Christine could not remember a time when she had known the Angel to be so polite. It wasn't that he was any less charismatic, but he was somehow less imposing, more calm. His face had always seemed to mirror the scowl of his mask—now it did not. In calm, his eyes were the vivid blue of a summer sky. Dressed less formally and not in his cloak, he looked less broad, but his stillness made him seem even more tall. She could only gape at him, especially when he apologized to her. It was unprecedented. In all the years she had known him, the barest hint that he might be wrong in any way brought on withering sarcasm. Who was this man?

And then Mme. Giry had dared to tease him! The world had turned upside down. She absolutely had to occupy her hands and scurried for her embroidery when Erik left the room. She moved to sit closer to Madame, not wanting to keep the Angel from his desk. She felt badly enough that she had quite ruined that one quill by twisting it. Their quiet was strangely comfortable, even though Christine could feel the fluttering of her heart and she had to concentrate hard to keep her stitches neat. Her mind worked busily. He had apologized for his "abruptness." He hoped that he had not offended her. So he did not hate her after all? She stabbed her needle into the linen. Her own manners had been very bad, and now it was too late to answer him. She wished for him to pluck her thoughts out of her mind—no, she was not offended. More than anything, she was thankful that he was alive. It was all very confusing, and she still could hardly grasp all that Mme. Giry had told her, but he was alive. Still living, and sitting not six feet away. She wished that things were not so strange, that she could go to him, lay her hand on his, and tell him these things.

Meg saved them all, dear Meg, tumbling into the room and not stopping a moment in her chatter until halfway through supper. Christine was grateful to ride along on the flow of words, to smile at her. The scarecrow maid turned out to be a fair cook, if nothing on the order of Mme. Henri.

"Did you do anything today, Christine?" Meg asked her finally and then looked at her place as if she had just noticed its presence.

Mme. Giry laughed. "She slept until luncheon." She leaned over to tap Christine's hand. "It seems I was right about your laziness, my girl."

On her other side, the Angel made a choked sound that, in anyone else, would have sounded liked a stifled laugh. The Angel did not laugh, so it must have been something else.

"What was that?" Mme. Giry asked him. He ducked his head.

"Nothing, I assure you," he rumbled to his silverware. Christine was amazed by the devilish glint in Madame's eye.

"Are you sure? I was certain you meant to say something."

He looked at Madame with a wry twist to his mouth. "Absolutely not."

Christine gazed back and forth between the two of them, surprise warring with—jealousy? "Don't be stupid," she told herself, pushing her food about on her plate. This was because they had known each other for so long—since before she was born. Besides, what was the use of anything like jealousy? She would be gone soon. All her confusion was pointless. Better to focus on what was real, what could be done in the time she had. Some kind of peace; that was possible. Then she could leave it all behind her and start anew.

"But what about afterward?" Meg said. "You can't have just sat around."

Sadly, Mme. Giry had that strange look in her eye again, so Christine knew she would have to answer.

"Madame and I just talked," she said. Her eyes would not be ruled. She glanced at … Erik … and he was gazing at her steadily, with a slight frown. Meg saved her again.

"Well, I hope it wasn't about that gown you're wearing. If I've missed out on any talk of clothes, I shall be furious."

The Angel (Erik!) made that strange sound again. Christine grinned at her friend.

"No, it was all much more boring."

But the strange moment was over, and Meg was talking again. Through the end of dinner it was all dresses and hairstyles, until they were sitting in front of a nice fire and Christine grabbed her friend's hands and said, "And I've absolutely decided. I'm taking you shopping before I go. After all the times we've talked about it, surely we deserve it."

The second the words left her mouth, she regretted it. Meg's smile turned to confusion, and Madame sat forward in her chair.

"Go where?" the Angel said from behind her, at the same time that Madame said, "With what money?"