The Paris Opera House was an enormous building, and its size was overwhelming when it teemed with anxious theatergoers and performers. Vacant, it seemed larger still, and the events of the evening---the Phantom's undeniable presence---caused an air of eerie forboding to settle throughout the auditorium. The other young ladies, frightened by what they had seen and heard during the night's performance, had already retreated to their dormitories to gossip and chatter in hushed tones. But Meg was not afraid. The dancer's tiny feet pitter-pattered down the aisles as she cleared away the myriad programs, cufflinks, coins and rose petals that littered the floor; the maids and butlers had planned to leave the job until the morning, terrified of the possibility of encountering the Phantom. Although Meg did not share their fear, the Phantom's "appearance" did surprise her, and her blue eyes were shadowed with concern---concern for herself, for the other dancers.....even for Christine, towards whom she had always felt a certain degree of envy. Christine, who was recommended by Meg's own mother to sing lead soprano; Christine, who held the favor of the Phantom, her "angel of music"; Christine, who was rumored to be the lover of the young Vicomte de Chagny......
"Mademoiselle Giry." Meg uttered a small cry as she whirled about, her gaze darting this way and that in search of the speaker. She finally noticed a man seated near the back of the theater and tentatively approached the figure. She exhaled deeply in relief when she recognized him: "Vicomte."
Raoul's posture and haggard expression were clear indicators of his reason for remaining in the theater....as was the bottle of spirits balanced precariously on the arm of his chair. His lips turned up in a slight smile as he nodded to the dancer. "Did I frighten you, Mademoiselle?"
"Only a little," Meg replied with a polite curtsy. Furrowing her brow, she hesitated for a moment before speaking again, "If I'm not too bold, Vicomte.....why are you in the theater at this late hour?"
"Well, I am the patron, after all....must be sure that the theater is safe....." He suddenly stopped and shook his head vehemently, taking a swig from the bottle at his side. "All right, it's Christine. I worry about her so. This fixation she has with her "angel of music," this Phantom....she must know that he isn't real. It's all so foolish..."
"The Phantom IS real, Vicomte," Meg interrupted, her eyes blazing with conviction. "Christine is not mistaken in that." Suddenly realizing her impropriety, Meg lowered her golden head sheepishly. "I apologize, Vicomte...I have forgotten my place."
Raoul chuckled softly, then gestured to the seat to his left. "Please sit, Mademoiselle. Do not worry, I am not offended by any means. Come, sit."
Meg was reluctant to heed his request, but the bewildered and sorrowful expression in his eyes persuaded her to lower herself into the plushy audience chair. She shifted uncomfortably, focusing her gaze straight ahead. What could she possibly have to say to this man, to Christine's paramour? Fortunately, the Vicomte broke the awkward silence after several moments: "Where is Christine, anyhow? No one was able to tell me before."
"In her dressing room, I imagine," responded Meg, "or perhaps......" Here Meg paused, twisting the fabric of her skirts in her hands anxiously. Should she tell him about Christine's sanctuary? She and Christine were not particularly close, but she still had no wish to violate the other girl's privacy.
"....the sanctuary," Raoul finished, to Meg's surprise. "Yes, I know about the sanctuary; I have seen it. Is that where she goes, then, to speak with her angel?" Closing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair, heaving a great sigh of fatigue. Against her own better judgment, Meg glanced at her companion and noticed how finely formed his face was, how aristocratic his dress......"Stop, Meg," she whispered, unaware that she had spoken aloud.
"What was that?" Raoul inquired, turning his head to stare at Meg.
"I said nothing, Vicomte," she replied quickly, her fair cheeks flushing a bright crimson. Raoul's exhaustion and worry seemed forgotten for a moment as he grinned at her, and his voice was almost mischievous when he spoke again, "And what of you, little Mademoiselle Meg? Have you any secret loves, any young admirers who come to the opera to watch the pretty little blonde dancer in the chorus?"
Meg's blush only deepened as she shook her flaxen head. "No, Vicomte----I am still very young for such things."
"Hardly younger than Christine," Raoul replied, and the mention of his beloved's name caused the levity to return to his countenance. "I do love her, little Meg. Do you believe that? I do not know if she believes it....but I do. I have loved her since we were children, and I only want what is best for her...."
Something in his tone and tender, vulnerable expression caused Meg's heart to swell with affection and sympathy for this loving but hapless young man. Without a full awareness of her actions, she placed a small hand upon his and focused her emphatic sapphire gaze upon his beautiful face. He initially seemed surprised by her forwardness, but he soon turned his hand palm-side up in order to clasp Meg's porcelain-like fingers within his own. He lifted his gaze to meet her's, and Meg felt her pulse quicken as his free hand rose to caress her cheekbone. Raoul leaned towards Meg until their faces were nearly touching, and she felt his breath upon her lips as he whispered, "Thank you, Meg." Raoul began to withdraw his face from Meg's, but the heat that had begun to fill her body and senses possessed her mind entirely, and without a thought for Christine, for her mother, for the opera house, Meg pulled Raoul to her and pressed her lips to his.
The young Vicomte was initially too stunned to respond in any manner to Meg's advance, but he soon allowed the instincts of his body to overcome those of his mind. His mouth still joined with Meg's, Raoul guided the girl over the armrest between their chairs and placed her upon his lap, closing his arms around her tiny frame. A soft moan escaped his lips as Meg slipped her tongue into his mouth, and he quickly returned the gesture, massaging her tongue with his own. He eventually broke the kiss and began to move his lips across her finely-chiseled cheeks, her white neck, the smooth shoulder exposed by her oversized dancing garment.
"Vicomte..." Meg whispered hoarsely as she twisted her fingers in his hair, her breath quickening with each caress. Girlish gossip in the dormitories rendered her aware of the reason behind the hardness pressing against her thigh, and she felt a virginal twinge of apprehension as Raoul's hands moved up her bodice towards the laces of her corset. At the sound of her hushed voice, Raoul paused momentarily, his eyes blinded with passion as he feverishly searched her face for any sign of hesitation. Now, Meg was the daughter of Madame Giry, and this perfectionist upbringing caused her to become the kind of girl who never disappoints. She captured Raoul's mouth in a bruising kiss as her hands set to work unbuttoning his shirt, encouraging him to resume his removal of her corset. As Raoul's lips trailed down her throat and across her now-exposed breasts, Meg smiled wryly and whispered in a barely-audible tone: "Au revoir, la petite ingenue."
Madame Giry stood silently on the mezzanine, peering out from behind a velvet curtain at her daughter and the Vicomte in the seats below. Her concern for Christine and anger towards her daughter encouraged her to put a stop to this vulgar behavior-----but a rustling from the curtains on the top balcony stifled her impulse. The Phantom was watching as well.....and he was pleased. Of this she was sure. She nodded in recognition of the Phantom's power and, pivoting on her heel, Madame Giry wordlessly left the mezzanine and returned to her chamber.