Author's note: Again, let me convey my appreciation for those of you who have reviewed-it is truly heartening! Moving on…

I think I am too ambiguous for my own good since no one has really mentioned anything, but there is a heavy use of foreshadowing in this piece—namely in the earlier chapters. Throwing in all the little nods to Erik's future is half the fun of writing this! On that same note, if I may bring the reader's attention to the young immigrant couple of the previous chapter…the woman is pregnant and her husband is carrying a violin. But enough hints.

I have altered some historical dates for convenience, and I hope the reader can forgive me for such.

Continuing on…

A carriage pulled up in front of the elegant stone house.Holding his hat under an arm, the finely clothed gentleman stepped out, repressing a shiver from the biting wind. Striding up to the coach driver, he handed the man a generous sum.

"Return at nine."

The driver nodded, pulling away. Sighing, the gentleman ascending the carved stairs and stood before the massive, ornate doors. A maid answered his knock.

"Yes, monsieur?"

He smiled warmly, making her blush. "I desire to see Monsieur Gardnier. He is here, I presume?"

Her eyebrows knit. "I am sorry sir, but he has given strict orders not to be disturbed today…"

"Ever the slave to his work." The gentleman's smile faded, though his eyes held the same amusement.

"I assure you, mademoiselle, that Monsieur Gardnier will harbor no reservations about seeing his brother." He raised an eyebrow. Curtsying, the maid let him in, her expression befuddled.

"I can show you to his study…"

The guest held his hand up. "There is no need. I believe I remember the way." Giving her a dismissing nod, he made his way up the long staircase. It was richly carved, the wood shone of rich chestnut, all the more stunning against the marbled floors.

Reaching the summit, he gave a long look down either hallway, strangely darkened. After a long moment, he walked toward the dim light protruding from the base of one of the doors. Pushing open the door, he peered in, finding the middle-aged man seated at a desk abounding with blueprints and various sketches. He did not look up.

"I gave strict orders not to be disturbed…"

His brother stepped all the way into the room. "I had hoped you would make amends for relations, Aubert." The man's head snapped up, his eyes brightening. Standing, he hurried to his brother, giving him a handshake followed by a quick embrace.

"Galen! To what do I owe the pleasure? Are the English treating you well?"

The other man laughed. "Yes, indeed, my practice abounds. I had thought it an appropriate time to take a holiday, though by appearances, you need one more than I."

Aubert's face clouded as he gazed back at the chaotic piles of papers and books that studded the room. "Paris needs an opera house, and I am giving her one worthy of remembrance."

"But I would hope not at the cost of her designer," Galen commented, his eyebrow raised. He did not miss the dark circles under his brother's eyes, the streaks of gray that were not visible only a few short years before.

Aubert shrugged and walked over to a small table. "May I offer you a drink?"

Galen neatly picked up a pile of drawings from a chair, placing them on the ground beside him before he took a seat. "Yes, thank you."

Aubert smiled as he handed his brother the glass, taking a seat on the chair adjacent to him. Galen took a sip of the brown liquid, noticing that his brother had already downed half of his own glass. Frowning, he picked up one of the sketches at his side, his eyes following the lines.

"This must have been an early draft," he mused. Aubert nodded. "It was. Early on while digging for the foundation, a great body of water was found. There is no easy way to rid of such a lake, especially in the heart of Paris. I chose to build on top of it."

Galen's eyes continued to scan the page. "That is no simple engineering feat, though I hope you did not follow this particular drawing. I doubt this given structure could hold back such a large amount of water for an extended amount of years, much less support a massive edifice."

Aubert laughed. "You always did have a sharp eye for engineering, Galen. Too bad the study of medicine stole you away from a potentially illustrious career."

Galen looked up, his mouth tilted upwards. "I assure you, it was for profit only. You build the structure that will fall over their heads and I will mend the causalities."

Aubert shot him a tart glance, though the newly kindled amusement in his eyes was not hidden to his brother. He threw the last of the glass's contents in his mouth.

"The foundation built is not the one in your hands. Originally of course, I had intended to use those plans, and the engineers on site did not contend it, at least not to my face. The plans were lying out on a table while I was away for a brief time…and when I returned…"

He stood and went to his desk, pulling out a long, rolled up sheet of paper from a drawer. He handed it to Galen. "…this was lying atop it." Galen's eyes scanned over the drawing.

"Remarkable…" he said softly, his eyes not leaving the paper. "And who was the designer, if not yourself?"

Aubert frowned. "Therein lies the mystery. There is no identifying marking on the work, nor was there any man who would admit to its creation."

"So you have put the foundation of your opera house in the hands of a ghost," Galen teased, looking up. Aubert poured himself another drink.

"It was foolishness, I know…but I would have been a greater fool not to acknowledge its genius. The design was far superior to my own."

Galen stood and placed the drawing back on the desk. "Do not sell yourself short, Aubert. You graduated from the esteemed l'Ecole des Beaux-arts, and won the Prix de Rome. The opera house is yours."

"Perhaps." His brother moved to the window, looking out over the street below.

"By God though, most days I wish it were not…there is always another budget shortage, delayed supplies, fractious laborers… I can only pray that the powers of state can keep this country from another damn war, or worse, an insurrection…"

Galen looked sadly at him, and then moved his gaze to a dusty picture frame on the desk. Brushing it off, he picked it up.

"She really is very beautiful."

Aubert turned to look, throwing a casual glance over the picture. "Yes…Jaclyn. It was taken soon after our marriage."

Galen set the picture back down. "The house is so silent, I had nearly forgotten you were married. Tell me, where is my nephew?"

"Benoît is…" he was interrupted by a screech of the violin. Closing his eyes against it, Aubert shook his head. "The boy is taken with music, no doubt a whim of his mother that he took to heart."

Galen chuckled. "You were not so different at his age, before your hand…"

He stopped when his brother threw him a foreboding glance. Another shrill note pierced the air. Sighing, Aubert set his glass on the desk.

"Is your stay in Paris long?" he asked.

"Regrettably, I have only allowed myself a few days."

He nodded. "Then allow me to show you her future pride."