Anne:

While I gave the leeks a good washing in the sink, I thought about the dream I had last night. It took me awhile to get to sleep after that snooping man ran off, but I dropped off after some hour or two lying awake there in the dark.

The dream was about my son, though he weren't in it. I dreamt I was scraping carrots in the convent hospital kitchen, but I wasn't pregnant in the dream. Then the sister came to ask me to step up to the Matron's sitting room, and I put down the carrot and went along of her. It was all in places I knew, but it wasn't nothing that ever happened.

I went into the room, and instead of the Matron, it was someone else sitting there by a cradle, someone I didn't know and can't remember, no matter how I try. Whoever it was said, "Come here, child."

And I went over. Half of me knew what it was as I would find there in the cradle, and gladness welled up in me. The other half was ignorant, and braced itself to cry out—though if she were truly ignorant, why should that be?

But the cradle was empty—only a cushion and a baby blanket were in it. I reached down to search it with my hands, as though Erik should be hidden somewhere, and I wanted to cry in desolation, for his not being there. Then I saw which cushion it was, the old fancy-work cushion as was there the night Diane died, the one as was going all to bits, and I knew what had happened to my son. I was struck with horror, and I looked to the one as was there in the Matron's place, wanting to scream, and then I woke.

I had to get up and look in on him, curled up in bed like a little mouse in thistledown, I was that shaken up by my dream. Sometimes it seems as if a dream is as real as anything what happens in the daytime, because all we have of our days once we've lived them is memories, and the memory of a dream can be as strong as that of any waking moment. So who's to say it wasn't true?

It was only a dream, though. No more.

I put all the cut leeks in the sink and ran cold water over them. Leeks is full of sand and mud, and want careful washing. I swished the water around and rubbed away the lumps of mud. I was making leek and chickpea soup for lunch, which is simple and always good, but wants a bit of attention paid it, to be at its best.

"It's nice having Truffle back again, isn't it?" asked Amelié, from where she was rubbing skins off the chick peas with Sophie. "Do you think she's caught this time?"

Last time Truffle was in heat, we took her back up to old Jacques, and despite everything, all that came of it was a false pregnancy. Her dugs leaked milk, she got broody and made nests, but never got big enough. She carried around one of Erik's cloth toys like it was her pup. She got over it, in time, but it was a piteous sight.

"I'm in hopes as she has." I said. It's odd, what hope and need can do to a body, and not only a dog's, neither. "Why, love, what are you all excited about now?"

My son had rushed in, with his eyes aglow and trembling with what he'd got to say. "Mam, I've thought of something splendid! Remember how M'sieu Makepeace was playing a fiddle, that first night as he was staying here? Only he hasn't played since, on account of being sick. What if I was to play my fiddle outside of an evening so's he could hear me play? It might help him feel better. Can I, Mam? Please?"

"Let me think on it a space." I cautioned him. As I thought it over, while he stood hopping from one foot to another, it seemed as it could do no harm, and might do some good, and could be as it would even lead somewhere. There's no denying my boy has a gift for it, so's it wouldn't be painful for the man to listen to him play—leastways, if he kept to the mellower pieces, not the rowdy jigs and reels. Too, it would be a diversion for the man, which seemed to be just what he needed. And it could even be that he'd take an interest in the fiddler…

"I think that's a right fine notion, dearheart."

He clapped his hands together and gave me a smile so bright I had to give him a buss on the forehead. "After dinner tonight, we'll go out in the garden near to the cottage, and you'll play for him and for me, and anyone else as wants to listen in."

He gave me a hug round the knees. "Thank you, Mam!"

"You're welcome, love. Mind you, now, if he complains, that'll be the end of it."

"I don't think he will, Mam, I'll play my bestest!"

"I know you will, love. You always do. Now, did you gather up the day's eggs yet?"

"No, Mam."

"Then that's what you can do next." I kissed him again, and sent him back out. I went back to my sink full of leeks, drained them and rinsed them off again. Tomorrow, I'm to take him round to the church music master, in the afternoon. He'll need to learn to read music…

The Simplest Leek and Chickpea Soup:

Leeks are a member of the onion family, but they taste somewhat greener. They look like an enormous scallion or green onion. As Anne observes, they need careful washing.

2 ½ pounds of leeks

3 tablespoons olive oil

15 oz can of chickpeas

3 14 ½ oz cans of vegetable or chicken broth

grated parmesan cheese—freshly grated if possible

salt and pepper

Trim off the root ends of the leeks, and cut off and throw away the tough part of the green tops. Slice the remainder length-wise. Put into a clean sink full of clean water, or else a large bowl of clean water in the sink. Wash carefully, rubbing at any clumps of mud or sand. Rinse several times.

