(a/n) I love my reviewers! All of you! MickeeD, erik'sangel527, ae28, angelofnight, Thy-Beckoning-Angel, forever in a bottle, Emily singing reflection, Crying Wasteland, Ziroana, Monroe-mary, Padme Nijiri, Sue Raven, Misty Breyer, unseenhope18.

Unseenhope18: Ahh . . . I love my Kay quotes too! And I love you for saying my eloquence parallels that of Kay! School isn't treating me too badly this semester (unlike last), but it seems the less work I have the lazier I become (paradoxically).

Misty Breyer: Thank goodness my fluff isn't as goopy, I think I would die of sugar poisoning if it was.

Sue Raven: Thankyou, I was thinking on the ocean, when I thought, kind of like Erik, and oh look, kind of like Erik again. A successful trip back to France . . . I might grant you that muhahaha

Monroe-mary: I know I'm really in love with Belle as a character! I love writing her. So I'm glad you all enjoy her too. And yes, I adore the ocean, I grew up near it, but sadly have been unable to visit for a long time. And I don't mind your speculation, I love it! It shows I've got you thinking!

Ziroana: Yes, Erik and Christine will be singing together sometime. I just loved the idea of the violin and ocean together.

Crying Wasteland: yes fluff only lasts so long, its actually much harder to write. I'm glad you liked the Erik Counterpoint.

Thy-Beckoning-Angel: LoL, I'm flattered, but don't worry, this is definitely not the end. Just the calm before the storm. So keep reading, and enjoy!

Angelofnight: Thank you so much! I actually read that quote before I read the book, its part of the reason I read it. I just knew that the book had to be great after reading it.

Ae28: Complications must happen! Without them there would be no story!

Erik'sangel527: Thanks, I love writing Erik with Belle, ever since I read Kay I see him as having this really paternal nurturing side that I just love letting him use.

MickeeD: "inseparable similarities" nice phrase! Thanks for the compliments!

Now, onto the chapter!

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Erik

The foghorn blared gratingly as the ship readied to embark. Startled, Belle jumped up about one foot, covering her ears, a pained expression on her face. I barely restrained a chuckle, the little girl never failed to amuse me. As I watched she turned to Christine, and although I was too far away to hear her, I could tell by the indignant expression her face that she was probably complaining about the loud noise. As I watched her mobile features, I reflected on how dear the child had become to me. The feeling was both alarming and exciting, as much as I wished to accept this new development with no reservations, I could not. I was too used to losing the people I loved. In addition, all too soon we would have to discuss the details of this situation, and then, I feared, everything would go awry.

I saw Belle skipping towards me, and I pushed those thoughts to the back my mind, smiling in greeting.

"Are you enjoying this Belle?" I asked.

"Well, it is ever so exciting to be on a ship, and floating on the sea, but the . . . uh," she wrinkled her brow in concentration, searching for the word.

"Foghorn?" I supplied.

"Uhuh, the foghorn was too loud. They should warn people about things like that! Why, an old person might die of fright!"

I schooled my feature into a grave expression, asking her, "Were you afraid that I should die of fright Belle?"

"You're not that old!" she exclaimed, "I'm talking about real old people, you know, with white hair and canes," she informed me, speaking as if she doubted my intelligence.

"I am relieved. I hope to boast a more distinguished death than foghorn shock."

She laughed at this, her mirth gurgling up out of her lips in the most delightful way, "That would be silly wouldn't it? I know how I'm going to die."

"How is that Belle?"

"Well," she said, eyes sparkling, "I going to be a nurse like Florence Nightingale, and be very brave and save ever so many lives, and be very famous, but then become deathly ill with the fever. The whole country will be sad, and they will all mourn me when I die."

"That sounds like a very interesting ambition. Do you spend much time thinking of how you could die?"

"Well . . . the best stories are tragedies, every body knows it!"

"Oh, everybody? Who told you that?"

"Why, the all the girls at school, the older grades just put on Mary, Queen of Scots, which is ever so tragic."

"That explains it, I suppose, but underestimate happy endings Belle, sometimes those are much harder to come by."

"Oh!" Belle exclaimed, as the ship slowly began to move, "we're starting! We're starting!"

