I felt my way carefully around the stage, getting myself acquainted with the unfamiliar confines, counting each step I took and asking detailed questions of Mademoiselle Giry, who led me carefully about by the arm. In an hour's time, I would have no need of her, I knew, but she was doing me a great service now, and to say such a thing would be seen as ungrateful. I had come here with only the clothes I wore on my back and my voice to see me through this ordeal, and briefly, I wondered if it would be enough.

There is one thing about being blind – unless I touch them, I cannot see the pity on their faces! But I knew it would be there – perhaps even more so on mon onclé's face, for he loved me, and did not want me to fail.

I will not fail! I vowed furiously to myself, and closed my sightless eyes against the angry tears which filled them suddenly. I will not fail!

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Mademoiselle Giry's kind, young voice touched gently on my ears as I turned with her and allowed her to lead me back to my room, Mama's room.

I nodded firmly, but inside, my doubts were creeping to the surface again, like a canker once lanced but growing anew. I could not let doubts slow me! "Of course I will, mademoiselle!" I replied with a laugh that did not sound too forced.

I heard the smile in her words, and felt her squeeze my shoulder gently. "Pre-performance jitters get the best of everybody sometimes, but you're right, you'll do fine. I remember when you were a child, you sang all the time, and if you do half as well as that tonight, you'll take the Opera by storm! Why, even the Ghost would approve!"

I rounded on her, blind eyes staring through her. "Ghost? There are no such thing as ghosts…"

She paused, and I felt that her mind was stumbling to deny the words she'd evidently let slip without thought. "Of course not. It's just a silly tale to frighten my girls."

Her "girls" were the ballet corps, of whom I would not be joining because of my blindness, but that was all right. Maman had been one, once, but I was not here to dance. I was here to sing, to show my father what a blind cripple could do when she wasn't under his drunken thumb… to show Maman that music had not been taken away from her forever …

But most of all, I was here for me. I did not press Mademoiselle Giry on her slip now; there was time for that later. There were so many secrets to this place – why, for instance, had mon onclé let it fall into such disrepair? I could hear the building's suffering in each creak of the un-oiled door hinges, and smell its decay in the rotting, dusty curtains and the old hangings of posters for Operas I nor any other would ever see again. And what were these whispers of ghosts in the Opera? Everyone knew that ghosts didn't exist – their claim to existence was as spurious as the one which purported that we should have a firm belief in Angels.

I curled a lip as I returned to my room and sat upon the little bed for a few moments before dressing for my audition. I had long-ago decided that the only angels which existed were the ones which damned people to Hell – and left my mother in the arms of the drunken, abusive boar she called a husband. She had not deserved that – but her precious Angel of Music, the man she had believed had been sent to her by her father – had left her to him, had made her go, as if she weren't good enough for him!

I clenched my little fists in rage. Well, I would show everyone how good my mother was – and had always been! I had received her teaching when it came to my voice, and she, not some false story-book Angel, would be given credit for my success tonight!

I tugged on my borrowed clothing with perhaps more force than was necessary, and was ready when Mme. Giry came to collect me for my audition.

When I reached the stage and thanked her for her help, I walked out, alone and proud, to the exact center, and waited for the music to begin. There was a brief silence that was broken by murmurs of surprise from all around – I gauged that the ballet chorus had come to watch me sing, and they accounted for the noise to the side and rear of me, while the soft words from the front, which was less in volume, would be from André and whatever other managers or directors had attended – but I did not let that deter me. I drew my mind back to my song just as the piano opening at last began, and when I closed my eyes, I smiled.

Tonight, I sing for you, Maman.