Sighing, I headed toward the door, glancing back at Christine. She smiled
at me weakly as I left the room. As I closed the door behind me, my mother
handed Christine small white note.
"This is for you, dear." Mme. Giry opened the door and joined me in the hallway.
"Who was the note from?" ? asked her.
She looked at me severely and said, "It is none of our business. Now, to practice, young lady."
I took my place in line and we began to rehearse. I tried to concentrate, but my thoughts kept turning back to my friend. What was wrong with her? Was she mad? Had her father's death damaged her head? Or by some chance, was she right? Was there really an Angel of Music? Had he chosen my best friend to tutor? By this time, I had begun to believe in the Opera Ghost, was this any different?
Of course, I told myself. The Opera Ghost sabotages. We have seen him at work. Whether he is a man or ghost, we do not know, but he exists. But the Angel? As far as facts prove, he is just a story tale, told to little children so they would practice. That is all.
"Meg! Look out!" I snapped out of my contemplation in time to avoid hitting a dancer. Everyone glared at me. We would have to do the dance all over again.
"I am sorry, I am not myself today. I am tired from the performance," I excused myself.
"Mme. Giry, can't we practice tomorrow? It is late," Joan, a raven-haired corps girl asked pleadingly. Others joined in, begging to be let off. My mother raised her eyebrows at me, which clearly said, "See what you have started?"
"Fine, you are dismissed. But do not come to me complaining when you are worked harder tomorrow, mademoiselles. Goodnight."
Everyone dashed to the changing room. Some girls still had to change into street attire and take a cart home. I wanted to go back to Christine's dressing room, and decided to take a short cut through the foyer. Standing there, with his hat, was the Vicomte Raoul de Changy! My shock almost overtook me as I stared at him. The handsome young man looked to be about 20. I had not heard much of him. His elder brother, Phillipe, who was to inherit the title and most of the fortune, was the one everyone had their eye on. I could not see why. Unlike his dark brother, the young Vicomte had fair hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. He had a boyish air to him, mixed with regal grace. I thought he was far better looking then his brother, and I blushed as he nodded to me in passing. Suddenly he stopped, turned about and greeted me.
"Mademoiselle, good evening."
I curtseyed. "Monsieur Vicomte." I felt my face turn a fabulous red.
He politely took my hand and bowed over it. Straightening, he asked me, "And may I ask the name of my new acquaintance?"
"Meg Giry, Monsieur." Blast, why couldn't I stop blushing? I was furious with myself for being so tongue-tied. I knew he thought me a blundering idiot.
He looked surprised. "Meg?" I had I met him somewhere? He sounded like the name was familiar to him. "Not the Meg Giry, Christine's best friend?"
Surprised, I stammered, "Why, yes. I am Christine's best friend. But how do you know who I am?" He must know Christine, you fool, I rebuked myself.
"I am an old friend of Christine. For several years, all she told me of was you." Raoul's smile was genuine now.
I was flattered. "An old friend?"
"Yes," the young man answered. "I met her at a sea side years ago. I saved her red scarf when it was blown into the water. We have been keeping correspondence regularly and we saw each other at the same shore each year. I haven't seen her for several years, however."
Suddenly a vision came into my memory. The first day I had met Christine, and we went up to her room. Sitting on the dresser, there had been a red silk scarf. Arranged next to it, several letters addressed to Christine. I knew now whom they were from.
He interrupted my thoughts. "Well, if you will excuse me." He continued on towards Christine's dressing room.
I began to follow him, thinking. So this was the young boy Christine befriended so many years ago. Though he was hardly a boy now. And judging by his actions, he had fallen for the young soprano. I smiled to myself. They were perfect for each other. Suddenly I found myself at Christine's hall and stopped. Christine and Raoul would not appreciate my company at this time. Instead I ran to the next corridor and to the dressing room opposite Christine's. Sitting down on the floor, I performed the childish feat of eavesdropping. Pressing my ear against the wall, I strained to hear what would be said. Strangely, I heard a man's voice in Christine's room. Raoul could not possibly have made it to her room yet, unless he ran. The man's voice was deeper than Raoul's, and was singing softly, and yet with great power. Who was this man? Suddenly the voice stopped and a knock echoed at Christine's door.
