Nadir knew for a fact that new experiences were often bad experiences. He had never been surer of this than as he sat in Box Five as Erik's guest.

"I'm bored," Erik had said. It was the closest Nadir had ever heard the man come to saying I'm lonely. It had been enough to persuade Nadir to take up the extended invitation, though he at once doubted the wisdom of his decision.

During the intermission, Erik spoke at length about various aspects of the production. He paused eventually and sulkily glared at Nadir. "Don't you have anything to say?"

Nadir considered this for a moment. "Ah. Hasn't Faust been playing for an awfully long time?"

Erik grumbled. "Brought back by popular demand. But what about the music? The story?"

"It's very nice," Nadir commented.

This was obviously the wrong answer. "Nora always had something to say."

"Nora isn't here," Nadir pointed out.

Erik turned and looked at Nadir. "Obviously."

That was the extent of conversation until the second intermission.

Nadir thought he might preemptively avoid talk of music. "Have you spoken to the manager yet?"

Erik grumbled all the more. "No."

"Why not?"

"I have not yet decided on what to say to him."

Of course he hadn't. Nadir had never known Erik to trust a good thing. Then again, how many good things had really come to him in his life? "Do you think it to be a trap?"

"Do you know that is almost exactly what Nora asked about the meeting you set up with Christine?"

"Do you think that you might be able to go an entire hour without mentioning Nora?" Nadir asked.

"Of course," Erik replied.

"An hour in conversation?" Nadir said.

"Don't be absurd," Erik said, "when have we ever spent an entire hour in conversation?"

"You must be careful," Nadir murmured, "you must not become fixated on her, as you did with Christine. For once in your life, you have good, legitimate opportunities set before you—yet it seems that you are only capable of agonizing over a woman who rejected you."

Erik was silent. "It is difficult."

"Matters of the heart are always difficult."

"That is not what I mean," Erik waved his spidery hand dismissively. He had a way of making such gestures elegant. Nadir supposed it was some sort of compensation for the repulsiveness of his face. "I am accustomed to rejection in all of its forms—or at least I thought I was. I find it strange to be rejected not for myself, but for her weaknesses."

Nadir turned and stared at Erik. He had heard him use such cold, mercurial tones before. "You are angry at her!"

"I would sooner be angry at the sun for shining than Nora for having a conviction," Erik shook his head, "she has a great many of them, after all."

"Nevertheless."

"The curtain will soon be rising," Erik said. He settled into his seat and angled away from Nadir, effectively ending the conversation. "Be quiet."

Nadir happily obliged and at the end of the performance attempted to exit by conventional means.

Erik waved him off again. "Oh, let's just take the old service corridors."

"Erik, I'm sixty years old. I have no desire to spend an hour trying to get to the front door."

"Nonsense," Erik said, "you need the exercise."

Thus, Nadir found himself tripping through dark, dusty trap doors.

"I realized that she was right," Erik said suddenly.

Nadir always found it annoying when Erik would pick up discarded threads of conversations without any warning. "Are we talking about Nora again? Are you admitting that you might be a bit angry at her?"

"It's not anger," Erik insisted, "I know what anger it is—it usually leads to corpses. It is simply that… she was right. I insisted that I would be happy with the smallest part of her heart, but she refused to give me even that. I cannot give you a divided heart, she said."

Nadir made a vague noise to encourage Erik to continue. He knew better than to actually comment. Besides, keeping up with Erik was taking up the better part of his breath.

"At the time, I was convinced that I would have been satisfied by a lifetime of Sunday walks with her," he shook his head. "Do you remember the entire issue with Christine and her little chap?"

"'Christine and her little chap?'" Nadir repeated. "You do have a delightful way of phrasing things. …I seem to remember you telling the sultana about a 'charming little illusion you created in a mirrored room.'"

"Christine said that they were playacting at being engaged," Erik said, carrying on without giving note to Nadir's tangent, "and I thought—what was the harm? Why not let him have a taste of my own happiness?" He shook his head. "I am a… jealous man. If I had Nora, I would not let her go. And then… she would hate me, as Christine came to hate me. …Don't you have anything to say?"

They finally came to the final stretch of barely-used corridor and Nadir paused to catch his breath. "Certainly."

"Well?"

"Take Moncharmin's offer."

"Do you remember the last time you urged me to move forward with my career?" Erik asked.

"I can't say that I do."

"I do," Erik said, "you brought me Mazanderan."

Perhaps booking a suite at Le Grand had not been Nora's wisest decision. She had been so confident checking in. She could not have been more conveniently situated in Paris. Now, she was unsure. She stood by her hotel room's window, drinking a cup of tea, confronted squarely by the Palais Garnier. Apollo seemed to be looking directly at her, his golden lyre held aloft in the twilight. Did Erik ever bother to stroll the rooftop?

Probably not.

She tried to take another sip of her tea, but discovered that the cup was empty.

She had spent the last several days trapped in a sort of gauzy fantasy. Nothing had seemed entirely real on the sea voyage from New York, or the trip from Le Havre to Paris. Now it all seemed entirely too real. She had come for Erik, whatever that meant.

It meant compromise, she supposed. Compromise. Such was the foundation of any relationship, romantic or otherwise, correct? She could compromise, couldn't she?

There's compromise, and then there is compromising with Erik.

Somehow, that didn't sound quite as bad.

Erik might just be worth whatever changes she would be obliged to make in her life.

It was tempting to go the Garnier straight away, particularly once the stylish mass of theatergoers started filing in. How easily she could blend in among them! But would she be able to find him? Was Erik in Box Five? Or had he stayed in for the night? Was he working on his opera?

Was he thinking of her?

She dropped the teacup and cursed it in a very unladylike fashion. Sunday morning could not come quickly enough.

She did not sleep that night. She was silent as the maid helped her into her dress and shaking by the time she exited the hotel. She kept her eyes fixed ahead and pace even as she walked directly to the Pont au Double. It was still dark, and by her estimations, it would be another full hour before Erik would pass by—if he came at all. She leaned on the bridge's railing and stared into the inky water. All that remained was to wait.

God, she hated waiting.

I have to admit that this is a complete filler chapter, which probably explains the choppiness and short length. We have only two or three chapters left, and writing them has been a bit like pulling teeth. I can't believe it's almost over!