A/N: Passing Stranger- Your comments are absolutely wonderful. I completely agree with your thoughts on the development of characters, and the three you commented on do need more attention. Hopefully the chapters you had not commented on at the time (2/2/05) have helped to fill in some of the wonder over a particular character that has still not been given motivation yet. I have a habit of expanding my explanations of characters out over multiple chapters so people aren't inundated with character sketches right off the bat, and no one has really commented on it before, but I am glad you did. You have drawn to my attention an area where I could improve the story.

Thank you to ALL reviewers! I love to hear from all of you if it be constructive criticism, or just saying that you are enjoying the story.

Chapter 7- Weak Women

The quiet of the day before carried over into the next day, and lasted all through breakfast, during the ride to and from the church for mass, and then as the other couples dispersed to do what they wished for the afternoon. She felt uncomfortable around Raoul now, after getting Christine to tell of the Opera and the troubles they had been through. She was almost sure that he was annoyed with her for mentioning what she did to Christine about visiting the Opera Populaire. Apparently that news was also passed on to the others in the family, who had also grown even more on edge about the whole issue, no one daring to even speak of it in passing. There was an obvious discomfort between Olivier and Philippe, with the new strain on their friendship over the Opera. Joséphine seemed to be the only semi-peaceful link between her brother and husband, taking on the task as though she were a martyr of the whole circumstance because she did not initially wish Olivier to take the Opera, but stood by her husband's decision even with her family's position on the matter. And Christine, actually, seemed to be the only one who was cheerful, and still willing to talk about anything that came up in conversation. Constance found it funny that the one person who the fanaticism was directed at was not very worried about the Opera, or this mysterious Phantom. Perhaps it could have been her offer to Christine about the soprano position, but the young woman was still in a cheerful mood nonetheless that Joséphine was only a mask Christine always wore.

Constance did not know how she always managed to do this, everywhere she went… upset the flow and equilibrium of her surroundings. Of course, Olivier was the original one to blame, but she had pushed for the explanation as to why everyone was so disturbed over the matter. Sometimes her mouth more a curse than a blessing.

To not be a bother any longer, though she was not quite sure everyone considered her one, she decided to take a walk about the estate after luncheon. She found herself in the stables amongst the fine, thoroughbred horses, enjoying their company more than the company she would get back at the main house. Taking in a long, deep breath, she noted each of the smells within the large building. Cool early autumn air, hay, manure, and leather from the riding equipment all mingled together to settle in her nose. It was such a comforting smell to her, making her think of times better spent on her husband's estate back in England. William had always loved to ride, and did it with just as much zeal as he put forth and conquered other tasks in his life. Unfortunately, though, riding had also led him to his death… but she was at least comforted with the fact that he was doing something he loved so much when the accident happened.

Walking along each stall, she took a few moments to look into each one, most of the inhabitants of the stalls friendly enough to poke their head out of the iron bars to allow her admiration of their, fine, powerful physiques. She came to the last English thoroughbred of dark brown, who seemed to be have his own, gleeful personality about the world. He moved his head and nickered as though he were speaking to her, nudging her shoulder when she stopped petting him so that she would continue. Hair from his mane worked it's way to flop down onto his forehead, and into one of his large black eyes. He blinked agitatedly, tossing his head back, trying to move the hair from it's current resting place and she found herself laughing. It was just like William and his floppy hair… no matter what he had done, the hair would always end up in his eyes by the end of the day or night. She had threatened to take a pair of scissors to it once after they had been married a few years. Before then, it was merely something she found completely handsome, but after those few years, it just became a nuisance. He had responded jokingly by finding all of the scissors in the house and locking them away in a drawer she did have access to.

Constance shook her head and chuckled at herself. She had fretted over such insignificant things when she should have been spending more time just being thankful that she was in a marriage of love. But there was no changing that she worried over those things during her marriage now that it was over. She only hoped William had known how much she loved him despite her nitpicks.

The horse snorted and nudged her, the hair still in his eye. Being the merciful woman she was, she reached up and moved the hair back so that it was not bothering the animal any longer. She glanced around, finding a tin bucket of oats hanging off to the side. Taking her other glove off, she placed it with the other in the cloth belt about her waist, and dipped both of her hands into the oats. The horse excitedly accepted her gift, devouring the oats as though he had been starved for much too long. But again, with the way his head was tilted down, the hair fell back in his eyes. Licking her hand clean, the horse nickered a thanks, and went back to trying to get the hair from his eyes.

