Helene embraced her brother gladly, realizing this was only the second time she had seen him since her wedding day.

Then she looked at the girl beside him. No, not a girl…a young woman. A young married woman.

So this is Christine.

The soprano was a pretty thing with long chestnut curls and a sweet, innocent face. At first, she seemed quite shy and nervous as she was introduced to her husband's family.

Helene fought against a bitter, choking wave of jealousy as she took Christine's hand.

She could see that her brother and his bride were very much in love with each other. The looks that passed between them made that so clear.

If only Erik could forget her…

"I am so sorry to hear that you are leaving soon, Madame," Christine was saying, "I would love to know you better."

"And I should like to know you better," Helene said, "but I shall come and visit when I can. And you mustn't call me Madame."

"Raoul tells us you have a very beautiful voice," the Comte de Chagny said, joining his daughter and new daughter-in-law at the window seat, "we would love to hear you sing before Helene leaves us."

Helene sighed. Her parents were quite disappointed by her supposed decision to return to Sicily. Philippe, on the other hand, quite bluntly stated that he was glad that she was going home, that it would put an end to whatever clandestine affair she was involved in.

I could never explain things to them…I don't want a clandestine affair…I want him to love me…I want to be his wife…

She envied Christine. She had both Erik's love …however unwanted…and a husband who adored her.

"Perhaps you could sing for them after dinner this evening, dearest," Raoul was saying to his wife.

Helene swore she saw a moment's hesitation in Christine's eyes, though she answered at once.

"Of course, I would be glad to."

-----------

That evening, the family gathered in the formal parlor as the maid lit the lamps.

"Raoul told me you play the piano, Helene," Christine said, opening the instrument, "will you please accompany me?"

As she took her seat on the mahogany bench, Helene could not help blushing. She found it quite impossible to look at the piano without recalling the night Erik had asked her to play for him…and the fevered aftermath of her poor little performance.

Christine listlessly paged through the folios of music. It was clear to Helene that she didn't want to sing, that she was only doing so to be polite.

"This one will do," she said, handing the sheets to Helene.