RECOGNTION

Christine places the serving tray on the nightstand, then sits on the edge of the bed, testing his forehead for fever. Leaning down, she kisses each of his eyes, then nuzzles his neck.

Amber eyes fly open, Erik sits bolt upright, forcing her to grasp his nightshirt to prevent sliding to the floor. Breathing heavily, his arms stretch out, pushing at the demons he believes attack him. "No! Stop!"

"Erik! Wake up," she cries, holding his shoulders to gain purchase.

"What? Where?" he gasps. Seeing her startled eyes, he shakes himself awake, wrapping his arms around her, he tugs her back onto the bed. "Dear god, are you all right – what happened?"

"I am fine – you must have been having one of your dreams," she says, straightening her coral dressing gown, settling herself back on the bed.

"What is the time?" Panting, he twists his head looking for the clock.

"Around 8 – you were sleeping so soundly, I did not want to waken you, but we have the meeting with Nadir and the Inspector."

"Perhaps I was mildly ill," he says, falling back onto the pillows.

Gently rubbing his hands in hers, she says, "People need to sleep and eat, Erik – you behave as though you require neither. Things were going well with the dreams – but this past week has taken its toll."

"I am sorry if I frightened you – hurt you."

"I am sorry if I frightened you. And, I was not hurt," she says, patting his cheek. Rising from the bed, she props up the pillows behind him, then retrieves his breakfast. "I prepared this – an attempted omelet, but this is what I wound up with." A plate of scrambled eggs with bits of cubed peppers and onion, a croissant spread with butter and jam, and a cup of tea with a slice of lemon are on the tray she sets over his lap. "I put some cheese in the eggs," she says, "I hope they taste all right."

Taking a bite of her dish, he declares it "perfect."

"Are you eating?" he asks, forking some eggs into his mouth, taking a bite of the pastry.

"I have finished." Smiling at his seeming delight with the food, she says, "I am so relieved that you are well."

"You are the reason I am well and the reason I am determined to remain well."

Walking around the bed to her side, she climbs in next to him, sitting cross-legged, hugging her knees. "What was your dream?"

"Ah, that," he sighs, squeezing the lemon slice, dropping the rind into the cup. "It was a jumble – they always are."

"But what sort of jumble? You know that you feel better when you discuss these things."

Erik lies on his back in the coffin – Javert hovers over him – kneeling on his crossed arms, sitting on his chest. The little sultana holds his legs and laughs as the gypsy forces his mouth open.

Dr. Gerard shoves the tongue depressor into his mouth, down his throat. He gags. Blood drips from his lips.

"It will not hurt," Madeleine says, the Phrygian hat falling over her face. Claw-like nails slip under his lips. Swatting her away, the pliers fly across the room. Hundreds of teeth fly from his mouth.

Pere Mansart makes a sign of the cross over the teeth. "You are a scientist – or so you said."

"Just a tooth – one tooth," Javert laughs, holding his arm up – the bit of white enamel catching the light. "Marie-Corrinne will be amused."

The pain – the pain.

"Your mother?"

"She wanted to pull my front teeth – they were loose. She had a pliers."

"Oooo. Pappa tied length of string to my tooth, wrapped it on a door handle, then slammed the door," she says. "It was good luck. I put the tooth under my pillow and when I slept a fairy came and left me a coin."

"I did not know what she was doing – she did not tell me."

"What happened then?"

"I twisted them out myself and buried them in the garden. I watched to see if something would grow, but nothing did." He chuckles.

"Until the new teeth came in? They grew back in your mouth," she teases.

"Yes – foolish teeth."

"Javert?"

"He thought he could sell my tooth – as a charm against evil spirits – to the gawkers, but no one bought it. Thank goodness," Erik says. "I should have nothing but gums now had he succeeded."

"What happened to that tooth?"

"He returned it to me – I have a small casket in my desk with some jewels and other keepsakes. I keep it there."

"The pain must have been terrible."

"Yes, I bled and bled until I stuffed some cloth in the empty hole."

