This is rather short...I think. I can't tell, since I'm not on my regular word processor. But sure, we'll call it short.

Thank you my kind reviewer for this next thing, you know who you are! I called Daae Mademoiselle instead of Madame! Shame on me! My apologies. Let's pretend I didn't do that, shall we? And when I get my new darned modem, I'll revise that.

Any other orders of business? I don't think so. So read on!

Raoul paced frantically before the heavy French doors of his mansion, hands clasped nervously behind his back, his brow knitted in frustration, perspiration threatening to fall from his beading forehead. He muttered to himself incoherently, turning quickly on his heel every other stride.

After he had passed a good three-quarters of an hour doing so, Danielle began to worry for the Vicomte's last shreds of sanity, and decided to question him about his odd behavior.

Cautiously, rising from her chair and walking behind him, she interrogated him.
"She's been gone since noon!" came his shrieking, fervid reply. "She left at noon and it is now half past 8 o'clock!"

"She's out shopping," Danielle sighed.

"How do you know that?" he snapped, rounding on her. "Did she tell you that?"

"No, Raoul," she said, pushing him away from her-He popped her bubble! "But come on! This is Christine we're talkin' about! She's perfectly fine."

Raoul grumbled a curse or two, then resumed his agitated pacing, his shiny black boots clunking heavily on the swirled marble floor, the noise echoing and reverberating throughout the house. The maids and butlers shook their heads placidly, feeling little pity for their employer, then returned solemnly to their cleaning.

"I'm sure she's fine, Raoul," Danielle tried again. "She's how old now?"
Raoul paused. He didn't really know how old she was...Maybe 18...Maybe not. How old was he? 20-something or other-

"But that's beyond the point!" he said exasperated. "What if she's been kidnapped as well? I'd never forgive myself!" He threw his hands to his face.

"Oi, man," Danielle mumbled.

"If it was that Celui fellow, I'll have him-!"

"She is fine! She's probably on her way home right now."

"No, I don't think so! She's gone! Gone forever!"

"Okay, Raoul, listen to me!" She took hold of his shoulders and looked him sternly in his stubborn eye. "If she's been away so long, my guess is she's with Erik."

Raoul stiffened and glared at Danielle. "What do you mean, 'with Erik', eh? You think she's having an af-?"

"No!" interrupted Danielle, fed up with the Vicomte's pathetic jealousy. "While out shopping today, she got some new 411 about the Celui dude, and went to tell Erik, 'cause he would probably like to know." Danielle thought this was incredibly unrealistic, but she had to say something to calm Raoul's nerves.

"Ah, I see," said Raoul thoughtfully. "But wait. What is '411?' And 'dude' means...?"

Danielle exhaled, aggravated. "411 is information, 'dude' means guy, man, or person in general!"

"Ah, I see!" he said again, understanding. "So she's at the Opera Populaire! Well then! There's not a moment to lose!" he laughed and threw on his overcoat and tall hat and raced out the door, moving towards the opera house a few blocks away.

Danielle shrugged and followed after him, reminding herself to tell Christine never to leave for more than 8 hours at a time.

The de Chagny maids and butlers shook their heads again, then returned, once again, to their dusting and polishing.

---

Erik splashed his face with frigid lake water-for the seventh time for that day-and pulled on his vest and coat, then draped a cloak over his shoulders. Adjusting his ivory mask and tucking a thick roll of parchment under his arm-the deeds to the Opera Populaire- he set off for the foyer of the opera house.

While he walked, he pondered the idea of Celui again. Who was he really? He thought of the notes he received and if he recognized the handwriting on any of them. Perhaps he knew this Celui and didn't even realize it?

"No," he muttered to himself, removing a torch from the wall. He was more than often able to make his way through the labyrinth without light, but tonight it was unusually dark in the catacombs of his opera house.

"A 'G'," he mused, thinking of the wax seals of the last notes he had received. "A 'G' instead of a 'C'..."

"First Gaston, now my best friend-Now Elsa!"

Erik stopped dead in his tracks, frozen on the spot. Hot cinders fell from the torch as Erik's eyes narrowed in thought.

"Gaston...Gaston was kidnapped, then Elsa-Dammit!" he yelled loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls around him. "Gaston is Celui! Of course! How could I have been so-!"

He cursed himself silently, and strode quickly the rest of the length of the dark hallway, anger mounting within him with each livid step.

Hiding himself in the threatening shadow of a nearby golden statue in the foyer, Erik concealed himself perfectly-as he did so well-and waited for Celui-Gaston!-as he had done the previous night, his rage apparent in his glaring, cold eyes, his hand wrapped tightly around the pistol in his vest coat pocket.

"No one tricks Erik-especially no boy!-into giving up his opera house," he thought, peering into the darkness surrounding him, searching for signs of his enemy. "And even if they do," he smirked dangerously, "they don't live long enough to brag..."

Well, there ya have it folks, chapter 23. Finally, Erik realizes who He-who-has-a-non-threatening-name really is! Yay for the Phantom, oh how I love him! Review sil'vous plait! And here! HAVE A COOKIE! I love you all!