I smiled indulgently as she ran to her mother, deciding it was time for me to retire to my cabin. I was a man accustomed to his solitude, and as much as I enjoyed Belle . . . and Christine, I could still some time alone every now and then. I had been reading for about an hour when there was a soft knock on my door, I opened the door, and Christine greeted me with a friendly smile—a smile that never failed to make my heart beat a little faster.

"Are you busy?"

"Not at all, just reading, how is Belle?"

"The poor thing is tired out from all the excitement. She and Antoinette are both resting. I was wondering if you would walk above deck with me?"

I felt of rush of pleasure at her request. Once again Christine was seeking out my companionship, and that knowledge was immensely satisfying.

"I would be happy to walk with you."

I offered her my arm, and we walked up into the sunshine together. The sky was a deep blue, dotted occasionally by cheery white clouds, and sea gulls circled overhead. The steam from the boiler floated lazily up out of the smoke stack, its trailing fingers teasing the sky. A few sailors passed us as we made our way to the railing, but they paid us no attention, and I felt pleasantly calm.

After a few moments of companionable silence, Christine spoke, "I was just wondering if you definitely wished to stay the night in Calais, we could go ahead and board the train to Paris if you wished."

"No, I think that it would be less stressful for as all if we just spent the night in Calais. We would reach Paris very late indeed, and Belle would be very tired."

"Yes, you are right, it would be better for Belle," Christine replied, she paused a moment and then continued, her voice sounding hesitant, "When we reach Paris, I suppose we should just stay at hotel until other arrangements can be made."

"No, no that won't be necessary. I actually own a small townhouse in Paris that I bought years ago, and since I thought it would be convenient if I decided to return, and I didn't want to go through the hassle of selling it, I kept it on. The house will, of course, be under holland covers, and you will have to engage servants, but I think you will find it easier than staying at a hotel."

I saw her glance up at me, a puzzled frown on her face; I adored how she cocked her head just so whenever something bothered or confused her.

"You speak as though you will not be staying there as well?"

"No, my dear, I thought it would hardly be proper for me to live with you . . . after all you are a single woman." I watched her carefully; I would not impose my unwanted company on her. Didn't she realize I was giving her a way to avoid having to suffer my constant presence?

Her brow cleared at my words, "Oh, if that is all you are worried about, I assure you, there is no problem. Antoinette's presence makes our situation perfectly respectable. Besides, we will hardly be there long, and I don't particularly care what the neighbors think. Come, I'm not going to keep you from your own house!" she said, a twinkle in her eye inviting me to smile in return.

I did so, but my mind was preoccupied with other thoughts as well. Several times she had mentioned "other arrangements" and I knew that she did not particularly want to live in Paris, but we had hardly discussed the situation in detail . . . or how it involved me. In addition, there was still so much left unsaid between us.

My perturbation must have been obvious, because she asked me, "What is wrong Erik?"

"Nothing really, just thinking of all we must do. Tell me, my dear, where were you wishing to live?"

Christine's eyes grew dreamy, "What I would really like is to live on the coast, in some little village. Somewhere away from the bustle of the metropolis, but near to a large town. But Erik, where would you like to live?"

What precisely did she mean by that? This vagueness was killing me! Did she want me living near her? With her? Very close? At a comfortable distance?

"That depends," I said slowly, watching her carefully, "Do you wish me to live near you?"

"Well . . .of course," she responded, her face suddenly sharpening. Then before I could reply she said abruptly, "We can discuss this later, I rather think I should go and check on Belle now."

Without waiting for me, she turned and left, walking briskly away. I stared at her, feeling even more confused. Was she upset? Perhaps she did not want to live near me? I gave a frustrated groan before turning to leave myself.

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Christine

I flounced down the stairs and into my cabin. Antoinette, Belle, and I were sharing the space for the brief voyage, and Antoinette was propped up on a bunk reading. She looked up at my entrance, and sent a warning glance towards the top bunk where Belle's sleeping form lay, before asking quietly, "Is something wrong?"

