Chapter Thirty-two
"Christine, we will need to leave a little early," Raoul said, knowing that his lowered voice would be lost amid the clink of glasses and chatter of conversation around them, "I didn't tell you earlier, but this Philippe has asked me to attend a meeting tonight."
"Of course, dear," Christine answered, raising her voice a little, "I should love to visit the market again."
She was sick of this, sick of the deception and fear.
Wearily, she glanced around the room. And saw Erik reflected in one of the mirrors. He was speaking with a man behind the bar, only the masked side of his face was visible to her.
No…I can't think of him as my Erik…that man in the mask is a stranger…someone I don't want to know…
"Gutenabend."
Christine and Raoul both looked up to see Major Hetzner standing before them.
"Sie sind Frau de Chagny, ich glauben," he said with a brief, formal bow in her direction. He ignored the presence of her husband beside her.
Christine understand him well enough. As a little girl, one of her mother's friends had been a German widow and that kind lady had taught her a little of her language.
But she answered the officer in French, praying that Erik would not see or hear her speaking with a Nazi.
"Oui, je suis Madame de Chagny."
Even as she felt Raoul lay a warning hand on her knee, she realized how foreign that name seemed to her now.
"Ich bin Haupt Christiaan Hetzner. Ich bin erklärt worden, daß Sie eine schöne Stimme haben, Frau de Chagny," the Major said, ignoring her obvious slight, "würden Sie für uns heute abend singen?"
Christine carefully pushed Raoul's hand from her knee with a reassuring squeeze. She did not want to sing for this Nazi. She knew, though, that to refuse…to insult him further would be too dangerous.
She rose with a gracious smile.
"Je devrais être heureux de chanter pour vous," she said, as she took the Major's arm and let him escort her to the stage.
She saw Sam's thin lips purse in disapproval and then her heart froze. Erik was no long at the bar. He was watching her from the foot of the stairs. One hand gripped the rail, the knuckles white and tense.
Major Hetzner helped her onto the stage and resumed his seat beside Inspector Giry. His two subordinates emerged from the gambling room and joined him.
Christine saw the sulfurous intensity of hate in Erik's eyes. She had lost him, she knew, but she would not betray him again.
Nor would she give these Nazis any satisfaction with her singing.
Though she had been born in Sweden, in a pretty house outside Gothenburg, she had spent so much of her life in France…in her dear Paris.
"What song would you like, Madame," the band leader was asking her.
"Play La Marseillaise," she said, just loud enough for Erik to hear.
The bandleader gave her a startled look. He was a loyaly Frenchman himself, but did he dare defy the Germans? He glanced at his employer.
Erik nodded.