Chapter Twenty - Does He Know?

Madame Giry helped her daughter dress for the Masked Ball in her own little apartment below the ballet dormitories.

She pinned the last crystal ornament in Meg's fair hair, then gave her a gentle tap on her shoulder.

"Now, you look beautiful, ma petite. Go and wait for me on the mezzanine. I must get ready, too."

"Where is Christine, Maman," Meg asked, drawing on her gloves.

Madame Giry sat down on the worn sofa and removed her slippers.

"Ah, she did not tell you? The Vicomte de Chagny will be escorting her tonight."

Meg was surprised by this. Christine had remained silent all these months and the Vicomte had given no sign of his interest in the soprano.

"I know about the engagement, ma petite, I saw the ring."

The older lady misread her daughter's expression and smiled at her only child.

"Don't worry, Meg. Your day will come soon."

Though the rarely spoke of it - in fact they had few opportunities to speak as mother and daughter amid the rush of the Opera ballet - Meg knew her mother had hopes that Meg herself would make such a marriage, too.

Picking up her soft white fan, Meg looked at the black-edged envelopes that lay on the armoire.

"Does he know, Maman?"

Madamae Giry followed her daughter's gaze to the Phantom's letters.

"No, he does not know."

She rose, one black stocking still draped over her wrist.

"Ma petite, was has Christine told you…about him?"

Meg knew she could not fully explain herself to her mother, not without admitting what she had done, where she had gone. Another thread of trust had been severed.

"Nothing Maman. Only that she had heard the Angel of Music…"

Madame Giry picked up the letters and put them into the drawer of the tiny writing desk in the corner. Locking it, she turned back to her daughter.

"Go downstairs, Meg. I will join you soon. We must not keep our managers waiting."

Looking down into the Grand Foyer, Meg felt as if she would drown in a sea of gold and light. Below her, patrons danced and laughed, toasting each other as if the night's success was to their own credit.

There was a sense of triumph as the managers congratulated themselves on the party and the absence of the Phantom from the Opera Populaire.

For all they know, he might be standing there…just a breath away…what better place for him…a room full of masks…

She saw Christine on the Vicomte's arm, saw her stand on tiptoe to kiss him.

They do love each other…they were meant for each other. But why must she be so cruel to her Angel…if she would just leave now, just spare him from seeing this…

Meg watched them, a hint of fear restraining her own delight in the party.