Heat the oil in a soup pot. Add the leeks, cover the pan, turn the heat to low, and let them cook, stirring occasionally, until they are so soft they have nearly turned to mush, about 30 minutes.

While the leeks are cooking, open, drain and rinse the chickpeas. Then skin them by gently squeezing them between your fingers until the skin slips off. Discard the skin. This is not absolutely necessary, as the skins are quite edible, but the taste and texture of the finished soup will be much nicer if you do.

When the leeks are very soft, add the chickpeas and the broth. Stir, cover, and cook for another 15 minutes.

Puree half the soup in a food processor and return it to the pot. Taste and add pepper and salt if needed, and add water if that seems required. Serve sprinkled with parmesan cheese. Always wholesome, popular, and a good recipe for vegetarians, as it can be made with vegetable broth. (This one's for you, Wzlwmn.)

Erik:

After the boy ran off to ask his mother what we had agreed he would, that he might play for me that evening, I lay down on the bed. My thoughts were much less dark as a result of having talked to him.

It even allowed me to put my sudden longing for Anne into perspective: I did not really want her, necessarily. What I wanted was that tranquil happiness that I saw through the window last night. She was the architect of it, true, but it would melt away like a snowflake if I touched it, if I intruded on it. Nor did I want to get involved again with a woman; to press my suit on a horrified girl, to work and plead and beg and try to please, and be refused all but a grudging morsel… No. I was tired. It wasn't worth it.

But the boy…I don't know how other men might react to the first sight of their firstborn, but to me—it was as though my heart were a house, in which I had lived all my life, using only a few rooms, never knowing that all along, there was a vast suite waiting to be occupied, until I saw him, and he flung open the door to it.

He and I had spoken without so much as a glimpse at each other. Neither of us had wanted to be seen. That was only to be expected.

I felt an actual physical ache when I looked at him, when I talked to him. It was partly sympathy and sorrow, that he should be cursed with a face so like mine. He would suffer so terribly in the years to come!

It was also love, pride and hope. Hope that he would thrive and lead a better life than mine had been—pride in that he was intelligent, talented, and warm-hearted. I could have been warm-hearted, once. He was the only creature on this earth that was kin to me, as well, in so many ways. How could I not love him? I would love him even if he were not mine.

I heard voices approaching. M'sieu Hussenot—and two women who sounded oddly familiar.

"What a lovely potager! It reminds me of the one at Villandry, only in miniature." said a young woman.

"If you wait for the Emperor, you could live at Villandry." retorted an older woman. Madame Giry! I would know her voice anywhere. Then the younger woman must be…

"Mother! I don't want to live at Villandry! I want to live with Stephan." fumed Meg Giry. "I'm quite happy to accept a baron. It's a much better marriage than I ever truly hoped to make."

"You'll please yourself, I'm sure." Madame Giry sniffed.

Monsieur Hussenot was apparently taken aback by this display of familial disharmony. I could hear it in his voice when he said, "Indeed, I believe the garden at Villandry was an inspiration behind this one. Madame Touchet planned it; it's hers, you see, and she lived near Villandry for a while, when she was a girl."

"Really?" asked Meg. "That's interesting. Thinking it over, I'm not sorry Madame Touchet refused my offer."

"Neither am I," chuckled M'sieu Hussenot. "We'd be hard put to replace her."

"I'm thinking more practically. Madame Touchet has more curves than a scenic route. It wouldn't do for Stephan to start taking an interest in more than her cooking! What is a woman who looks like that doing here, anyway? Are the men around here blind?"

"She is married." M'sieu Hussenot pointed out, "even if her husband is in America. Besides, there is another difficulty. Do you see the child over by those trees, hunting for eggs? That's her son."

"But—He's—Oh, that poor little boy! That poor woman!" marveled Mademoiselle Giry.

"They're not so bad off. Now, here's the cottage. I'm afraid I can't show you around the inside today—"

"Why not? I particularly wanted to see it." she asked.

"It's rented out, to an invalid gentleman and his two Mohammedan servants."

I reflected that it would be amusing to see Nadir's face if he heard himself referred to as my servant.

"Do you suppose they'll be gone by June 29th?" worried Meg.

"It's over a month away, so I have every expectation that they will be. The gentleman's health seems to be improving fast." M'sieu Hussenot soothed her.