"No, no nothing at all," I replied unconvincingly, sitting down upon the bottom bunk, and glaring ferociously at an innocent spot on the wall. Antoinette merely began reading again, and I was left to brood. Erik and I had been having our little conversation, and it had been going quite well. Then I had asked him where he wanted to live, merely wanting his input on our living arrangements. But he had asked in return if I wanted him to live close by, his uncertainty hardly flattering. Of course I wanted him to live close by! At least!

I would really prefer if he lived with us. I almost groaned aloud. What exactly did I want? You want him to love you, marry you, and live happily ever after. Ha, I had all but actually asked the man to marry me. I had brazenly encouraged him to consider himself the father of my child and hinted very strongly that I would like to live with him. So either he was being extremely obtuse, a term I would hardly use to describe Erik, or he was trying to keep me at a distance. I sighed. He wasn't acting like he wanted me at a distance, but he wasn't initiating anything either.

I thought back to last night. We had been in accord all day long, and I could distinctly remember his fingers twined with mine as we had watched the sun set. Then later . . . when we had been alone . . . as he had played his violin, and as we had walked back to the inn, he had been so tender that I could easily believe he loved me—that Antoinette was right. But he wasn't doing anything. Now I was starting to think he was only with us because of my daughter, I remembered how angry he had been when he had seen me with Reggie. Much of that anger had been because of my daughter, because he thought I was not a fit mother. I felt a little twang of jealously, and immediately felt ashamed, how could I be jealous of Belle?

I crushed the feeling quickly, but my mind was immediately filled with just as unpleasant thoughts. The fact that I had yet to explain Belle's existence weighted on me constantly. Yet I did not want to do it . . . I wanted to wait just a little longer. After all, what if I told him I had chosen him, and then told him how Belle was conceived. He might up and marry me out of pity! That I did not want!

I suddenly felt very tired, I had not gotten nearly enough sleep last night, and the small cabin bunk actually looked quite inviting. Deciding I would just lay down for a few minutes, I pulled off my shoes, and stretched out on the bed.

I was awakened later to the sound of Antoinette's voice informing me we had reached Calais. Drowsily, I sat up, and saw Belle was already wide awake and rearing to go.

"Finally you are awake, Mother! I have been waiting forever! We are almost in France now!"

"Yes," I replied sleepily, "And just think, you will only hear French from now on. In fact let us switch to French right now."

"Yes, Mother," she dutifully replied in French, "It will be strange to only speak French."

"You will get used to it, and we can still speak some English at home, just as we spoke French while we were in England."

Belle agreed doubtfully, and sat waiting impatiently while I put on my shoes, and fixed my hair.

Soon we all emerged, and met up with Erik in the hall. I glanced at him from under my lashes, not at all happy with what I observed—he looked far more withdrawn than he had in a while. I gave an exasperated sigh. Why were things so confusing?

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Max

The enquiries over my brother's death had met with one dead end after another. The fools in the police force had not even taken my description of the murderer seriously. They had accepted the cloak, but their skeptical looks clearly said they had no intention of featuring the white glinting face in their investigation. A trick of the light, one had said.

Well, they had little enough to go one, especially without my description, and although they assured me they had some promising leads, I knew better. They would get no where if they could not find the man I had seen.

I had felt useless waiting around, and it had taken no time at all to see this case would not be solved. Resolved to take my mind off the entire situation, I had decided to visit Paris, I had friends there, and it would be a welcome change of scene. And, as I stood in the early morning air of Calais, I felt that I had made the right decision.

I had arrived on a packet yesterday, and spent the night at one of the many inns in Calais. I was just waiting for my luggage to be loaded into the boot of my hired carriage, before I was on my way. I was taking the 9.15 train to Paris.

As soon as the luggage was loaded, I climbed into the carriage, and settled in as it made its leisurely way through the streets. I was a little impatient with the slow pace, but I held my peace. This changed when the carriage rolled to a complete stop. Cursing, I lifted the flap on the window to look outside. The carriage was being waylaid by an inconveniently placed wagon, whose driver was backing up slowly. Irritated, I looked around, my glance passing jerkily over my surroundings. I did a double take, directly in front of me, a small group was loading into a couple of vehicles.

