Back at the hotel, Émilie could not stop the bad feeling that she had in the pit of her stomach when the opera managers had spoken of the murders that had occurred.

She didn't know what to think, what to disregard as rumour. The biggest thoughts on her mind were, could Erik be the so-called "Ghost?" Could he have been the architect of the building? Could he have caused the murders? Could the stash of music belong to Erik? And M. Montcharmin had mentioned another rumour that nagged at her...the managers showed her an anonymous note they had received. The note stated that there was a person with the name of Erik (It gave a description)...who was a mental asylum escapee...The writer identified him with the recently departed Opera Ghost...

After retiring to her room, Émilie decided she must call to find out how everyone was faring at home.

Marie answered the phone. "Marie, how is Rémy? I am constantly thinking about him; I miss him very much."

"Yes, Madame."

"How is he, Marie?" she asked again. Marie seemed elusive.

"He is fine, Madame," lied Marie.

"Are you sure? I sense some doubt in your voice..."

"Well, it is just that your house guest has left us and the boy seems to miss him..."

"M. Castagne has gone? Did he say why?"

"He did not. He left during the night."

"I see. As long as Rémy is all right. I could come back immediately..."

"Oh please, Madame! We are taking good care of the child. Finish your business in Paris and rest assured that all is well at home."

Émilie could not put her finger on it, but Marie did not sound completely believable. Perhaps it was Erik's sudden departure and Rémy's sadness over the same. In some small part of herself, she felt relieved that their house guest had left. If he were truly the Opera Ghost, then the whole household could have been in danger.

Nicole, in addition to giving me some food for my journey, had also given me some money, for I had not a sou on my person the whole time I was with the Tessier household. It was apparently her own money, and her generosity touched me. All I had was left in the Opera House 5th Cellar when I fled and I had not had time to take any of it with me. Whether the money would be still there in its hiding place, I could not say. I resolved to pay the girl back as soon as I could. And...I must not forget Madame Tessier, for although she considers me a monster, she had sheltered me with kindness since the day I had lain ill in the churchyard, which is considerably more than most would have done for me.

A fairly short walk brought us to the village and we arrived at the railway station from which we could depart for Paris. I did not want to be seen in public, at least as little as possible, so I sent Rémy to purchase tickets for us, for a private compartment where I would be away from prying eyes. We found our compartment, but were dismayed to find out that a talkative woman had also been placed in that compartment.

Both Rémy and I nodded to the woman. He sat across from me, next to the woman. I looked out of the window, although there was not much that I could make out, other than the station platform which was illuminated by gas lights. Then the train began to move through the dark night, and there was even less that could be seen.

The talkative middle aged woman addressed her repartie to me: "So, Monsieur, how old is your little son?"

Rémy answered, "I am eight years old, Madame."

"I was not addressing you, child, I was addressing your...is it father, uncle perhaps?."

I continued to ignore her. She sat in silence for a few moments.

"Monsieur, are you not too warm wearing your mask, cape and hood?"

I should have expected it. They always want to know. Then when they find out, they are sorry.

"I am not too warm, but thank you for asking," I said, coldly.

She kept giving me sideways glances. "Monsieur, why do you wear such a strange mask?"

"Indeed, why do I wear one at all?" I retorted angrily. "It is none of your business, Madame!"

She opened her mouth to say more, but I interjected, "If you are so curious, I should gladly remove my mask, if you would but take off your shoes and stockings that I may inspect your feet and then I would be glad to have you inspect my face!"

"Monsieur!" she shrieked in indignation.

I went on: "If it were up to me, I should think it would improve your looks if you were to wear a mask!"

"Well, I never!" she muttered. She picked up her suitcase and removed herself from the compartment immediately in search of less rude company.

I was still seething, until I noticed Rémy laughing behind his hand. At that point, I had to admit, I had enjoyed getting the better of this inquisitive woman. I asked Rémy to pull the shades on the door windows so I could remove my mask. There was a pack of cards left in the compartment among the magazines left by a former occupant. I took the cards and showed Rémy some sleight-of-hand tricks, then made him learn it and demonstrate to me. I spent the rest of the three hour trip in his delightful company.

Rémy and I alit from the coach at the railway station and began the walk to the Paris Opera. We took alleys and lesser used streets to avoid attention. I wondered if I would find my former home intact; if there was anything left at all...