Chapter Twenty-Seven - The Face Beneath The Mask

The Vicomte pushed back his chair enough to let Meg enter the dormitory.

"Yes," she said to herself as she made her way to her bed, "it's just little Giry, little Meg."

She struggled out of her costume and the corset, taking a single deep breath as she slumped onto the bed in her chemise.

Turning over slowly to draw the blankets close, she found that she missed the warm of his cape around her.

No…you miss the warmth of him near you. Why didn't you follow him?

She looked at next bed where Christine lay sleeping. In a few minutes, dawn would glow through that window and light her face with gray light.

And Raoul de Chagny waited outside that door, waited to protect her.

It was only then, as she let her body ease into sleep that she remembered the face beneath the mask.

She had only a sudden, whirling glimpse of his face in that terrible room of mirrors. But she knew the reason why the enchantment she had seen in Christine's eyes that Gala night had turned to fear…

Christine has seen his face…

"Oh, poor Erik," she whispered…

Meg did not awake until early afternoon.

Sitting up in bed, she saw her mother standing before her. The ruined costume was in her mother's hands.

"I told you to return here last night."

To Meg's surprise, her mother's voice held none of the expected anger.

"Where were you, ma petite?"

"I tried to follow you, Maman. I got lost."

She did not add that she had become trap in that mirrored hell or that she had seen the Opera Ghost…that she had seen Erik again…that she now knew his secret.

Her mother folded the silk dress and handed her daughter a fresh practice frock.

"Christine left the theatre before sunrise. The Vicomte must have gone with her."

Meg had been buttoning the frock, but paused.

"Do you think they've eloped? That they've gone to marry?"

"I wish I knew, Meg. Come, there are rehearsals. We've little to prepare for this Don Juan."

Meg obediently followed her mother down the stairs.

On the landing, though, she stopped.

"Maman, you must tell me now…the Phantom…and you…why does he trust you? Why do you deliver his messages?"

The ballet mistress faced her daughter.

"Yes. I suppose it is time you heard the truth. I knew met when we were young…at a gypsy fair…I brought him here to the Opera Populare. Right or wrong, I cannot say now."