Christine twists a strand of his hair around her fingers. "No wonder you were frightened when Dr. Gerard was poking about in your mouth," she says, "Interesting how the case got mixed into your memories."

"Women appear to have died because someone took their babies – possibly by force, possibly out of goodwill – perhaps both."

"You will find out – I know you will." Squeezing his hand, she jumps off the bed, running around to take the tray from his lap, she checks the time on the rosewood clock. "So are you going to get up or do you plan to take the day off?" she says, hands on hips.

"Come here for a moment – we have time," he says, sliding to the center of the bed.

"Time for what?"

"For me to thank you for such a delightful breakfast and your infinite patience with me." Untying her dressing gown, he glides his hand over her belly, gathering her close. "Just let me hold you – both of you – for a moment."

"That is all?"

"It is enough – holding my beautiful girls. Besides, I do not wish to infect you if I do have some sort of germ."

"I see," she chortles. "Well, the risk is worth dispelling the horrible images of flying teeth from your mind."

"Are you alone?"

Nadir jumps at the whisper in his ear, spilling his tea on the desk. "Damnation, you know very well I am alone," he says, lifting the piece of paper he was reading, shaking off what liquid he can.

The wall opens, Erik hold the door for Christine to enter. Both of them laughing at both the look on the daroga's face and the situation he finds himself in.

"Oh, Nadir, you poor man." Christine rushes to the hutch to retrieve several towels to mop up the mess, while Erik meanders to the bookcase behind Nadir.

"You are most fortunate that the cup was essentially empty and the paper was of no significance," Nadir growls, as he crumbles the single sheet into a ball and attempts to stash it into his pocket.

"You do not like when I announce myself and you do not like when I simply enter."

Christine removes the cup and begins mopping up the desk, forcing Nadir to roll his chair back.

"Try knocking – like a normal human being," he says, looking over his shoulder. "Why are you lurking behind me?"

"Well that is quite a list." Holding his hand in the air, he ticks each item off raising one finger for each. First of all, it is my office. Secondly, I shall lurk where I wish – although, I have limited that particular activity substantially. Must I knock on my own door?" Leaning over Nadir's shoulder, he whispers in his ear, "Lastly, as for being a normal human being – that would be asking a bit much, now, dear friend. I have so few opportunities today to shock people, so, unfortunately for you, you must be the beneficiary of my frolicsome nature."

"That is what you call it?"

Erik snatches the damp wad from Nadir's hand, twirling it on the tips of his fingers. "If this piece of paper is as insignificant as you say, why are you hiding it in your pocket, rather than tossing it into the trash?"

Nadir struggles to get the note back, almost falling from his seat.

"What are you doing?" Christine exclaims – stepping away from the fumbling Nadir and prancing Erik.

"Why can you not be ill like other people – I swear to Allah you are worse now than your normal annoying self."

"I had a good night's sleep and my wife prepared a delightful breakfast for me – is that not what normal human beings do?"

"No. They behave normally, with restraint and respect for their friends and the personal belongings of same friends."

"This?" Erik holds up the folded paper, shaking it out. "By all means, have your personal belonging."

Nadir does not bother to reach for his note, instead falls back into the chair, waving his hand in surrender. "Fine. Read it."

"Oh, you have taken the fun out of it, daroga."

"Erik, stop it – give him his writing," Christine says. "You are like little children, I am ready to send to both to a corner."

Nadir sighs heavily. "I was attempting to compose vows for my wedding to Adele. We hope to be married in the next week and a half. When I attempt to write what is in my heart – it comes out gibberish."

"I am sure that is untrue, Nadir," Christine protests. "You are extremely well-spoken."

"If that were all it takes, I would have completed Don Juan Triumphant ten years ago."

"You are admitting you are not perfect?"

"No – I merely said that I would have completed the opera earlier."

Both Christine and Nadir chuckle. He says, "You are incorrigible."

Erik hands the paper to Nadir. "Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite. Christine has an aptitude for lyrics, perhaps she can help you."

