Upon her return to the front half of the theater the managers descended. Monsieurs Firmin and André greeted her and properly introduced themselves. They gushed to her about how gay they were to have her as a patron. Lindsay was only artifically flattered.
The two managers informed her that the Vicomte was already sitting in his box and she would be with them for the evening. Monsieur André offered her a refreshment of champagne which she politely accepted. Lindsay had never tasted beverages like the sparkling wine and she had no intentions to begin drinking. The Durham family only had red or white wine on special holidays or other celebratory occasions. The age for consumption was regularly enforced, though none of those who were underaged attempted to break it.
She was escourted to their box by the managers with her drink in hand. The three of them walked up the Grand Staircase, yet Lindsay felt as though she were in a parade. The managers were successful in their task of displaying her for all to see, even more so to be with them. They were expirenced businessmen and knew how to draw crowds. The publicity they were sure to recive from having the Victome de Chagny and the Comtesse de Lyon as patrons would sustain them greatly.
Lindsay and the managers arrived at Box Six, which was on the left side of the auditorium. It was on the stage's right side. Across from them directly was Box Five, where the Vicomte had seated himself among others of the French nobility. All of the odd numbered boxes were on the right side of the auditorium. The even ones followed the same on the opposite side. There were luxurious chairs for them to sit in. The cushions were made of red velvet with gold embroidery. The wood was from a dark oak tree and smoothed to perfection.
She looked out over the floor below them, Lindsay could see that every seat was filled. A full house just as Monsieur Firmin had mentioned earlier. The other box seats were full with guests as well as the balconies. Lindsay looked to the orchestra pit where Monsieur Reyer was standing. The curtain was still drawn closed regardless of the oncoming show time. In their time waiting the managers alternated drawing attention to important attendees for the Comtesse to later be aquainted with.
The Vicomte appeared to be enjoying himself from what Lindsay could see across the auditorium. His smile was pleasant as he continued to drain his glass. She watched him as he conversed with who she had learned to be the Baron de Troyes. The city was a little over one hundred miles to the southeast of Paris.
"Ah, it is seven'o'clock, it should be starting now!" Monsieur André said with a glance to his pocket watch. Lindsay could hardly believe his amazement, Monsieur Firmin had to reassure him just as Reyer stepped onto his podium and began the preformance with the orchestra. Lindsay found herself concluding that the two managers were suited better for the field of business itself rather then the theater. Though the financials of the Opéra House had to be run by someone there were surely others better to do so.
The opening scene ran smoothly. Lindsay noticed only a few dozen small mishaps. Though most of them were tiny adjustments that would be fixed easily in the following rehearsals. Some of the dancers were not entirely all together during movements and a few would start before the others. The majority of the problems arose from Miss Daaé. It was clear to her that the new lead soprano did not know her role fully. The vocals were correct when she was singing, when she was not it was an absences from the stage. Christine often stood in one place out of the ballet corp's way and waited to begin singing again. Lindsay understood that learning the part the day of the preformance was taxing and bound to be problematic but the rest of the audience was not influenced by sympathy.
The first act of four passed by with little recognition on Lindsay's behalf. Something else had caught her eye. A shadow moved against the dark blackened ceiling. The dimmed lights created a protective veil for the specter to conduct himself in. Lindsay thought that if he wanted to remain completly unseen he should not wear such dramatic clothing. The glow of the chandelier prevented any unclouded or unobscured viewing to be in sight. She wondered how the acoustics were up there, the dome of the rotunda would surely alter the sound in some fashion.
After the second act there was a brief intermission. The managers called for more champagne to celebrate. The two of them stood while basking in the sight of their new empire. Lindsay remained in her seat. If she were to rise everyone on the floor and balconies would see her and she preferred to remain out of the limelight.
Monsieur Firmin refilled her glass, Lindsay had been magically draining it into the managers wine glasses, and proposed a toast. He wished that the Opéra House would have plentiful wealthy and good fortune. He continued on to toast for good health and overall positive blessings but before he could finish the toast Monsieur Firmin was interrupted by the Vicomte de Chagny.
The new patron entered their box and greeted them cheerfully. He shook both Monsieurs Firmin and André's hands before turning his undivided attention to Lindsay. Monsieur Firmin noticed quickly that they had not been introduced.
"Ah, Vicomte, may André and I present the Comtesse de Lyon to you." He said raising his hand to gesture.
The Vicomte stepped closer to her and brought her hand to his lips. He kissed her hand delicately and introduced himself as Raoul, though Lindsay would still address him as Vicomte. In the remaining minutes of the intermission the four of them discussed logistics of managing the financial aspects. It was becoming increasingly obvious to Lindsay that a female patron was uncommon or rare. She was relieved when the third act began. Unexpectedly the Victome sat down in the open chair next to Lindsay. She remained prim and proper as to asking why had had not returned to his own box.
The third act passed along lullingly like the fog on a harbor. The crest of the ocean's mist was hidden from view until the sun burned away the mist. The third act's conclusion was the aria Madmoiselle Daeé sang earlier. She stood in the center of the stage with her tapestry resembling dress and began the aria.
"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye - Remember me, once in a while please promise me you'll try - When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free - If you ever find a moment spare a thought for me."
Madmoiselle Daaé preformed the aria quite well to Lindsay's standers. The orchestra swelled to carry the motion of the phrase along. Christine entered again with the familiar motif.
"We never said our love was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea - But if you can still remember, stop and think of me." She moved to the front of the stage with flourishes of her long scarf.
"Think of all the things we've shared and seen - Don't think about the way things might have been." Christine sang sweetly stepping to her right dragging the scarf.
"Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned - Imagine me trying too hard to put you from my mind." Christine wove the scarf around her bare arms.
"Recall those days, look back on all those times think of the things we'll never do - There will never be a day when I won't think of you." She sang up to a higher note and moved her hands accordingly. The timpani role and the brass entrance picked up the melody where she had left off. Rounds of applause sounded from the house.
"Can it be? Can it be Christine?" Murmured the seat next to Lindsay. "Bravo!" The Vicomte said exuberantly. He rose to his feet to applaud her. He continued to think aloud quietly to himself during the clapping. "What a change, you're really not a bit, the quirkish girl that once you were. She may not remember me, but I remember her." He went along and Lindsay noticed he had matched it to the aria melody.
Christine entered one final time for the aria with the cadenza. She held her hands high with the scarf in tow and finsihed. "Flowers fade, the fruit of summer fade. They have their seasons, so do we. - But please promise me that sometimes, you will think... Of me!"