Was I surprised when Christine returned later that afternoon? Of
course not. But it did surprise me that upon entering the Opera she
marched straight to the manager's office told them she was quitting, and
that it was not possible for her to perform in my opera.
Upon hearing this, I rushed to the passageway behind her mirror. As some of you may recall (A/N: from "A Passage of Swiftly Moving Time), it was welded shut. I often used this spot as an observatory of sorts. When Christine rushed in she was so upset she didn't even bother to keep her voice down in case I was listening.
"Dress, shoes, brush, old letters," she said, throwing each one into a small suitcase. "Locket, stockings...what's this?" she said curiously eyeing a small necklace on her vanity table. It was small, and it shone in the light from the lamps. She picked it up, and turned it over in her hands. She peered over to the mirror, and I held my breath praying she wouldn't notice I was there. She didn't.
"It's lovely Erik," she said softly. "But I still cannot stay. You do not understand the affect of the things you said to me at Perros. I just cannot stay here a moment longer, and there is absolutely no reason for me to stay here just to perform in your Opera. I shan't do it. It shall only distress me." It was as if she were talking to herself, convincing herself to go. I certainly hadn't given her the necklace. Who had, I wondered?
"Here you are," said a voice as the door opened. Christine shoved her small bag behind her and sat on it. "Oh, I see you got the necklace Mother sent for you."
"Your mother sent this for me?" Christine asked Meg, as the girl slipped into the room.
"Of course. It's an old Opera good luck tradition. Mother says you can wear it when you star in the new opera."
"You mean 'Don Juan'?" Christine asked, standing up.
"Of course," Meg said, eyeing her friend curiously. "What other new operas are there?"
"Tell your mother thank you for the necklace, but I cannot possibly accept it since I am not going to be in the new opera," Christine replied, handing Meg the necklace. Meg shook her head, then looked over at Christine's packed bag.
"Mother told me you would say that. You just can't quit this opera Christine. Have you seen the newspaper? All of Paris knows about 'Don Juan Triumphant', and they also all know that you are supposed to sing the lead. It just isn't possible." Christine realized the truth in Meg's statement, and took it almost as a physical blow. She just sank down into a chair and nodded her head. Meg picked up Christine's bag and began putting things back where they belonged. I felt triumph surge through me as Christine fastened the necklace from Madame Giry around her neck. She would suffer...and I would have revenge for the pain inflicted upon me.
Upon hearing this, I rushed to the passageway behind her mirror. As some of you may recall (A/N: from "A Passage of Swiftly Moving Time), it was welded shut. I often used this spot as an observatory of sorts. When Christine rushed in she was so upset she didn't even bother to keep her voice down in case I was listening.
"Dress, shoes, brush, old letters," she said, throwing each one into a small suitcase. "Locket, stockings...what's this?" she said curiously eyeing a small necklace on her vanity table. It was small, and it shone in the light from the lamps. She picked it up, and turned it over in her hands. She peered over to the mirror, and I held my breath praying she wouldn't notice I was there. She didn't.
"It's lovely Erik," she said softly. "But I still cannot stay. You do not understand the affect of the things you said to me at Perros. I just cannot stay here a moment longer, and there is absolutely no reason for me to stay here just to perform in your Opera. I shan't do it. It shall only distress me." It was as if she were talking to herself, convincing herself to go. I certainly hadn't given her the necklace. Who had, I wondered?
"Here you are," said a voice as the door opened. Christine shoved her small bag behind her and sat on it. "Oh, I see you got the necklace Mother sent for you."
"Your mother sent this for me?" Christine asked Meg, as the girl slipped into the room.
"Of course. It's an old Opera good luck tradition. Mother says you can wear it when you star in the new opera."
"You mean 'Don Juan'?" Christine asked, standing up.
"Of course," Meg said, eyeing her friend curiously. "What other new operas are there?"
"Tell your mother thank you for the necklace, but I cannot possibly accept it since I am not going to be in the new opera," Christine replied, handing Meg the necklace. Meg shook her head, then looked over at Christine's packed bag.
"Mother told me you would say that. You just can't quit this opera Christine. Have you seen the newspaper? All of Paris knows about 'Don Juan Triumphant', and they also all know that you are supposed to sing the lead. It just isn't possible." Christine realized the truth in Meg's statement, and took it almost as a physical blow. She just sank down into a chair and nodded her head. Meg picked up Christine's bag and began putting things back where they belonged. I felt triumph surge through me as Christine fastened the necklace from Madame Giry around her neck. She would suffer...and I would have revenge for the pain inflicted upon me.