Chapter 17 - I Meant Nothing To Her

Erik gave Christine his hand and helped her step from the boat. He could not help but note her pale, almost green pallor as they crossed the lake. Strange, the ride was a gentle one and had never troubled her in the past.

"My hell is your sanctuary, Madame, for as long as you wish," he said, not bothering to remove his cloak.

"I have some business to attend to," he continued, "You know your way about, of course. If, as you claim, you do not wish to be found by your husband," he continued, hissing the last word as if it were a curse, "you will not attempt to leave."

Christine sank down heavily into a chair near his desk.

"Erik, thank you for helping me," she said without looking up at him.

"You will find," he said, letting his voice become poison, "that my assistance will come at a price."

He turned to leave her. But, before he drew back the curtain covering the passage, he went back to her.

"You wear black, Christine. Your parents are long since dead and the Vicomte is still among the living. For whom do you mourn?"

Her eyes met his and held his gaze.

"For you."


Erik walked slowly across the leads of the roof. Many of the statues that had been destroyed in the fire...in his fire...had not been repaired.

He sat down beneath one of the few survivors, leaning back against the base. He took off his mask, wondering that the sun itself didn't recoil in horror at the sight of his exposed face.

"I will not show her any pity," he said aloud, "whatever ruin she has made of her marriage, of her life, it means nothing to me. Nothing!"

She mourns for me? Why? I meant nothing to her.


The police inspector looked down at the red velvet blanket and the tray with its crumbs of bread. A sticky brown residue discolored the inside of the white china cup beside it.

He turned to Monsieur Firmin, waiting for an answer.

The manager shrugged.

"A great many people live in this theatre, Inspector. It's not unusual for them to use some of the more remote rooms as, er, trysting places."

The inspector was not a man of great imagination. The idea of living within the confines of an opera house was an odd one.

Moreover, there was certainly nothing in the room to suggest that Madame de Chagny had been there.

When Monsieur Firmin unlocked the door to his office, he found that the large mirror that hung opposite the window has been smashed.

The Opera Ghost was evidently offended again.