine was behaving so rationally about him. If I were she, Hell would not keep me from going to him.

"Christine, where is he?"

"I understand he has an estate in Bez… No, Madame, I will not divulge his secrets. Only Madame Giry is privy to that information." Christine did not fell it right to expose him even to the Comtesse whom she trusted greatly.

Madame's mind was racing with piecing the mystery together. She was going to say Bezancourt or I will eat my favorite hat. Of course why did I not make the connection earlier---De Carpentier was the original de Chagny surname and Rouen area of Normandy is littered with descendents of the ancient de Carpentiers who migrated from Belgium and Holland. What an utterly preposterous coincidence that this man might somehow be related to her husband's family!

"Christine, will you not make contact with him?"

"No, Madame. I am too closely associated with the madness; I am responsible for much of it. My gift to him is allowing him the luxury of knowing when he can tolerate me. He must come to me when he feels safe."

After Christine was delivered to the Giry's doorstep, Madame continued in her absorbed thoughts. Tomorrow she would send a letter to her avocat to arrange a discreet investigation of M. de Carpentier.