A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter. Much appreciated as always.

Giry was walking alone in the Parisian streets, as Armand was busy with some paperwork that needed to be filled. The infant Meg, who was now a year old, was cradled in her arms. She decided to show Meg to Erik, for a little while. She had made a promise to him that she would return, and it was promise she meant to keep.

Meg's blue eyes fluttered open and looked on in wonder at her mother. In the deep subconscious of her mind Meg knew that there was something afoot. It was undeniable. Her mother had been so secretive of late. At least, that was how she termed it. And Armand was distant, each passing day a little more so. He kissed her mother with less fervor and gentleness, more like he was brushing her away. Meg pulled at Giry's dress, and the woman laughed.

"Little Meg, what is it?" she said cheerfully. The wide-eyed creature merely looked at her, and then placed a small kiss on her mother's cheek. Giry in turn placed another kiss on Meg's cheek, and their silence was not uncomfortable.

Giry hunched her shoulders and began to go at a faster pace. She had to reach the Opera Populaire before Armand worried about her.

Armand, however, was not even thinking of Giry. He was dressed in a smart frock coat and wore white kid gloves with an air of nobility. He knocked firmly on the midwife's door, and immediately stepped in.

"Cecile, darling, is Madame Forcheneau here?"

"No." the girl whispered back. "Armand, I love you."

"And I do too." Said Armand.

"Do you ever think about…her?" Cecile asked in a whisper.

"No. I only think of you."

She repaid him this compliment with a seductive kiss.

"Let us begin." She said. "We have only two precious hours before Madame returns."

Giry walked up to the entrance of the Opera Populaire and threw open the doors, making Meg cry out against the noise. Silently Giry shushed her, placing a firm, dry hand over Meg's lips.

"Shh…Meg." Whispered Giry. "We must see our friend."

She had defined Erik as such, as she felt anxious about revealing his true identity to the child. With one smooth movement she opened a trapdoor in the floor of the stage and jumped carefully, holding Meg securely in her arms. It was not a long fall, and Meg did not even cry out. Giry placed a hand on the glistening walls and began to descend, singing a soft lullaby to Meg so she would fall asleep and not see her true father.

Giry went down further until she came to the underground lake. With one gentle movement she settled herself and Meg into the gondola, then pushed it firmly so it made its way to Erik's lair.

He was sitting at his ebony piano, but it was silent. He was thinking of Giry and Armand.

"Truly they must love each other." He admitted, and his voice echoed into the darkness. "If she has not seen me for over a year."

"You are the only one I could love." Said Giry as she stepped from the gondola.

"Antoinette!" he cried in happiness. "I have longed to see you."

"And I you." Replied Antoinette. "But speak softly. I have our child, and she is sleeping."

Erik peered into the bundle of clothes and could not go without a delighted laugh.

"Sleeping perfectly." He whispered. "What is her name?"

"Marguerite Erika." Said Giry, "I named her after you."

"The one who caused all of this trouble." Erik said slowly.

"Erik," Giry laid a patient hand on his shoulder. "You do not trouble me."

"I trouble Armand." Erik said with wry smirk.

"He doesn't know." Replied Giry. "And your true identity must be kept from Meg."

"Little Meg." Erik said with gusto. "I understand." He continued wearily. "No doubt you passed off Armand as the father?"

"Yes." Giry whispered, her voice faltering. "And I swear it was the hardest thing for me to do."

"I understand, Antoinette." He repeated heavily. "But know that I love you. And darling Meg too. Will I be able to see her often?"

"Maybe one day." Replied Giry. "When she's older, I'll allow her to go to your lair. And I will tell her the story of the Phantom of the Opera."

"Indeed you will." Said Erik with a smile.

"I must go now, Erik." Said Giry slowly. She went up to him and kissed him longingly. He returned it with the same passion as he always had.

"Antoinette, when will you return to me, mon ange?"

"As soon as I can, mi amour." She whispered, and kissed him again. With one smooth motion she set Meg down on Erik's piano bench and then began to kiss him fiercely. He returned the kiss with rapture, feeling the caverns of her mouth and she guided his hands down to feel her waist and breasts. Her own arms snaked pleasurably around his neck and she stroked his black hair. For one fleeting instant she wished to go to bed with him, make love for hours and hours. Then she thought of Meg, of Armand. Poor little Meg, left to fend for herself in the catacombs while her parents made love. It was a sad thought. Giry broke off, but Erik's hands still lingered around her waist.

"Erik," she whispered. "Kindly remove your hands, mon beau ange."

"As you wish." He smirked with delight, and kissed her lips longingly again. He released her and Giry gathered up Meg in her arms. With one silent flicker of her eyelashes she thanked him silently.

"Know, my angel, that if I did not have husband or child I would make love to you endlessly." She said coyly, and winked.

Erik laughed in delight and surprise, and took her hand to lead her into the gondola. She sat down with Meg in her arms, and he gave it a solemn push so it would float down to the opposite end.

Armand, meanwhile was pulling on his clothing, having had a long session of sexual intercourse with his darling Cecile. He kissed her solemnly before leaving, and put on his hat, walking out the door without a second thought.

Giry herself continued to hold Meg in her arms, cuddling her fondly and wishing that Meg knew the whole truth. Her thoughts constantly went back to Erik and how he was feeling. She longed to be one family, but knew it could never be. She could not marry the Angel of Music. Never. Her prayer in earlier years was futile.

She entered her house and kissed Armand with scorn, laughing inside at the paltry image of a lover in front of her. He was short, red-headed, and dumpy, his frock-coat stained and his eyes puffy orbs. Silently she tried to imagine Erik there, but with this man standing in front of her she could not. Instead, she gave him a nod and went into her own bedroom. Armand and she had ceased sharing one room.

A/N: Have nothing against red-heads, but somehow they aren't my type of romantic guy.