He turned, startled, then smiled happily as he exclaimed in a warm, velvety
voice, "Christine! Come here, angel!"
As Christine rushed into his arms, I felt a small stab of envy. Lucky Christine, to have a father, and one like that! Just in time I remembered her mother, and mine. Glowing, Christine walked back over to me, took my arm, and brought me to her father.
"Papa," she said, "This is Meg Giry. She, too, is a ballerina at the opera."
"Meg, welcome." His friendly greeting banished my shyness and truly made me feel welcome.
Curtsying prettily, I replied, "Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Daae."
His green eyes twinkled as he looked me over. "You can call me Papa Daae, or Uncle Joe until you feel more comfortable. I can see that you and Christine will get along famously. Christine, why don't you show Meg your room before our story? Unless you two would rather play."
Christine's eyes questioned me, and I answered honestly, "Oh no, sir.Papa Daae. A story would be wonderful, if you don't mind." With a hearty chuckle, he looked at me with those laughing eyes of his. "Not at all." As an afterthought, he said, "I reckon you don't hear many stories at home, Meg."
How did he know? Like his daughter, he was very perceptive. But was it that plain in my eyes, the hunger for a father and a regular family life?
I whispered to Christine as we ascended the stairs, "How did he know?"
"Oh, it's just his way; Papa's so very understanding. He knows about people just by looking at them," she shrugged.
Christine's room was very much like mine, with ballet shoes and a few photographs on the walls. Sitting on the dresser, arranged in a neat fashion, was a red silk scarf and several letters addressed to Madmoiselle Christine Daae. Next to these was a small photograph of a beautiful young woman holding a baby, a jubilant young man behind her.
"Your mother?" I asked, already knowing the answer. Christine nodded. "She's beautiful, you look so much like her."
Smiling Christine thanked me. "Well, we'd best go down to Papa and hear that story before you must leave. Will your mother have gotten your note?"
"Yes, she will have, I am sure. She won't mind that I went over to your house, if that's what you mean." We galloped down the stairs and back into the study. Her father sat in a chair, reading a book.
"Goodness," He commented solemnly. "I thought for a moment we had two elephants in the house instead of two ballerinas."
Giggling, Christine reminded her father, "We are ready for the story."
As we settled on the carpet, Uncle Joseph thought. "Do the young ladies have any requests?" he teased. I shook my head.
Christine, after making sure I had no preferences, nodded happily and exclaimed, "Little Lottie and her Angel of Music!" I started, for this was a tale I had not heard.
"Little Lottie! Now Christine, I have told you that hundreds of times. Perhaps Meg would like to hear a more familiar story."
"Oh no sir- Uncle Joe!" His eyes sparkled merrily as I went on. "I should love to hear of her. Who is Little Lottie? And why does she have an angel?"
"See, Papa!" Christine begged. "Go on." "All right," Uncle Joseph relented. "Now, lets see. We had best begin at the beginning, for Meg's sake." He took off his glasses and slowly wiped them, stalling.
Playfully he winked at me as Christine cried out impatiently, "Papa!" I giggled.
Putting his glasses back on, he began.
As Christine rushed into his arms, I felt a small stab of envy. Lucky Christine, to have a father, and one like that! Just in time I remembered her mother, and mine. Glowing, Christine walked back over to me, took my arm, and brought me to her father.
"Papa," she said, "This is Meg Giry. She, too, is a ballerina at the opera."
"Meg, welcome." His friendly greeting banished my shyness and truly made me feel welcome.
Curtsying prettily, I replied, "Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Daae."
His green eyes twinkled as he looked me over. "You can call me Papa Daae, or Uncle Joe until you feel more comfortable. I can see that you and Christine will get along famously. Christine, why don't you show Meg your room before our story? Unless you two would rather play."
Christine's eyes questioned me, and I answered honestly, "Oh no, sir.Papa Daae. A story would be wonderful, if you don't mind." With a hearty chuckle, he looked at me with those laughing eyes of his. "Not at all." As an afterthought, he said, "I reckon you don't hear many stories at home, Meg."
How did he know? Like his daughter, he was very perceptive. But was it that plain in my eyes, the hunger for a father and a regular family life?
I whispered to Christine as we ascended the stairs, "How did he know?"
"Oh, it's just his way; Papa's so very understanding. He knows about people just by looking at them," she shrugged.
Christine's room was very much like mine, with ballet shoes and a few photographs on the walls. Sitting on the dresser, arranged in a neat fashion, was a red silk scarf and several letters addressed to Madmoiselle Christine Daae. Next to these was a small photograph of a beautiful young woman holding a baby, a jubilant young man behind her.
"Your mother?" I asked, already knowing the answer. Christine nodded. "She's beautiful, you look so much like her."
Smiling Christine thanked me. "Well, we'd best go down to Papa and hear that story before you must leave. Will your mother have gotten your note?"
"Yes, she will have, I am sure. She won't mind that I went over to your house, if that's what you mean." We galloped down the stairs and back into the study. Her father sat in a chair, reading a book.
"Goodness," He commented solemnly. "I thought for a moment we had two elephants in the house instead of two ballerinas."
Giggling, Christine reminded her father, "We are ready for the story."
As we settled on the carpet, Uncle Joseph thought. "Do the young ladies have any requests?" he teased. I shook my head.
Christine, after making sure I had no preferences, nodded happily and exclaimed, "Little Lottie and her Angel of Music!" I started, for this was a tale I had not heard.
"Little Lottie! Now Christine, I have told you that hundreds of times. Perhaps Meg would like to hear a more familiar story."
"Oh no sir- Uncle Joe!" His eyes sparkled merrily as I went on. "I should love to hear of her. Who is Little Lottie? And why does she have an angel?"
"See, Papa!" Christine begged. "Go on." "All right," Uncle Joseph relented. "Now, lets see. We had best begin at the beginning, for Meg's sake." He took off his glasses and slowly wiped them, stalling.
Playfully he winked at me as Christine cried out impatiently, "Papa!" I giggled.
Putting his glasses back on, he began.