"I would be happy to help, Nadir, if you wish. Perhaps I can write some lovely things that I know about the Madame."

Erik raises his eyebrows.

"Do not mock my beautiful Adele" Nadir growls at him – to Christine he says, "Thank you, I would appreciate that." Straightening the paper, he folds it neatly and places it in his waistcoat pocket.

"May I have your permission to sit at my desk?" Erik asks, resting his hand on the back of his chair.

"Just sit."

All spirit of play over, Erik sits down, pulling out of a sheet of paper and pen to write down some thoughts. Looking up from his notes, he says, "Something has been bothering me about the visit Christine and Dr. Gerard had with Monique."

"The trap?" Nadir asks. "That was concerning me as well."

Erik nods. "I am fairly certain it was Nicole, but why would she be hiding? From what Christine said, the conversation was benign."

"Dr. Perdue's name was raised and his description given," Christine offers, after serving Nadir a fresh cup, she sets another cup of tea for Erik on his desk and one for herself to the settee next to his side of the desk. "And she hid before we even entered the room."

"Even so – Nicole knows what he looks like," Nadir says.

"Does she?" Erik raises an eyebrow. "Dr. Gerard said the description matched no one he knew at the Maternite hospital." Reviewing his notes, he says, "Perhaps the Dr. Perdue she heard described does not fit the Dr. Perdue she does know."

"Two of them?" Christine asks. "To be perfectly frank – I find it difficult seeing someone of Marie-Corrinne's appearance with the man Monique described."

Erik snaps, "You thought him too ugly?"

"Do not be a simpleton, Erik – and do not take me for one," Christine says, her mouth a firm line, eyes hard and glaring. "The description sounded like a caricature – not a real person. You suggested as much. The hat in particular, but the body shape sounded odd to me as well."

"I am sorry – I reach point of acceptance, then something happens…" Erik says, recovering himself. "Thank you for reminding me of my own thoughts regarding the description Monique provided."

"We shall know more when we see Veronique's drawings – Marquand met with her last night," Nadir says. "My message crossed with one from him – it seems there was a photograph of Perdue in Mlle. Arnault's locket. Veronique was to do an enlargement"

"Madame Dupree, thank you for be available to us on such short notice."

"It is my pleasure, Inspector – I am pleased that my skills, such as they are, can be useful," Veronique stepped back, inviting Marquand into her small sitting room. The fireplace gave off a warm glow, pleasant after being in the night air.

Andre jumped up from his wooden desk and ran to shake the policeman's hand. "I am so happy for you to visit our home," he said. "Would you like some tea?"

"That would be fine, young man. I understand you are an artiste yourself."

"M. Erik is teaching me to sing and play the violin and piano," Andre replied, putting the tea things on a tray, carrying them to the coffee table in front of the brown corduroy sofa. "I shall be performing in the new review with Mme. Christine."

"Then I will make it a point to attend a performance."

Andre beamed, his cheeks flushed with pleasure.

"Thank you, Andre, for helping with the refreshment. I must speak with the Inspector in private now – perhaps you could take little Erika to the bedroom and finish your studies in there."

"Yes, Maman." Picking up the black and white kitten and his notebook, the boy bowed, then ran into the curtained bedroom.

"He is an admirable young man," Marquand said.

"He is a good boy," Veronique responded. "Now what would you have me draw for you?"

"You have spoken with Mlle. DuBois?

"Yes, I have the likeness she guided here – one of the full body and the other a portrait." Pointing to her own desk next to the small curtained window, set up with a small easel, several sheets of paper and an assortment of charcoal and colored chalks in metal holders. "Would you like to see it?"

"When you have completed my commission." Pulling a white envelope from his wrinkled Macintosh, he opened it, pulling out a small photograph. "This was in the locket we found in Mlle. Arnault's apartment. I would ask that you reproduce it on a larger sheet of paper if that is possible."

"I believe I can make a good rendering," she said, taking the likeness from his hand. "Perhaps you would like to sit on the sofa and take your tea. This should not take too long, but I do not wish to rush either."

