It was late afternoon and Christine had just returned from her most recent visit with Erik. She had gone to see him every day that week, and each time she left the house she found it more difficult to lie to Raoul. Each day she invented a story about walks around the countryside, shopping trips that resulted in no purchases. He trusted her unquestioningly, and she felt guilty for betraying that trust. But it was impossible for her to tell him where she was going; she had already implored his help on Erik's behalf, it was too much to ask that he accept her daily trips to the jail. While she was there, hardly a word was spoken between them, but Erik seemed grateful for her presence. Christine made each visit with a sunny disposition, bringing him food and sweets, and occasionally obliging him with a song. But despite the promises she made to him about securing his freedom, each day that passed stole more of her hope. Now she stood before Raoul in the garden, her temper once again overcoming her.
"There must be something more that you can do," she pleaded.
"Christine, I've done all I can. I have exhausted every option available to me, used every resource at my disposal. If you have another alternative I am eager to hear of it," Raoul answered, becoming frustrated with her berating. He had made every effort to help, in spite of the lack of sympathy he felt for the Phantom. In his heart he felt that Erik deserved the punishment that was forthcoming; he had, after all, murdered Raoul's own brother. But no matter how he felt about Erik, he would do anything for Christine, and it was solely at her request that he was offering his assistance.
"I wish you wouldn't be so condescending," she replied with a pout, throwing herself down on a marble bench.
Raoul's muscles relaxed and his face softened. He could see that Erik's plight was truly taking its toll on Christine. She hardly ate or slept anymore. Most of the time her appearance was unkempt and her eyes distant. The only time he really saw her abandon her melancholy was when she was with Christophe. Somehow his presence chased away the gloom that hung throughout their house. Raoul had called Henriette to take him inside, not wanting him to hear his parents argue. But Raoul hated quarrelling with his wife. He crouched down in front of Christine, lowering himself to meet her eyes.
"Forgive me. I know this has not been easy for you. I have tried my best, but no one can tell me how he was discovered or why they are charging him now. I'm afraid we may have to wait until the trial starts and hope that the prosecution's case is weak. There is nothing more we can do for him now," he said, speaking to her gently as though he were consoling a child.
"You are certain?" she asked, fighting back sobs.
"I'm sorry my love," he shook his head.
Christine nodded resignedly, salty tears running down her cheeks. She sat silently taking in labored breaths. With forced effort she stood to her feet, accepting a handkerchief from Raoul and dabbing at her puffy eyes. She wavered and for a moment Raoul believed she would fall, but she quickly took hold of his arm to steady herself. Her eyes were fixed to the soft ground beneath her as they walked back to the house. She had promised her Angel that she would help and now all she could do was resign him to the gallows. The image of his lifeless body hanging from a noose made her shudder. Everything around her appeared hazy now, muddled by her despair. As she sat rigidly at the dining room table, the voices she heard in kitchen sounded muffled.
"A hot cup of tea, s'il vous plait," Raoul spoke in a low voice to Michelle. "Something to calm her nerves."
He returned to their expansive dining room to find Christine just as he left her, her face still vague and emotionless. Despite the warm light flooding in from the large bay windows, the room felt cold. It was not, Raoul knew, a chill that radiated from the air itself, but from the wintry depression in which Christine now lived. For the first time he was at a loss for words, unsure of how to proceed. If he tried to turn her thoughts from Erik, would she push him away to cling to her familiar sorrow? But if he should leave her be, would she be irrevocably damaged by the ordeal? He had spent many hours thinking on this subject, going back and forth between his theories. He was beginning to go mad with the effort. Finally Michelle entered carrying a silver tea service. She stared curiously at Christine as she placed the tray on the table, filled the cup, and placed it on the saucer in front of Christine. After she finished she stepped back, but didn't leave the room. Raoul looked at her, waiting for her to leave, but she stood in her place and returned his gaze. Finally, he spoke.
"Thank you, Michelle. That will be all," he said, dismissing her from the room.
She gave him a polite nod, her eyes shifting to look at Christine once more, then walked from the room.
"She behaves rather curiously," Christine spoke mechanically, her eyes transfixed on the swirling steam of her tea. "I often see her standing by the doors as though she is listening to the room beyond them. Sometimes I feel her watching me, and I when I catch her eye she quickly returns to work."
"Drink this for me, chéri," Raoul said, ignoring her comment and pushing the cup towards her. "Please darling. I am terribly worried about you. I wish you wouldn't torture yourself this way." He placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her eyes to his. "You've done all you can. You just have to believe that everything will be fine in the end."
She pulled her chair in closer to his and laid her head upon his shoulder. Tentatively Raoul lifted his arm and wrapped it around her. Her expression didn't change, but neither did she pull away. Raoul sat silently with her, watching the sun sink in the sky. He didn't dare break the moment of strange peace that had befallen them.
Hours later Raoul lay asleep in bed, after first sitting by to watch Christine drift into sleep. Now she was awake and standing beside him, her image illuminated by the single candle on the table next to the bed. In her hand was clutched a tear-streaked letter. It had been terribly difficult for her to write. She had even written and torn it up several times, her nerve failing her as her quill met the paper. As she stood there now watching him, she felt her courage once again slipping away. She closed her eyes tightly and forced her hand down to her pillow. She left the letter there as she placed a kissed on Raoul's lips.
"Forgive me," she whispered into the darkness as she blew out her candle and walked away, knowing that if she looked back she would never accomplish what she had set out to do.