A/N: No strange coincidence, actually. I decided to take that part out. But here we have the brief, sad EC.

Envy

The next several months were very lonely. Adele came down to see me sometimes, and I helped her practice. Meg became her friend, even more then the other chorus girls, mostly because, I thought, Adele didn't have anything serious to hide from Meg. If it hadn't been for Meg, I don't think Adele would have lasted a month in this bizarre world full of people, gossip, lovers, and lapdogs. The managers, the Brothers Varens as they were called, followed my orders about Adele, which were nothing I had to pull teeth for. I just made sure they wouldn't fire her. One day she came down, and I saw her jumping up and down on the other side of the lake and waving a sheaf of papers around.

"Papa, I got a solo in Faust!" she was shouting.

"Well, come over! We need to celebrate." As she poled the boat across, I hunted down an ancient bottle of champagne I knew was hiding in my pantry. I washed it off in the lake.

"Oh, Papa, don't," Adele said, laughing nervously.

I looked at her with the masked eye. "Not afraid, are you?"

"No, but how long has that been in the pantry?"

I looked at it. "I suppose you're right. I threw it in the lake. It landed with a loud splash and bobbed off. "What's your part?"

She smiled wryly. "I'm Envy." (Read Dr. Faustus. Envy does have lines.) I laughed, and she joined in. "I don't deserve it, do I, Papa?"

"Absolutely not. I suppose I did know they would do this, I just didn't see any sense in complaining."

"A novel idea, Papa. I know you fiddle with the brothers on my behalf. You don't have to do it. I'm doing just fine."

"Because of me, dear, and don't forget it. And Envy isn't such a bad starting point, anyway. It's hard to pack that much envy into the few lines you have."

"They must really like me."

"Oh, they do. Maybe you'll be where Marinette is someday."

She shuddered. "A frightening prospect. I should go, though. Meg's having a party for me, and—some friends are coming. I shouldn't be late."

I caught the pause, but pretended not to. "Go on, then, angel of music."

She glared. "Don't call me that."

"All right, Adele." She left, and I followed in the heavens. She went to Meg's large room, where the party was apparently going to be. I went to the peephole in the ceiling of the room and watched. Most of the "little actors," the new recruits who rarely got to do anything interesting, were there. I watched Adele closely, and found out that my suspicions had proved correct. A very handsome Italian dancer named Alexandre was apparently well-acquainted with my daughter. He knew what he was doing. Adele, however, hardly knew what to make of him. She had always read love-stories, but she had never been party to one. They were sitting in a corner talking in Spanish. I was surprised they could both speak it. I unfortunately, couldn't.

Giuseppi crept slowly closer, disconcerting Adele more with every inch. Finally she asked, in French, "What do you want?" He held her face between his hands. "Only my father does that," she scolded. She began to push him off, then changed her mind. "But I suppose you may." He kissed her. She looked quite—surprised is the only word I can find.

"You're very odd, you know," he said. "You act like you've never met anyone but your father before."

"Before I came here, I hadn't."

"You hadn't?"

"No."

Giuseppi looked puzzled. "Who is your father? It was cruel of him never to let you meet anyone."

Adele turned very angry. "My father is twice any man in the world." I was flattered, to say the least—of course, it wasn't true. Adele went to a different corner, leaving Giuseppi to swear at himself before going to her.

"Adelita, I'm so sorry. I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't think. Try to from now on, all right?"

Giuseppi laughed. "You are strange." He kissed her again, and this time, Adele had some idea of what was going on. I turned away and leaned against a wall. The party was over, and the partygoers were returning to their haunts.

So my Adelita, my darling little Adele, was in love with a ballet boy. Not that I had anything solid against him. He was intelligent, good looking, and he would treat her well. But, as Adele had noticed, though he was intelligent he did not think. He would rush off to—do something crazy—if he found out that I was her father. But I trusted Adele, for now. I also trusted Meg. I hoped it wouldn't be in vain.

Adele went about smiling for the next month of rehearsal. Often I oculdn't speak to her, so I left notes. I didn't use the seal I used for the Brothers, however. Jacques and Michel were quite capable of putting two and two together. Meg lived up to my expectations, constantly reiterating my warnings. Luckily for me, Adele understood that this was necessary and didn't become annoyed with it. Until then, I had never understood how much easier the Giry matriarchy made my life.

And then the Day came. Adele would perform for Paris. It was April twenty-third, an altogether lucky day to begin an acting career, I thought, it being Shakespeare's birthday. I inconspicuously helped with setting up the stage before the opera, then repaired to Box Five to watch the theatre fill up to its fullest. About five minutes before the opera was to begin, something happened that nearly made me drop dead of a heart attack, healthy though I am.

"My angel of music," a voice breathed behind me.

I didn't believe it, but it couldn't be Meg. But she couldn't have come. Not after hiding for twelve years. I turned slowly.

"Christine."

It was her, but she was different. The Christine I knew had looked happy, carefree. This one was sad, almost despairing, but undoubtedly Christine. I found myself involuntarily moving toward her, and stopped myself. I forced myself to say, "Good evening, Comtesse. Why have you come?"

"To see the opera, and you, I hoped."

"Then why haven't you come before?" Now that I had mastered my love for her, I could think. I knew the answer.

"Raoul doesn't let me. He won't let me sing, or even watch other people sing. He's afraid of…of you. But he left for the night to visit his brother, the poor man."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Raoul's gone to see him."

"Ah. But what are you trying to say, Comtesse?" That word caught in my throat like a cherry pit, and my eyes watered. "If you're trying to say, I don't like the choice I made can I change it, I have an answer. It is no, Christine." My voice shook a tiny bit, and I forced it to stay even. No weakness. None at all. "If Raoul was dead, it might be different. But he is alive, Comtesse." She began to cry. I stepped forward again to hold her and say I hadn't meant it, of course I'll take you back. But no. I would not. I would not. I took a handkerchief out of my pocket and gave it to her. I went back to my seat.

But she wasn't finished. "Shall I die alone, unloved?" I didn't answer. "Shall you?"

"Comtesse," I said, to remind myself who I was speaking to, "You don't know what it is to be alone. And, besides, Raoul will love you when you're going, when you're gone. And I love you, though it makes little difference."

"And what about you? No one will ever know. No one will ever go down into the darkness to find out if you're dead."

"Yes, they will."

"Who?"

"My daughter." I heard Christine fall into a chair behind me. "I adopted her. She's performing tonight." I was silent. I heard Christine stand, but not go. "Go away, Christine. I've suffered too much to take you back now." There. Please, let her leave.

But no. She tuned me to face her and kissed me. Reluctantly at first, I gave in. We were both crying. Why had I told her no? I had hoped for this for twelve years, and now I threw it away. Finally she left. I wished she had given back the handkerchief..

A/N: Another long walk features in the next chapter. R&R.