"Of course. Take your time."

"I have another concern," Erik says, tapping his pen on the desk.

"Why was Monique alone in the rehearsal hall," Nadir says. "I have already spoken to Henri about that."

"You are becoming quite adept at mind-reading.

"No, I am just an efficient detective."

"Touche – and?"

"The ballet girls had gone, or so he understood from Monique – the Vicomte was with her – she excused Stephan," Nadir says. "He did not wish to create a scene."

"Monique said Nicole was gone – that she told Raoul to go home," Christine recalls. "She was alone."

"Was she?"

"I must not get pregnant. Not after what happened with…before."

"There are condoms the Vicomte could use."

"I want to be certain. The chance of becoming pregnant, then losing the child – I cannot think of it."

"You lost the baby because you were beaten – he is not going to beat you."

"I shall have a child when I choose to have a child."

"There is something called a diaphragm – it is quite new."

"Can I get one?"

"Let me find out – there are some doctors…"

"Dr. Perdue?"

"No – not him."

"The door…Go."

"You think Monique was meeting with Nicole?" Christine asks.

"We have no idea what is going through her head," Erik says. "Abuse leads to behavior that others may think odd, but makes total sense to the person who has been damaged."

"You, for instance?" Nadir says.

"Yes – although my case is perhaps is extreme," Erik admits. "I am not suggesting she was doing anything criminal – simply wishing to keep her own counsel – so she lied to you, my dear."

"That does not excuse our security guard leaving his post," Nadir says.

"Exactly. I have no interest in Monique's private conversations – it is unfortunate that you were not able to meet with Nicole, though."

"At the very least, Monique was reacquainted with Dr. Gerard – especially if she was trying to meet with Dr. Perdue – whomever he might be," Christine says. "Perhaps he can treat her. I know I would feel better about it."

A knock on the door interrupts their discussion.

"We shall understand more soon," Nadir says, rising from his chair to open the door. "Good morning, Edouard."

Phillippe sits in his armchair in front of the fire, a silver carafe on the chess table that separates the two chairs. His white linen shirt and dark gray trousers covered by a gray, cut-velvet dressing robe. A cup in one hand, the coffee pot in the other are held up in invitation. "Coffee, Giselle?"

"Thank you." Accepting the cup, she leans back onto the soft leather. Her day dress is fawn colored with covered buttons down the front and a lace border over the double skirt and cuffs. "One could become accustomed to this," she says, picking up a sweet roll and taking a bite.

"Yes, I am afraid I am used to it – and could become easily accustomed to your presence – making it all the more pleasant."

"I should be leaving," she says, taking a sip from her cup. "There is a performance this evening and II must go to work at the theater."

"Yes, I suppose that is true – I shall have Francois secure the coach for you." Rising, he goes to pull the bell chord. "Shall we have dinner afterwards?"

"I feel as though I should go to my own home tonight." Dabbing her mouth with a napkin, she returns the cup to the tray.

"Why – you have your own space here – the flat must be crowded with the woman and boy…" he says, striding back to the seating area, his arms wide illustrating the expanse of the home.

"They are my family and this, well, this, while lovely, is uncomfortable for me."

"You are not being compromised."

"And yet, that is what people will say and think."

Standing next to her armchair, resting his hand on the back, he says, "I thought you cared little for the opinion of others."

"That is what I believed – but it turns out to be untrue."

"May I at least have a parting kiss – if you are going to refuse me your company tonight." He offers his hand to help her up from the chair. As she stands, he wraps an arm around her, lifting her chin, barely brushes his lips against hers.

Pulling away, pressing her hand to her mouth. "Oh, my."

"What?"

She shakes her head, tears form in her deep brown eyes.

"Seriously, Giselle – what is wrong? It was a simple kiss – I meant no insult."

Bowing her head, she murmurs, "I have never been kissed before."

Holding her close to him, he says, "Had I known, I should have made it more of an event for you. Dinner and dancing, with a discreet bouquet of violets at the very least."

