"Cursed ballerinas," Andre muttered good-naturedly. He, of course, was referring to how they had somehow found out about Mlle Christine Daae's audition and were now spreading it throughout the opera house. Though he was a bit worried that Miss Daae would be returning to many extravagant rumors about her relationship with the Vicomte de Chagny, he was glad that she was even returning at all.
"This Opera House shall be saved after all!" he said, almost ecstatic at the thought of all the money soon to come rolling in. And it was in that mood that he entered his office to find his partner, M Firmin, pale-faced and slumped down in a chair at the desk.
"Richard!" he exclaimed, all thoughts of money retreating to the back of his mind to be recalled later. "My friend, are you ill?"
With seemingly a great effort, M Firmin gestured to a note on the desk. "Read it," he said hoarsely as he put his head in his hands. Andre snatched it up, casting a worried glance at his partner before looking at the note in a familiar labored handwriting and red ink. . .
He gasped in dismay as the letter drifted to the floor. "You can't be serious," he whispered. "He can't be back! He's dead! Gone!" Richard shuddered but never looked up. Andre picked up the note again and read it aloud:
Greetings to my managers,
It appears that it has been a long while since last we had conversed. Perhaps you thought I was dead? Oh, but of course not, for how could a ghost die when he's already deceased? I assure you that I still very much exist, though I've made my presence less known. And so, I have returned to you.
Let us get a few things settled. I am quite aware of your current affairs, so I shall be brief. You haven't paid my salary for three months, gentlemen, so I shall be expecting sixty-thousand francs in addition to the twenty-thousand for this month. Also, I shall expect Box Five to be kept empty for my own use. Please remember, my dear sirs, what happened last time my commands were ignored. . . Or, somehow, had you forgotten?
Your most humble and obedient servant,
- O.G.
Horrified, Andre raised his eyes heaven-wards, crumpling the note and casting it to the floor as if it were to burst into flame. Instinctively, his hand flew to his chest as if to rest his pounding heart. "Good Lord!" he cried. "We're barely making money as it is! And wants us to empty-out Box Five, as well as sixty-thousand fra-"
"Eighty-thousand," corrected Richard, his voice weary as he seemed to age ten years. "Sixty-thousand, plus twenty-thousand for this month."
"What will we do?" Andre asked woefully, rubbing his forehead. "We can't afford to meet his demands, yet if we don't. . ."
"Another croaking soprano," finished the other. "And money spent to buy another chandelier - money which we can't even afford to spend in the first place."
Richard shook his head ruefully, his temples throbbing. "It seems that we have no choice but to follow his orders. . . Perhaps we can make more money with the viscount contributing and with Mlle Daae's voice. . ."
"Yes, yes, Miss Daae's voice. But have you forgotten that she only wishes to be in the chorus, and understudy at best? Andre sighed and plopped down in a chair opposite his partner's. "We are still stuck with Mlle Julia." He chucked nervously then, while looking about the office. "Unless our good Phantom takes care of Miss DeVan, we still have to figure out how to persuade Miss Daae into the spotlight."
"We'll figure it out later," replied M Firmin, rising with great reluctance. "For now, we shall concentrate on our auditioners."