"Someone needs to trim your mane," she said with a laugh, wiping her hands on her skirts. She went back to petting the soft horse, completely content to stay talking to this creature who would never speak a word back to her.

However, she was interrupted by a light, but thoroughly, male chuckle. She turned around, finding Philippe resting against a wooden post, watching her with his arms folded across his chest. He smiled, "I knew you would be in here."

"Oh you did?" she questioned skeptically. "Or you could have just followed me out here."

"Or that," he admitted and stepped away from the post, walking over to her and the horse. How long had he really been watching her? He glanced at her and reached his hands out for the horse's head, "I see you made a friend."

"Seems to be the only friend I have made since I arrived here," she replied quietly.

He sighed and met her eyes, stopping the movement of her hand on the horse's cheek. "Constance, you aren't the reason for all of this. It's just a shock to us all that Olivier purchased the Opera and has you running it. I would never place another woman in there… not after I saw what happened with Christine and Raoul. And not only is he placing you in danger, but my sister as well as she will undoubtedly be around to help you some of the time. That thing, whether he is there or not, can play horrible games on a woman's mind."

"It would do you well to stop thinking women are weak-minded, Monsieur le Comte," she said flatly.

"Joséphine isn't? I know what you think of her," he said.

She rolled her eyes, "That was a long time ago, Philippe. She has changed for the better, even though she always reverts back to her old self when she is around you."

He grumbled and shook his head disappointedly, almost as though he did not believe her. He then went to another female, "Christine was… she still is."

"I do not know her well enough yet," she replied and brushed a curl from her own eyes that had fallen out of a pin. "And she is very young. She has much to learn."

Philippe sighed, "I felt awful for what she had gone through. I had to let Raoul marry her."

Constance could not believe what she was hearing, "You let them marry because of your pity? Philippe, I cannot believe you."

"What was I supposed to do? Tear the one thing my brother truly loved away from him?" he questioned. "I know it is bad for me to say this, but she is a singer… a dancer for Heaven's sake! She comes from a family of beggars. How could she possibly make a decent Vicomtess? She has had no social training."

"Oh please, Philippe. You are sounding like all those people I have tried to distance myself from for so long," she said. "All the people we tried to distance ourselves from as adolescents."

He let out a irritated groan and shook his head, "I have changed since that time, Constance. Much happens between a man's thirty-third year to his forty-third."

Constance was silent for a few moments and turned away from him, "Fine, you continue think that, I do not plan on arguing about that. But I will not sit idly by as you say women are weak."

"Not everyone is like you, Constance… and even you are weak. Just when you were speaking with the horse, I could tell you were thinking of your husband," he said. "Do you realize how easily it is for a man to come along and mold your mind to his will after such a loss? If that thing at the Opera captured your impressionable mind… I know not what would happen."

"That is ludicrous," she said defiantly. "Yes, I was thinking about William, but just because I lost him does not mean that I cannot make sound decisions on other issues."

"On matters of love?" he questioned, joining her side, and placing his hands on her shoulders, to turn her to look up at him. "If the Opera Ghost were to come to you for that purpose?"

That comment made her positively livid. She met his eyes, "Philippe… I am not eager to love again. Why would I bend myself to suit the Opera Ghost's needs?"

He was silent, and she looked away from him. With a sigh after a few long moments, she met his eyes again, "I remember a man who thought the role of society was outdated and believed women were precious beings and not some weak, pity-seeking souls. What happened to him?"

"That man is still here, Constance," he said. "But on this issue, I hold firm to my beliefs. Nothing good can come from this Opera… nothing at all. And every woman who steps into that place is weak and deserving of my pity."

"That is a blanket statement, Philippe," she pointed out. "How do you know this Phantom has designs for other women in the Opera House? Besides, he is no longer there."

"I worry for the men too, but they can defend themselves. And don't say that you can… because I know you do not know how to use any weapon," Philippe said, letting a long sigh escape his lips. A moment of silence passed between them as she hoped the look of anger in her eyes was evident enough for him to notice. "Constance, I have always cared about you, from the moment I was introduced to you. I speak these things because I am truly worried about your entire family's involvement with the Opera."

"But you seem to have forgotten the way to persuade me into things. Insulting my intelligence is not one of them," she said. "Neither is questioning my ability to remain strong, even through times of sadness. You know this only makes me more willing to prove you wrong."