"You do not think that your attention to me is not an event?"

He throws back his head and laughs. "You are always so full of surprises." His response is gentle. "Your presence in my life is an event as well."

Their eyes meet and hold – they lean into one another, tilting their heads.

The intimacy is disrupted by the opening door. Kissing her gently on the forehead instead, he calls, "Come in, Francois. Please have the carriage prepared for Mademoiselle Beauchamp."

"It is not Francois." Raoul enters, dressed in a brown plaid morning suit, carrying a bowler hat. "Good morning, Giselle," he says, eyeing her gown. "Would the Mademoiselle care to share the ride?"

The observation of Giselle's dress does not go unnoticed by Phillippe. "It is one of your sister Catherine's layover gowns – one of perhaps twenty that fill the armoire in the guest bedroom."

Raoul shrugs. "We could open an Emporium with all the dresses accumulating in this mausoleum. I say let her take the lot. Catherine has grown too heavy to wear them and Georgette's tastes are far more extreme for her to care if they go missing."

"Well, there you have it, Giselle – you are welcome to any and all female clothing and other accouterments you may discover in your room – whenever you choose to make use of it."

"That is most kind – but, I cannot," she says, blushing.

"I agree, you should have your own gowns, but we can discuss that later," Phillippe says. "So, brother, you are going to see Monique?"

"Yes – is that a problem?"

"Not at all," Phillippe responds. "I was simply wondering when you were going to deal with the letter you received yesterday."

"A letter?" Giselle questions. "About the baby."

"There was no letter – just an envelope with BeBe de Chagny written on the front with a blank sheet within."

"You have not advised Inspector Marquand?" Giselle presses.

"He does not think that it means anything," Phillippe interjects.

"What am I supposed to do, Phillippe? Please instruct me on what I am supposed to do," Raoul cries. "My child – at least I think it is my child, is being held and all we have is a blank sheet of paper after a week's time." He rubs his eyes with his sleeve.

Giselle retrieves a napkin from the tray with the coffee service and offers it to him. "We must take this to the Inspector or at the very least to Messrs. Erik and Nadir."

"Listen to her, Raoul – if you will not listen to me. Her firm is working on this – you do not know how much has already been discovered and this might help." Phillippe moves over to his brother, putting an arm over his shoulder.

"Very well."

"We should go to the office – I suspect Monique is already at the theater," Giselle says. "Madame always calls early rehearsal on performance days."

Raoul nods.

"I have some business I must attend to – then I shall join you," Phillippe says.

Francois appears at the door. "You rang?"

"Yes, Francois. Please call for the coach – le Vicomte and Mlle. Beauchamp need transport to the Palais Garnier.

"Oui, M. le Comte."

Pressing a kiss on Giselle's cheek, with a pat to Raoul's back, Phillippe watches them follow the butler from the library. Closing the door, he walks to his desk and opens the lap drawer removing an envelope.

"This was in the morning post, M. le Comte."

"Thank you, Francois," Phillippe said, taking the envelope from his butler. "Is the Vicomte aware of this?"

"No, monsieur."

"Good – thank you." After a quick slit to the edge of the stationary with a carved ivory letter opener, he removed a single sheet of paper folded in half.

"500,000 francs – varied currency.

Instructions to follow.

The police need not know about this."

"Messieurs, Madame – good morning," Inspector Marquand says, removing his crushed Homburg. "My wife insisted I wear this today because of the damp weather. I attempted to tell her my hair would dry faster than the wool in this hat, but found it best not to argue with her."

Erik side-eyes Christine, who smirks.

"You have even more wisdom than I already believed possible, Edouard," Nadir chuckles. "Our friend here is still in training as a husband."

"You will find your life infinitely better when you follow the lead of your lady – they tend to be correct much," he risks a look at Christine, who is laughing outright, "most of the time."

"I have always been an apt and able student," Erik says, rising from his chair. "Can I offer you some tea – we tend not to drink coffee – I apologize."