"That's good. So, tell me about it, since I can't see it." she demanded.

"It's fully modern inside, with electricity in all the rooms, running water with hot and cold laid on, two bathrooms, servant's quarters are in the main house, so you'll have your privacy. There's a dining room, a sitting room and four bedrooms. The cottage rental includes privileges the guests in the main house don't—you can walk in the woods attached to the inn, enjoy the kitchen garden and the orchard, and , if you follow the stream, it leads to a lily pond—almost a small lake, really. There are some pretty walks around there, and we have a few small boats you can use, if you wish. You can picnic anywhere you like. Madame Hussenot will fix you a basket, if you let her know. Now, I'll let you wander around the grounds by your selves for a while before lunch", he improvised, and left. I could hear his footsteps crunching on the gravel.

"Maman, can't you at least be a little glad for your girl? I love Stephan, and I would even if he weren't a Baron. I love him, moods, thinning hair and all. Forget what the Ghost said—you know he was only a strange, ugly man who was in love with Christine, after all!"

How are the mighty fallen!

Silence from Mother Giry, for a long moment. I could hear them walking away. Then, as her voice began to recede, I heard her reply, "Not 'only', Meg…"

So, little Meg was getting married! Apparently, she was doing so here. I felt positively avuncular about it. The Opera Ghost would have to make a reappearance, if only to send a note wishing her well. Madame Giry had taken that note of so many years ago as a prophecy rather than the possibility I had intended. Perhaps she had ignored the question marks at the end.

And the happy event was to take place in a little over a month…I could only wonder where I would be living then.

A/N: The vegetable garden at Villandry is the classic example of the type of kitchen garden that Anne has at the inn, only much larger and fancier. Villandry's potager is four or five times larger than Anne's. There are great pictures of it on the web. Any search engine should be able to find them with the words 'vegetable garden Villandry.'

The condition of false pregnancy, also known as 'phantom pregnancy' (a term I felt didn't work well in this fic, for obvious reasons) is uncommon but occurs in many mammals, including but not limited to cats, dogs, and humans. It is a mysterious condition sometimes brought on by hormonal imbalances, but which often happens simply because ofa thwarteddesire to have a baby. Sufferers can exhibit all the physical symptoms of pregnancy, including the swelling of the abdomen, morning sickness, swollen breasts that lactate, hallucinations of movements in the womb, and hysterical childbirth. It is becoming rarer in first world countries because of technologies that can prove the falsehood early on.

My shout-outs: I don't know if I can do them all, but please don't feel slighted if I don't fit you in. There are getting to be more of them with every update.

Yes, Belle, I would love to see those pictures. I can't draw, and I'm in awe of those who can. The only problem is—I don't have your E-mail address, either! Mine is simple—it's Gevaisa aol . com. The spaces are there so fanfiction doesn't automatically delete the address. Please send them to me.

A.—Thanks! Sometimes I get an image of fangirls swarming over him and ignoring the perfect dimpled little charmer with the golden hair and blue eyes. Who wants to coo over the baby fop when you can pinch the cheek of the little guy who lights up when you give him just a little love? Any soppy fluff will only be in contrast to an emotional disaster that will follow on its heels—got to keep the rollercoaster going, after all.

Erik's Girlfriend—I'm doing my best on the updates. You can expect Erik to do a lot of waffling on the subject of Anne for a while—especially after he visits Lyons. Big stuff a-brewin' there…

Danielle Destler: Well, I didn't say there would be no soppy, fluffy love. I just said it wouldn't be soon.

Nota Lone: And also: will we ever find out who his mother is, for certain? Maybe even I don't know…..(evil laugh.)

Sat-Isis: But you pout so cutely!

ButterflyGuitar: I'll try to avoid that type of ending, and salt small revelations throughout.

Pickledishkiller: have fun at camp!

Lindaleriel: I will do my best to treat Raoul with dignity. I promise.

SperryDee: DPX is just blocked at the moment. I'm sorry. The muse for that fic seems to be taking a vacation, while this one is on overtime.

Josette: Of all the pictures you sent, the one of the library has me most envious.

Lucia: I'm so glad you're back! Did you like chapters 12 and 13? Don't you dare stay away in the future, you hear?

Thank you to HDKingsbury (Lml forever!), Sue Raven, Lexi, Thornwitch, Invader Vega, Emily, Dernhelm, Fishy, Kei, Flamingices, and Phantom Raver ( and my apologies if I missed anyone!)