Philippe nodded and let go of her, walking back toward the horse, where he looked over the stall. She watched Philippe move, his hands running along the sleek-bodied animal, his jaw clenching and unclenching many times as it seemed he was trying to calm himself. He unlatched the stall and went inside, grabbing a brush from the wall. Setting to task, she watched him even more closely. Philippe had always done this when they were younger, bottle all of his anger up so that he did not completely shame himself by yelling and letting lose on everyone, just like his sister Joséphine.

"You truly do not want me there?" she questioned, softening her stance.

He stopped and looked up at her, "No, I do not. I know I have no claim over you as your husband, but as a friend I love, I do not want you there. Christine was stalked, Raoul faced his almost sure death… and I almost lost my life as well. I knew it was a mistake on the Opera Ghost's part, but it was a nearly fatal one. It is not safe, I do not care even if you prove to me he is gone."

"Philippe," she said quietly, walking over to the stall and stepping inside. She placed her hand on his to stop the movements of his hand and wooden brush, and he turned to look at her, "I appreciate that you care for me so, I really do, but I promised Olivier I would do this for him. At the first sign of trouble, I promise I will leave."

Too bad that first occurrence had already happened with the note she received from the Opera Ghost. Perhaps on a second occurrence…

"I do not think that if there was a first sign you would be able to recognize it, Constance, because his trickery is beyond anything I have ever seen or heard," he said.

"Then I suppose you will just have to visit regularly to make sure everything is running smoothly," she said with a small smile, hoping he also took some happiness in that as he seemed to find no happiness in the Opera at all.

The corners of his lips curled into a small smile, "Are you inviting me to visit you?"

"Wouldn't you make regular trips to Paris anyway, to see to it that I was not being harmed?" she questioned, raising a brow.

He chuckled, and nearly blushed, looking away from her, "You have not forgotten of me at all, have you?"

"No," she said. Philippe shook his head sheepishly and turned back to her, a bright flash going through his grey eyes. He took her hand and placed the brush where he had gotten it, leading her out of the stall. He closed it and pulled her to the right. "Where are we going, Philippe?"

He glanced back at her and smiled, not saying anything more, as he entered a small room in the stables, finding it to be where he kept his menagerie hunting dogs. In the corner of the room, surrounded with a nest of hay and warm cloths, lay a beautiful Brittany spaniel, brown and white, five large puppies laying in front of her nursing noisily. She chuckled and glanced up at him. He smiled, "I remember that you loved Louis, my Brittany, when we were courting. These pups are direct descendants."

She smiled, and walked over to them slowly, not wanting to worry the mother. Being careful, she squatted down, reaching her hand out to the grown bitch's face to see if she would do anything. The dog only licked her hand and looked up at her with it's soft, inquisitive eyes. Scratching her behind the ear, Constance laughed at the pups now jockeying for position and squealing harshly if they pushed out of place.

"You are such a paradox, Constance," Philippe said from where he stood watching her. "You claim to be tough, and yet the instant you see a baby animal of any sort, you fall madly in love with it."

"Is it so bad I maintained some of my femininity?" she questioned sarcastically. Constance reached over and picked up the pup with a tiny green and brown leather collar about it's neck, that had stopped feeding, too tired to worry about fighting his siblings. "Any babe pulls me into it's clutches."

"I see," he said with a laugh.

Constance lifted the puppy up to her eye level, and brought it to her lips, kissing it's forehead. She laughed when the pup lapped it's tiny pink tongue out at her. Turning it so Philippe could see it's open eyes, she rested it's cheek against her own, "How could you deny a face like that?"

"That is something I often wondered myself when I let you go," he said.

She blushed, finding that comment to be right in context to Philippe's usually debonair qualities. Placing the puppy down, she stood up and brushed some of the hay off of her skirt, "Philippe, you are barking up the wrong tree."

"I cannot help it. I comes naturally to me," he said, offering his arm to her.

"I know," she responded. "Just don't go overboard with it."

He nodded and started in the direction of the passage to leave the stables. Soon they were on the path about the garden, meandering their way back to mansion, reminiscing about the times he would bring her out here, against the expressed wishes of both their sets of parents, worried that he would take advantage of her. But all they had ever ended up doing on those excursions was talking about the stars in the sky or of dreams in their heads.

"I am sorry this weekend has turned out like this," she said.

"Do not worry about it. The world will not cease it's existence," he said. "But I am unhappy that the weekend was so short… I'll just have to visit you frequently in Paris."

"Then I shall be prepared," she smiled, knowing exactly then what his intentions were not necessarily to see to it that she was safe, to try to woo her into his arms again. But she knew she would not give into him, no matter how hard he tried.