What caught my attention were two people I recognized, Elise Carpentier, and the man with the glinting white face. This man wore a white mask covering almost one entire half of his face. Although I could not know for certain he was the man, I did not see how this could be a coincidence. My immediate impulse was to jump out and confront the both of them; however, I held back, uncertainty and confusion gnawing at me. True I was unsure this was my man, but I was far more discomposed by Elise's presence. How could she be involved?

Caution won the encounter, and I decided instead, to follow them as best I could. Pulling back the little sliding glass window between the driver and I, I informed him that if we were to follow those two carriages, discreetly slipping the man some more coin.

Thankfully the party set off just as the cart finally moved out of the way, and we followed in due course.

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Christine

I stepped out of the train onto the bustling platform of Gare Saint-Lazare, Paris's most impressive train station. Erik had informed me on the ride that just last year the station had been enlarged and embellished by the architect Juste Lisch. He had proceeded to instruct me on the façade of the structure, trying to explain the characteristics of the XVIIth century Beaux-Arts style. But I had been far more fascinated by Erik's obvious passion for the subject, than the style of façade. He never looked more impressive than when he was caught up in something, his voice rich, his eyes glittering, and his graceful hands dancing in the air.

I was jolted out of my thoughts by Antoinette's insistent hand on my shoulder, guiding me through the crowd.

"Do pay attention Christine," she scolded me, and I guiltily focused my thoughts. We still needed to collect our trunks, and travel to Erik's house. After that, the house would no doubt need some cleaning and some supplies. Luckily we still had a few hours of daylight left.

We survived the trial of collecting our luggage, and finding transport, and finally we were on our way. As we rode through Paris I couldn't help but look back and remember. I grew teary eyed as I recalled the disastrous events of the past, but the memories were not entirely unhappy. The time I spent with Erik had been priceless. I don't think anything could compare to the ecstasy my innocent heart first found in his song, and I grew hot as I interpreted certain events with my no longer innocent mind. Hurriedly I banished those thoughts and began to converse with Belle.

When we arrived, I alighted from the carriage, helping Belle down after me. I surveyed the area; the neighborhood was nondescript, obviously middle-class, perhaps even lower middle-class. The house itself looked like all of the other houses, its thin form sandwiched in between two other almost identical structures. It was perfect.

That afternoon, Erik took Belle out shopping for supplies while Antoinette and I aired sheets, removed the holland covers from just a few of the rooms, and tried to defeat at least some of the dust. By the end of the day, we were tolerably comfortable, but very tired. However, I had been glad of the exertion, cleaning had helped me work out some of my irritated energy, and kept my mind off certain subjects.

I slept soundly that night, and awoke early the next morning prepared to truly do battle with the house. Antoinette and I progressed nicely during the morning, despite Belle. She tried to be a good little helper, and we humored her, but she was really more of a hindrance than a help. Erik, I think, was more than a little discomforted by our efforts, and I smiled to myself as I contemplated the fact he had to choose between the lesser of the two evils—a house invested with cleaning women or the outside world.

A little before lunch he finally left, and came back later with some fresh bread for our meal, as well as a newspaper. Upon his return, we all sat down at the kitchen table for a light luncheon of cold meat, bread, cheese, and fruit; despite its simple nature, the repast was remarkably satisfying and I rose from the meal with renewed energy.

I was just starting on the parlor, when I heard the door slam loudly. Curious, I emerged and walked to the front door, opened it, and looked out. I saw Erik's back already someway down the street, and I wondered if he was upset. I could think of no reason he might be, however, I returned to the kitchen where we had left him reading the paper earlier.

When I entered the room I saw the paper on the kitchen table, one page crumpled in the middle. Curious, I walked forward, and picked up the crushed paper, straightening it out. I scanned the contents and was puzzled; this was nothing but the society announcements. I searched the page a little longer, and was about to give up when suddenly two words jumped off the paper at me. Vicomte deChagny.

Staring up at herwas the announcement of Raoul's engagement.

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(a/n) Okay, question, I was really torn about the mask and I can still change it. I've been waffling for a while, whole or half. Feel free to give me your opinion. If my writing previously indicated one or the other, tell me. Alright, you know the drill! Review. (a/n)