Claire watched as Erik hungrily devoured the chicken. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his dinner; after all, it was a nice change from the bread and cheese Claire was usually able to smuggle to him. When he'd finished the last of it, he wiped his greasy hands on the napkin.

"Was it good?" Claire laughed.

Erik grinned. "It was delicious."

She smiled, glad to have been able to bring him something special. She felt sorry for him, living alone in the cellar of the opera house at such a young age. She shuddered to think of what would have become of him if she had not hidden him there. He would have most likely been put to death, or possibly locked away in an asylum. No, however lonely his existence here might be, it was better than the alternative.

They had never talked about his past. She knew nothing of his life before the day she met him, but she often wondered how he came to be part of the traveling band of gypsies, how he had become the "Devil's Child." She had seen a glimpse of his life with the gypsies. She knew he was beaten, starved, and forced to live in a filthy cage, treated like an animal.

She took a good look at him. He was no longer the terrified, abused boy she had met two years ago. He was becoming a young man. She guessed him to be about fourteen years old. Although he kept the right side of his face covered with a leather mask to hide his deformity, the left side of his face showed fine masculine features emerging. He had thick, wavy, dark hair, a long, thin face with a strong nose and chin, and full lips. But by far his most striking feature was his piercing blue-green eyes. When he looked at Claire, she felt as if he were looking into her very soul.

"Claire?" Erik's voice suddenly broke through her mental rambling. "What are you thinking about?"

She shook her head. "Oh, nothing," she lied. She smiled again at him. "So, do you have any surprises for me today?"

Erik beamed. "In fact, I do," he said proudly. He produced a tiny object from his pocket and held it out to her.

She took it from him and inspected it closely. It was a miniature red rose, no larger than her finger. It had been sculpted out of clay, meticulously painted. It had been fashioned with a small loop at the top of it, and a black silk cord was threaded through this loop so that it could be worn as a necklace. It was exquisite.

"Oh, Erik!" she exclaimed. "You made this for me?"

He nodded. "I wanted to make you something small this time so you could keep it." He looked at her expectantly.

She turned the tiny flower over in her hands. "Yes," she said at last. "I will keep this with me always." She passed the cord over her head and took another look at the intricate detail of the red petals and green leaves. "Thank you, Erik. It's beautiful." She impulsively threw her arms around him.

She felt his body tense in her arms. He did not return her embrace, but instead pulled away awkwardly. "You're welcome," he muttered.

"What's the matter," she asked.

"Nothing," he said sharply.

She could see the embarrassment and confusion on his face, and something else that she couldn't quite identify. "I'm sorry, Erik," she said softly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Just forget about it," he said, his tone softening. "It's just that I…"

Claire stopped him. "It's all right," she said. She should have known better than to embrace him like that. Every time she had tried to touch his hand or his arm, he shrank from her like a beaten dog. She chided herself for not being more sensitive. She smiled tenderly at him and said, "I really do love the rose, Erik."

He returned a smile. "I'm glad you like it." He turned to retrieve a stack of books from his little boat. Handing them to Claire, he said, "Can you bring me some more?"

Claire chuckled. "Have you already finished all of these already?" she asked in amazement. Soon after Erik's arrival, she had taught the boy to read. He proved to be a very quick learner, and in a short time he was reading whatever books she brought him. He especially loved reading books about engineering and architecture. "I'll see what I can do," she said. "Sophie is starting to wonder why I borrow so many books from the opera library even though she never sees me reading any of them!"

Erik grinned mischievously. "Just tell her that you read them on those long solitary walks that you take," he said. She often told the other girls that she wanted to go for a walk alone when she went to visit Erik, and it was a standing joke between the two of them. "I don't think Sophie will ask you too many questions about flying buttresses!"

"No, she won't," Claire replied. She was grateful that the earlier unpleasantness seemed to be forgotten. She had learned to take Erik's moods in stride. He was often sullen, and sometimes lost his temper, but the dark humor never lasted very long. She hated to leave him in a bad mood, so she was relieved that it had passed quickly.

"I should get going now," she said gently. "I need to get some sleep before tomorrow's matinee." She turned to go.

"Claire?" Erik called out after her.

She turned back to face the boy. "Yes?" she answered. "What is it?"

He gazed at her with a strange expression. He looked as though he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Or perhaps he couldn't find the courage. At last he simply said, "Thank you for the chicken." He climbed into his boat and rowed away.