Chapter Thirty-three
Christine saw Erik's nod. She knew his risk was as great as hers. She smiled and mouthed the words thank you to him.
She took a deep breath as the band struck up the rousing French anthem.
Allons enfants de la patrie, la jour de gloire et arrivee!
Erik knew he was gambling by letting the band play La Marseillaise for her. This Belle Reve was all he had…by helping Christine defy Major Hetzner…the man who had tortured him and destroyed him…he might lose even that.
She's not doing this for you. Don't delude yourself.
But he couldn't let her do it alone. He quickly crossed to the stage and stepped up behind her, forgetting…for a few moments at least…the mask, the curious stares…the chance that Major Hetzner might recognize him.
He quickly stepped up onto the stage, stood so close his arm was almost brushing against hers. He suddenly remembered how he taught her to sing through distractions, reaching out to touch her during rehearsals…
He moved a little closer so the sleeve of his dinner jacket grazed against the glowing roses of her shawl.
She turned towards him and a fold of the gauzy shawl hid his hand as it closed around hers.
And he realized that, during all those weeks in Paris…those distant weeks when he found himself falling in love with a girl named Christine Daae…that they had never sung together.
Contre nous de la tyrannie l' entendard sanglant est levee!
He found that their voices were perfectly matched. They mingled, the delicacy and purity of hers never lost in the power and richness of his.
He saw the stunned look on Raoul de Chagny's face and felt a surge of satisfaction that he soon forgot as he felt Christine's fingers tightening around his.
And he saw the Major's brow creasing in silent rage…a sight he only dimly recalled as the pain had swallowed up all memory.
Christine clung to his hand beneath the drape of the shawl, surprised by her own sudden courage. It wasn't the danger to Raoul that goaded her to this defiance…it was the loss of the only man she'd ever loved.
Then she saw that everyone in the club had risen…the patrons, the waiters, Sam, the bartenders…they were all singing with them.
The Nazis had stood too, they were singing something in German. But their three voices were lost in the stirring chorus of La Marseillaise.
Only Inspector Giry remained seated and silent.
Aux armes citoyens! Formez vos battalions!
When the anthem ended, Erik offered Christine his arm. As he guided her back to her table…and to her husband…it seemed as if they were lost and alone together for a moment, surrounded by applause and tears.