It was the Angel's "would have been" that brought Christine back to herself. It made no sense to her. Why so final? Then he had walked so stiffly, like a broken thing. After he shut the door behind him, Madame said, "Oh, Christine. Why did you have to be so cruel?"

She turned to Mme. Giry, whose face was so sad that she looked a decade older. Meg, too, looked as if she would cry again. She felt so tired. Her legs no longer wanted to hold her up, so she sank into the nearest chair.

"I'm sorry," she said at last. She held out her hand to Meg and was gratified when the girl took it. "I am."

Meg and Mme. Giry sad as well, and Madame's sigh was heavy. It was a long time before any of them spoke.

"Were they horrible to you?" Meg asked at last.

Christine shook her head. "Actually, they were very kind, considering the circumstances."

"Then why?"

She ran her hands over her face. "I don't know. Because I'm a silly child?" She grimaced. "I thought I was doing so well. Even when the Comte finally … asked me to leave, I was relatively calm. Then I arrive here and behave like a madwoman." She kissed Meg's hand. "I'm sorry and sorry and sorry," she said.

"It is a hard thing, when they send the father to pay a girl off," Madame said after a moment.

Christine smiled ruefully. "It was not an easy conversation, surely, but it wasn't terrible. I already knew it was coming. I had known for months." And she told them of the first nights in the servants' quarters, the invented illness, her being shuffled off to the country cousin.

"But really I would have stayed with Aunt as long as they let me. She was so good to me, and it was a relief to be far away from everything and everyone. It was very quiet there." Her voice felt small in her throat. "It seems like a long time ago." Meg squeezed her hand.

"You must have broke your heart, to give him up."

Christine shook her head. "I hardly know. Sometimes yes, but mostly I think … I think it's for the best. I have been so confused for so long that I don't know what I want." It was a revelation to her. "I don't know what I want."

There was that feeling of giddiness again, like in the coach, that all options were open to her and she had but to choose. Who was she? Whom did she want to be? Since Papa died, she had not made any choices. She had gone to the Opéra and danced. The Angel came to her and she sang. Raoul asked her to marry him and she said yes. The butler put her in with a housemaid and she did not fight. She went to Aunt's house. She took the money. All reaction, time and again, doing just what she was told. She did know that she would rather sing than anything else. And it would be better to go abroad, to start over in a new place. Christine sagged in her chair.

"It's all too much," she said. She looked down into Meg's sweet face. "I'm sorry. I feel awful to have caused such a mess."

Mme. Giry tapped her cane; Christine looked up.

"And what of Erik?"

"What do you mean?"

Again, Madame's face was lined by sadness.

"Obviously this is strange for you. I understand that. I am not sure that he does. He knows so little of people, and for all that he seems strong, he is not. I had thought that our discussion this afternoon would help you to understand, but then you speak to him as if he is your enemy." Madame stood slowly. "You are very welcome here, my dear, and I am glad for your safety, for your presence, and even for your good fortune. But if you hate our benefactor, Christine, I think it would be wise to make your visit with us short."

As she left the room, Christine could only gape at her. She looked at Meg, who only shook her head solemnly.