Chapter 12
The morning after.
The sun once again was out the next morning, brighter then ever with the new snow from the night before. It was very chilly in the room with the window cracked open yet. Erik stirred, feeling something was not as it should be. He looked around, Christine was still warm, more than was natural, however, she was not as hot as she had been for the past day. She shivered in his arms, waking at the change in his breathing.
"Good day Monsieur, how are you this morning? Well, I hope." She said softly, she was still so weak from the ravages of her fever, however brief it was.
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle, with you in my arms, I am quite rested and happy. What shall we do today, climb the highest mountain?" Erik said this with a smile, wanting to make light of another day of recuperation for Christine.
"Oh yes, can we, I have the perfect outfit for it!" Christine smiled and looked at him.
"Mademoiselle, let me humbly point out, you have but one outfit. Not counting the one you were graced with at birth, of course." Erik looked at Christine with a big grin, he was so lighthearted to think that she was truly on the mend. So fast, too. People just don't get over Typhoid fever this fast. Sure, the recovery would take a few days, at the least, she was as weak as a kitten, but she had a spot of color in her cheeks, where they were pure white a day ago. The fever was way down, so it was not drawing as much strength from her as it was before. With a couple more doses of his mixture, she should be fever free, if it kept working so well. He gave her a big squeeze, not too tight for his fragile angel, just firm and loving, to quell the once more burgeoning desires within him.
"Erik, I was thinking, I am concerned that you might get sick too. If you do, I fear I shall not be able to save you as you have saved me, so, what do you think about writing down the ingredients so I can mix them for you and give them to you if you fall to this?" The effort of talking so much made her a bit dizzy, so she lay back down. She momentarily closed her eyes to lessen the effect of this exertion on her. She did still have a ways to go to be up and around, didn't she? This was going to be long, and tedious for them if they didn't figure out some way to restfully pass the time convalescing. Her mind flashed images having nothing to do with convalescing, she quickly put them out of her mind, instead saying; "Erik, we need to think of a great plan, and get all the details down to perfection. That is why God made me sick; to slow us down and give us the time to plan this right. Ok?"
"I was thinking the same things, so I have already jotted down the mixture that worked, I was not going to be like that silly Madame of this place, afraid to be near you, I could never do that to another human being for fear of my own safety. That is the worst kind of evil to do to another human being, I know first hand. Besides, I have to feel you with me, very selfish, I know, for my creativity, it shrivels up and dies when I don't have you with me. As for the plan to rid ourselves of Raoul, maybe we should just get him sick."
Meanwhile, on the road to the village of Treille, a small but picturesque village nestled away from Paris a short distance, there was a man riding an obviously overworked horse; he looked very out of sorts, bobbing on his horse, drooping and saggy, very road ridden and weary. This man was noticed by a couple who were leaving the tack store on the edge of the road into Trielle.
"Monsieur, are you alright?" The man said as they walked over to the man on the horse. "This man is ill, get the Docteur, quick, Darlia, he needs help."
"I need to find a place to rest, that is all, I have been riding for days, I am so cold..." His words trailed off as he shivered, though his face sweat with fever.
With that, the man slid, as if in slow motion, off his horse, to the ground, his breath shallow and strained. Darlia was panicked, she ran in the direction of the docteur, then saw him in the street a short way down from them, she yelled at the top of her lungs, while running to where she saw him.
"Docteur, docteur, come quick, there is a problem over here. This man, he is ill, he needs tending by a docteur, now. See here, look quickly, merci."
"Oui, here I come, I must be quick though, Madame Joleile is ready to give birth, Mme Dubuix needs medical assistance with this delivery, I may be calling the minister before long, Mme Joleile is ill and may not make it through the delivery so soon after the fever."
"Docteur, sincerest apologies, we understand, however if he is ill, we may not want him wandering the streets long. No telling if he is contagious, and we don't want to all fall ill as Mme Joleile has."
As the docteur walked up to the man fallen from his white horse he glibly exclaimed; "This man, he appears to be dead, maybe you should be calling for mortician's assistance, not medical monsieur?" The docteur came up to him and knelt down where he had fallen from his poor horse, which was also the worse for wear; "Someone, take this poor horse to the stables, get him some care, please" Upon a very brief exam he noticed the man had what appeared to be light brown shoulder length hair, though it was so dirty and matted down from sweat that it was hard to tell. "Good lord, this man is burning up, have you any water we could give him on hand? He is feverish, either from need of water, or he is terribly ill. Is there somewhere he may be staying in town? No, I suppose not. Well, he's not going anywhere, we have to get him out of the street, is there anywhere he can be placed for now?"
By now a small crowd had gathered, there were not many strangers traveling around these parts, this one was particularly interesting for them. "Who is he?"
One person asked. "I don't know, but he sure looks scruffy, where do you think he has come from?" another asked, as they speculated on his identity and why he ended up there.
Finally, someone came riding up on a fine horse, saying; "Will you all please depart, I wish to have a look, I am searching for someone whom went missing a week ago in Paris, I hear you talking of a stranger, I wish to look upon this person myself."
He rode up to where the crowd was gathered, waited impatiently while they parted, then he dismounted his horse and walked up to where the docteur knelt by the stranger.
"My God, it is you, brother, Raoul! docteur, this is the Vicomte de Chagny, I am his brother, the Comte de Chagny. Continuing quietly, half to himself he began to tell of the anguish he faced trying to find his heartbroken brother; "I have been searching for this man since the destruction of the Opera Populaire, our family were the patron's of the Populaire. He left the night it burned down, from grief and inability to accept the loss of someone dear to him. I have not been close to finding him until now, and he looks near to death when I finally find him. Can you save him, docteur?"
"It is not clear how long the fever has been raging in him, he may be in for a rough road, it is not certain he will pull through, he may not want to if he has suffered a tragedy, that will be up to him. I may be able to give him comfort, but I know not how to stop the fever in him. It is contained where it broke out in our village, but he might cause an epidemic if he is allowed to stay here. Can you send for a carriage and take him back to where you came from if I give him medicine to make him comfortable?"
"So that is the way it is, is it?" The Comte looked at him with distaste, hardly able to contain his disgust, then his face became set and he said rather brusquely; "Is there some place I might be able to purchase a rig and horses to carry my brother back to Paris? I assume none of your men would be willing to carry us there, so it would seem there are no other options left if you wish to be rid of us directly!"
"You may have mine Monsieur Comte de Chagny, for a small fee, if you please."
The Comte looked at the man with disdain, shook his head and said; "Very well, get the rig and horses together and bring them to me, in short order or the offer expires."
"Oui, monsieur, I shall return rapide, merci!" The man ran off to get the rig together, big smile on his face, thinking that he could surely get a good profit off the deal. The Comte had other ideas. He was back in a flash with the rig, the Comte growing more disdainful for this small community by the moment. Everyone was standing around as if his brothers' sickness and grief was something of a spectacle to be entertained by.
As the man brought the carriage around with the horses, Phillippe' threw 20 franc to the man and began to load his brother into the carriage. It was much more drab and worn down then he would have liked the carriage to be which was transporting his little brother, sick and broken, home in. He further mused; maybe it was perfectly appropriate for the very same reason. When he drove away towards Paris he refused to look at any of these vile humans. They were so worried about themselves; they could not even find the compassion to help a stranger of Raoul's capacity. Unheard of, it was beyond disgusting to him, he would remember the name of this abominable town. They would rue the day they trifled with him and his brother instead of offering compassion and kindness.