"Tea is fine," Marquand says, as he removes a cigar from his pocket."

Erik raises an eyebrow, looking toward Christine.

Catching the exchange, Marquand says, "Oh, I never smoke them, but I am permitted to hold them – for my health, she says." He unrolls the tube of paper tucked under his arm – revealing three drawings. "May I?" He sets the sketches on the desk.

Erik and Nadir move their papers aside to make room to spread them out.

A light knock on the door precedes Giselle and Raoul's entrance.

"Come," Nadir says, turning around to re-rolling the drawings, before aligning himself with Erik and Marquand – their backs to the desk.

"We have news," Giselle announces, pulling Raoul along. Ignoring Erik and Nadir, she says, "Inspector, I am so happy to see you – to see all of you here." Skirting her eyes past Erik, she smiles broadly at Christine, who nods in response.

Inspector Marquand focuses his attention on Raoul, extending his hand. "M. le Vicomte, how are you faring?"

"Not well – and yourself?" Raoul places the envelope in the Inspector's hand. "My brother and Giselle insist this has meaning."

"What is it?" Marquand takes the envelope and pulls out the blank sheet of paper, holding it up. "Interesting."

"A foreward?" Erik suggests. Looking over his shoulder.

"When did this arrive?" Nadir asks, taking the note from Marquand, waving it at Raoul.

"Yesterday's post."

"And you are just now letting us know?" Nadir says.

"I thought it irrelevant."

"Raoul?" Christine exclaims. "Everyone is working to help find your child and you withhold information?"

"There is nothing written on the paper," he growls.

"It was likely a test run – would it get delivered? At what time would it be delivered?" Nadir says.

"And possibly – how would you respond?" Erik says.

"I am once again the idiot, the fool," Raoul says, flopping down on the sofa adjacent to Nadir's chair. "Phillippe insisted I bring this to your attention – I told him the morning was soon enough. I was on my way here when Giselle insisted on coming along."

Giselle's brow furrows.

"Was there a post today?" Marquand asks.

"Not that I am aware of…"

"Yes. There was," Giselle interrupts. "I am sorry to be rude, but I saw Francois take the post into the library as I was coming down for coffee."

Erik coughs. Christine's face exhibits no emotion. Nadir grins.

Bolder than his hosts, Marquand says, "You were at the de Chagny home this morning,"

Giselle lowers her eyes. "I had supper with M. le Comte last evening, and…" Lifting her chin, she continues, "…that is none of your business. Yes, I was there this morning, as I said." With that remark, she joins Raoul on the settee, smoothing her skirt, folding her hands in her lap.

Christine's blank face breaks into a grin. "Brava," she says, under her breath.

Another knock on the door. "What is this? Are we expecting someone else?" Nadir looks at Erik, who shakes his head.

"My brother, most likely. He indicated he would join me after running some sort of errand," Raoul says. "Come in, brother – join the destruction of what little character I have left."

Christine looks away, shaking her head. Erik sits down at the desk. Nadir rolls his eyes, taking a chair to open up more floor space – adding his own, "Come in," to Raoul's invitation.

Phillippe removes his top hat as he enters, a large black leather satchel held in his other hand. A scan of the room for Giselle brings a smile when he observes her watching him. "Good day, everyone," he says, "I apologize for interrupting your meeting – actually arriving late – as I hoped to participate at its inception."

"The meeting has been rife with disruptive elements, your arrival simply adds to the mix," Erik says. "What have you in the satchel, cousin?"

Raoul frowns.

Marquand raises an eyebrow. "Cousin?"

Phillippe chuckles as he sets the suitcase down. "A longish story, but, yes – we are cousins."

"The joys of being a detective – discovering so many of the mysteries of life," he says, waving his cigar. "What do you have for us – besides the aforementioned suitcase?"

"It would seem my little surprise has been disclosed," he says, winking at Giselle.

Her shoulders raise in a shrug. "I saw Francois with the post."

"Very well, then." He hands the envelope – once again addressed to BeBe de Chagny – to Marquand. "A ransom note. The case contains the sum requested."

