When, after almost two hours of slow walking, Christine finally arrived back at the Opera, she could see her blood through the black lace of her dress. That wasn't good.

She walked through the Opera to the dressing room with the mirror, still using her sword as support, risking discovery with complete indifference. She would probably be dead when anyone found her, anyway.

When she reached the dresssing room with the mirror, she let out a sigh of relief, causing her to wince in pain at the injuries that she'd received from Emilie. She opened the mirror, stepped through to the passageway, and closed the mirror behind her.

After walking through the passageway, she finally reached the gondola, floating on the lake, waiting for her, causing her to let out another relieved sigh, inducing another wince. She stepped onto the gondola, grabbed the rowing rod, and slowly rowed away.

She soon reached the gate and smiled in spite of her pain. She was finally home... it had taken almost three hours, but she was home. The gate opened as she rowed into her lair.

Francois was there, standing by the piano, awaiting her arrival. When he saw her, he smiled and walked over to the shore of the lake, where she was rowing the gondola. Then, when he met her there, he saw the blood on her dress. "My God!" he gasped. "What happened?"

She didn't reply - or, at least, she didn't give him the reply to his question. "Oh, Francois," she sighed softly, then stepped off of the gondola. She gazed at him for a moment. Then she collapsed into his arms.

"Christine!" she heard him exclaim just before unconsciousness claimed her. "Oh, God... come on, let's get you cleaned up. Christine?"

And then there was silence and blackness.

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When Christine regained consciousness, she was lying on the sofa in her lair. Her cloak, dress, corset, and underclothes had been removed. She had bandages wrapped around her torso, she was wearing a pair of Erik's old trousers, and she was covered with a blanket.

She looked around the lair silently until she heard a noise. Then she glanced over to where the noise had come from and saw Francois. He had a tray of tea and two teacups in his hand, and his shirt was bloodstained from tending to her wounds while she'd been unconscious. He'd been with her the entire time.

Not taking any notice of her, he placed the tray down on the table. Then he wiped his hands off on his trousers and sighed.

She smiled at him for a moment, then finally spoke. "Francois..."

He turned around abruptly and let out a sigh of relief when he saw her gazing up at him, conscious. "Oh, Christine; thank God," he said softly, letting out another relived sigh as he knelt down in front of her and took her outstretched hand in his. "I was so worried about you, my dear."

"I'm all right... I think," she said quietly, managing a smile. "Thank you for coming back... and helping me... and staying with me. It means a lot." She tried sitting up slightly, but she felt searing pain run through the injuries in her stomach. "Ouch," she hissed, wincing and relaxing.

He then remembered - since he'd forgotten for a brief moment - that she was injured. "Who did this to you?" he demanded with cold fury.

"Emilie... Chastain."

"Emilie Chastain?" he gasped, his eyes widening in shock. "As in Monsieur Luc's fiancee?"

"The same." She paused. "I was visiting my father's grave at the cemetery, and... then she came along, sword and all. We started fighting, and she cut me. Then I heard a noise from behind me and turned... Cameron was there. I'd heard a voice singing to me, you see, and... I'd been so stupid and thought it was my father. But it wasn't... it was Cameron."

He nodded. "Go on."

"So Emilie and I kept fighting while Cameron watched. Then she kept... cutting me up. Cameron was screaming at her to stop... but she didn't. I finally got so put out by her and... started fighting even harder. I knocked her down to the ground... and I kicked her sword away. Then I was about to kill her when... I remembered a promise that Cameron had made to Emilie. He'd said that I... wouldn't harm her while he was around. And I... couldn't let him break that promise; God knows why. So I... helped her up, gave her her sword back, and... told her that she and Cameron could go. So they got onto her horse and rode away. Then... I came back here." She took a deep breath and looked up at him. "I could have killed her, Francois... I could have killed her, and I didn't."

"Well, then more power to you, my dear. I'm glad that you - in an odd way, admittedly - found the restraint from murder." He patted her hand. Then he rose and motioned to the tea tray. "Would you like some tea?"

She smiled. "That would be wonderful, thank you." She tried sitting up and let out a cry of pain, then relaxed and let out a sigh of frustration. "Damn my own incompetence!" she said crossly, smacking her hand on her blanket.

"There's no need for profanity," he said gently, coming up behind her and placing his hands under her shoulders. "Come on, sit up - I'll help you."

She tried sitting up again with his help, wincing the entire time. Then she finally sat up, propped up against the pillow that she'd been resting her head on. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Certainly." He placed the tea tray on her lap, removing one of the teacups and pouring some tea into it. She followed suit, and then they started drinking tea.

After finishing the tea in her cup, she placed the cup on the tray and sighed. "English tea with milk, I presume."

"Yes; what's your point?"

She shrugged. "Nothing... I just prefer Russian tea with lemon. But there's nothing wrong with English tea; you make whatever kind of tea you want, Francois... it's not like I'll be up and making tea any time soon, anyway."

He smiled. "Don't be so negative. You'll be up and about before you know it."

"I hope so, but I doubt it," she sighed. She glanced back over at him. "Thank you for staying with me, Francois. You're a good friend."

"Of course, my dear... you know that I wouldn't abandon you, ever. I'm so full of it, you know... I threaten you, but I don't mean any of it, which is really quite sad. But that's the way it is, I suppose. Are you finished with your tea?"

She nodded and handed him the tea tray. "Thank you."

He took the tea tray and went into the kitchen. She heard him put them away. Then he walked back into the main part of the lair over to her. He checked his pocketwatch. "Well, my dear, it's quite late. I think you ought to go to bed."

"But I'm not - tired," she protested, yawning and stretching.

He smiled and eased her down onto the sofa. Then he covered her up with the blanket and kissed her on the forehead. "Good night, Christine," he said gently. "Sleep well."

"Good night," she sighed, closing her eyes and soon falling asleep.

When he saw that she was asleep, he smiled and walked into Cameron's room to sleep, closing the door behind him.