Epilogue Two - And It Had Been Enough

Not bothering to lower her veil again, Meg stood in the doorway of the Opera Populaire.

The other woman was there, too, watching as the nun and a chauffeur assisted the Vicomte de Chagny into his automobile.

As the vehicle began to move, he caught sight of the two ladies in black. His eyes moved from one to the other, then he slowly nodded in recognition of them both.

When he was gone, Meg walked down the steps to the older lady and held out her hand to her.

"Maman?"

Madame Giry turned to face her daughter, the Baroness, and took her hand.

"Ma petite. I knew it was you. I saw in his box and was certain."

Meg's own driver held open the door of her automobile.

"Will you ride with me, Maman? Are you going somewhere? Alfred will not mind going out of our way."

"I would be glad to ride with you. It has been so long, mon enfant."

The two women sat beside each other and, as Alfred shut the heavy door, Madame Giry noticed the bouquet of red roses that lay on the floor.

"Where have you been all this time, ma petit?"

"So many places. Rome, first. Then Krakow. And Vienna. Even Paris for a time."

She bent to pick up one of the roses before continuing.

"I was always with Erik."

She drew off her glove and held out her hand.

Her mother touched the heavy gold wedding band her daughter wore.

"But I heard Monsieur Herbert address you as the Baroness…"

"The Baroness de Castelot-Barbezac, yes. Such distinctions can be had for a price."

She laughed and went on.

"Do you remember his promise that he would make me an empress? He said he hoped this would be enough to please you. He never forgot the kindness you once showed him."

"Is Erik in Paris, then?"

Meg looked away from her mother, her fingers tightening around the stem of the rose as she stated out the window.

"No. Maman, Erik is dead. Six months now…he died peacefully. In my arms, in his sleep."

From her small purse, she drew a faded black ribbon. From it dangled a heavy diamond ring.

"He asked me to return this to Christine."

Meg's voice broke a little as she spoke.

They had no secrets in all those years and no regrets. She knew that he had never ceased to love Christine. But she knew, too, that they had at least found a sort of peace together.

And it had been enough.

"We named our first daughter for you, Maman," she said, turning to her mother and smiling again, "Helene is so like her father in every way, but one."

And as she spoke, her hand brushed the right side of her face.

The automobile was passing through the cemetery gates now and Meg tied the ribbon and the ring around the stem of the rose.

"Maman, can you ever forgive me for leaving you like that?"

Madame Giry laid her hand on her daughter's arm.

"There is nothing to forgive, my little Meg. You see, I loved him, too. Only I lacked your courage."

THE END