"This is for you, dear." Mme. Giry opened the door and joined me in the hallway.
"Who was the note from?" ? asked her.
She looked at me severely and said, "It is none of our business. Now, to practice, young lady."
I took my place in line and we began to rehearse. I tried to concentrate, but my thoughts kept turning back to my friend. What was wrong with her? Was she mad? Had her father's death damaged her head? Or by some chance, was she right? Was there really an Angel of Music? Had he chosen my best friend to tutor? By this time, I had begun to believe in the Opera Ghost, was this any different?
Of course, I told myself. The Opera Ghost sabotages. We have seen him at work. Whether he is a man or ghost, we do not know, but he exists. But the Angel? As far as facts prove, he is just a story tale, told to little children so they would practice. That is all.
"Meg! Look out!" I snapped out of my contemplation in time to avoid hitting a dancer. Everyone glared at me. We would have to do the dance all over again.
"I am sorry, I am not myself today. I am tired from the performance," I excused myself.
"Mme. Giry, can't we practice tomorrow? It is late," Joan, a raven-haired corps girl asked pleadingly. Others joined in, begging to be let off. My mother raised her eyebrows at me, which clearly said, "See what you have started?"
"Fine, you are dismissed. But do not come to me complaining when you are worked harder tomorrow, mademoiselles. Goodnight."
Everyone dashed to the changing room. Some girls still had to change into street attire and take a cart home. I wanted to go back to Christine's dressing room, and decided to take a short cut through the foyer. Standing there, with his hat, was the Vicomte Raoul de Changy! My shock almost overtook me as I stared at him. The handsome young man looked to be about 20. I had not heard much of him. His elder brother, Phillipe, who was to inherit the title and most of the fortune, was the one everyone had their eye on. I could not see why. Unlike his dark brother, the young Vicomte had fair hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. He had a boyish air to him, mixed with regal grace. I thought he was far better looking then his brother, and I blushed as he nodded to me in passing. Suddenly he stopped, turned about and greeted me.
"Mademoiselle, good evening."
I curtseyed. "Monsieur Vicomte." I felt my face turn a fabulous red.
He politely took my hand and bowed over it. Straightening, he asked me, "And may I ask the name of my new acquaintance?"
"Meg Giry, Monsieur." Blast, why couldn't I stop blushing? I was furious with myself for being so tongue-tied. I knew he thought me a blundering idiot.
He looked surprised. "Meg?" I had I met him somewhere? He sounded like the name was familiar to him. "Not the Meg Giry, Christine's best friend?"
Surprised, I stammered, "Why, yes. I am Christine's best friend. But how do you know who I am?" He must know Christine, you fool, I rebuked myself.
"I am an old friend of Christine. For several years, all she told me of was you." Raoul's smile was genuine now.
I was flattered. "An old friend?"
"Yes," the young man answered. "I met her at a sea side years ago. I saved her red scarf when it was blown into the water. We have been keeping correspondence regularly and we saw each other at the same shore each year. I haven't seen her for several years, however."
Suddenly a vision came into my memory. The first day I had met Christine, and we went up to her room. Sitting on the dresser, there had been a red silk scarf. Arranged next to it, several letters addressed to Christine. I knew now whom they were from.
He interrupted my thoughts. "Well, if you will excuse me." He continued on towards Christine's dressing room.
I began to follow him, thinking. So this was the young boy Christine befriended so many years ago. Though he was hardly a boy now. And judging by his actions, he had fallen for the young soprano. I smiled to myself. They were perfect for each other. Suddenly I found myself at Christine's hall and stopped. Christine and Raoul would not appreciate my company at this time. Instead I ran to the next corridor and to the dressing room opposite Christine's. Sitting down on the floor, I performed the childish feat of eavesdropping. Pressing my ear against the wall, I strained to hear what would be said. Strangely, I heard a man's voice in Christine's room. Raoul could not possibly have made it to her room yet, unless he ran. The man's voice was deeper than Raoul's, and was singing softly, and yet with great power. Who was this man? Suddenly the voice stopped and a knock echoed at Christine's door.