The next year followed with the same pattern. Season after season we
danced, sang, and game our hearts and time to the opera. We talked of
almost nothing else; indeed our lives revolved around it. My thirteenth
birthday came and went, Mother's Day passes with Christine and I taking my
mother out to dinner; Father's Day departed similarly, when I joined
Christine and her Papa at the park. We felt now that we were truly sisters,
and life went on happily.
All too soon, summer was once again at hand. This year, Christine and I willingly gave each other up, anxious to be off on our vacations and adventures. We promised again to write, then parted.
Christine and I exchanged only three letters during the summer. I wrote her several times, but she did not respond. I worried perhaps they were not reaching her, or that something was wrong. Mamma comforted me, and we decided she must be highly busy and would write me as soon as she got the chance. She didn't.
When I got home after that dreadful summer, I was heartbroken. Had I done something that had injured our friendship? Had she run away with that Raoul boy and left me, as I were no longer important? Several thoughts rushed my through head, my cheeks burned throughout the night as I waited for the opera's opening season to begin; alone.
Only when I arrived and found Christine had not arrived did I really begin to worry. Only the most important and dire happening would have kept her from practice. I kept on thinking of excuses; she had slept in, or perhaps had a head cold. All day I waited anxiously for her to walk in, loaded with apologies and explanations. She never came.
Running home, I threw myself on my bed and cried. Why, I do not know. I just knew something dreadful had happened and I had no way of contacting my best friend. So wrapped up was I in crying, I almost missed the bell. Rushing down the stairs, I quickly wiped my eyes before opening the door.
"A telegram, for Mademoiselle Meg Giry."
My heart almost stopped. A telegram? Who knew what dreadful news could be in it.
"Me.that's me.I'm Meg Giry." I tried to gather my wits. "T-thank you." I closed the door without giving him a tip and dashed up to my room.
Once there, I dropped the telegram as if it were poison and stared at it, dreading the news it held. I sat on my floor, breathless and shaky. Suddenly I realized how foolish I was being. It was just a telegram. It was probably from Christine, saying that she would not make it today, hoping it would have gotten to me in time to tell Mme. Giry. That's all. Slowly I bean to breathe, my heart began to work properly again. I reached for the telegram and opened it.
As I began to read, I could feel the color draining from my cheeks. I felt as though I had been punched in the stomach. For what I was reading was this:
My dearest, dearest Meg- I'm sorry I have failed to write, but All is not well here in England. Papa is dead. I will write soon. Christine.
Monsieur Daae, dead? It could not be. The man who had become more like my papa then my real father, dead? Gone? Forever? Poor, poor Christine. I could not imagine how heartbroken she must be. I had no more tears to cry, so I sat in my room and thought until Mamma came home and found me, still in a daze.
All too soon, summer was once again at hand. This year, Christine and I willingly gave each other up, anxious to be off on our vacations and adventures. We promised again to write, then parted.
Christine and I exchanged only three letters during the summer. I wrote her several times, but she did not respond. I worried perhaps they were not reaching her, or that something was wrong. Mamma comforted me, and we decided she must be highly busy and would write me as soon as she got the chance. She didn't.
When I got home after that dreadful summer, I was heartbroken. Had I done something that had injured our friendship? Had she run away with that Raoul boy and left me, as I were no longer important? Several thoughts rushed my through head, my cheeks burned throughout the night as I waited for the opera's opening season to begin; alone.
Only when I arrived and found Christine had not arrived did I really begin to worry. Only the most important and dire happening would have kept her from practice. I kept on thinking of excuses; she had slept in, or perhaps had a head cold. All day I waited anxiously for her to walk in, loaded with apologies and explanations. She never came.
Running home, I threw myself on my bed and cried. Why, I do not know. I just knew something dreadful had happened and I had no way of contacting my best friend. So wrapped up was I in crying, I almost missed the bell. Rushing down the stairs, I quickly wiped my eyes before opening the door.
"A telegram, for Mademoiselle Meg Giry."
My heart almost stopped. A telegram? Who knew what dreadful news could be in it.
"Me.that's me.I'm Meg Giry." I tried to gather my wits. "T-thank you." I closed the door without giving him a tip and dashed up to my room.
Once there, I dropped the telegram as if it were poison and stared at it, dreading the news it held. I sat on my floor, breathless and shaky. Suddenly I realized how foolish I was being. It was just a telegram. It was probably from Christine, saying that she would not make it today, hoping it would have gotten to me in time to tell Mme. Giry. That's all. Slowly I bean to breathe, my heart began to work properly again. I reached for the telegram and opened it.
As I began to read, I could feel the color draining from my cheeks. I felt as though I had been punched in the stomach. For what I was reading was this:
My dearest, dearest Meg- I'm sorry I have failed to write, but All is not well here in England. Papa is dead. I will write soon. Christine.
Monsieur Daae, dead? It could not be. The man who had become more like my papa then my real father, dead? Gone? Forever? Poor, poor Christine. I could not imagine how heartbroken she must be. I had no more tears to cry, so I sat in my room and thought until Mamma came home and found me, still in a daze.