"How much?" Raoul asks.

"500,000 francs."

"What funds are you using?"

"Bonds – family owned – so yours, mine and our sisters – the child is Chagny."

"And carried it here, unprotected?"

"I felt the odds were in my favor – both in terms of being robbed and being followed."

"Nevertheless," Nadir says.

"Well, I it appears I was correct – so let us not argue the point."

"You may well have been followed," Nadir argues.

"My driver and cabriolet are both quite efficient."

"No instructions," Marquand says, handing the letter to Erik, who scans the note, then pushes it across the desk to Nadir.

"The cursive writing suggests someone who is educated," Nadir mutters. "Black ink – nothing odd in that."

"The stationery is quality," Erik adds. "However, it does appear that we must wait for another post at minimum. Perhaps it is time to view the drawings created to identify Dr. Perdue."

Nadir stands to once again unroll the three sketches, placing them next to one another.

Christine, stands behind Erik's chair, her arm on his shoulder. Giselle takes a place next to Phillippe with Raoul positioning himself between her and Nadir.

"Veronique is indeed most gifted at portraiture," Christine says as she examines each print.

"It is as you suspected, Erik," Nadir says.

"Two different men," Marquand concurs.

"I know him," Raoul says – pointing to the drawing created from the photograph.

"Raoul! . .gny!"

"German? It seems ages since university – you appear well and well off."

"Good blood and good investments."

"Did you continue your studies?"

"I did – and you?"

"What was intended – my family is military, so I shall likely take a naval commission soon."

"A theater buff?"

"This is actually my first visit – I prefer musical entertainment."

"You will then be pleasantly surprised. There is a young woman in this production who is quite brilliant."

"That was not my intention in coming here."

"Of course not. Still…"

"German…Berber-Perdue. Not just Perdue." Raoul bends forward, pounding his fist on the desk. "Ego-laden piece of tripe."

Giselle puts an arm on Raoul's back, looking to Phillippe.

"What is it," Phillippe says, taking her place as she steps away.

"I had no idea he was a doctor, he did not specify the manner of his further studies," Raoul says, his face pale. "He arranged my meeting with Marie-Corrinne that night at the Comedie Francaise."

"Had you seen him before that – in other social settings?" Marquand asks.

Raoul nods. "No – only at school, he was ahead of me – tutored science – the meeting that night was by happenstance," he says. "I made an idle comment that I thought she was beautiful – next thing I knew, he was introducing us."

"Any communication since?"

"Early on – before I bought the apartment. He would hold up a glass in a toast and smirk when he saw me, or the two of us together, after the performances. Nothing recently."

"Berber-Perdue?" Marqaund asks.

"Yes – that is how I knew him. The name Perdue did not register with me – I am so sorry."

"I suppose we are fortunate he used any part of his real name," Nadir says. He pushes a pad of paper and pencil towards Raoul. "Write down as much as you know of him – however, long ago."

Raoul nods – taking the pad back to the settee to begin writing.

"Is the family name familiar to you, M. le Comte?" Marquand asks.

Phillippe shakes his head, no. "Although I shall go through my business files. I would have no first-hand knowledge of Raoul's school friends." He joins Raoul on the couch, extending his hand to Giselle that she join them.

"See anything interesting, M. Saint-Rien?"

"These are not two men," Erik says – shifting the drawings so the two drawings from Monique's description are next to one another.

Marquand frowns.

"The shape of the body – tallish, but thin shoulders, arms and legs, but this bulge," illustrating to what he refers with a finger, "is not a belly. Bound bosoms, I should think."

Christine tugs on his sleeve. "Erik – the jaw – the eyes as well, but the jaw, primarily?"

Raising his head, turning to look up at her, he says, "Yes, I believe so."

"What?" They all want to know.

"I know her," Christine says. "Or rather, I…we have seen her."

"Who is she?" Marquand asks.

"Marie-Corrinne's chaperone at Dr. Gerard's office," Erik says.