Chapter 12

The Opera Populaire's second performance of Samson et Dalila had been just as successful as its opening night gala. Although two ballerinas were replaced with understudies, the sold out crowd had given the performers a standing ovation. The vocalists were astounding in their delivery of every note, but Erik had scarcely noticed. As far as he was concerned, the opera could have been silent. For him, there was only one performer on the stage, a lone fairy-like ballerina.

When the show was over and the last bows had been taken, Meg started to return to the sanctuary of her dressing room. She felt very drained and despite adoring every moment that she spent on stage, she was glad that there was no performance the following night.

On the way back to her room Meg was stopped by Monsieur Francois, who once again was giddy and smiling.

"Mademoiselle, I have the most wonderful news!" he said in an excited tone. "The Marquis de Condorcet has requested that you join him this evening for dinner! He is ordering his carriage as we speak!"

Meg looked at him blankly in a state of shock.

"The Marquis…but…. I was…."

Francois did not give Meg the chance to protest. He hurriedly escorted her back to her dressing room and talked extremely fast the entire way.

"You must change quickly, and wear something… cheerful," he said looking at the signs of irritation on Meg's face.

"Keep the conversation light and address the Opera whenever possible. Maybe you could even ask him to help support it financially."

"Monsieur!" gasped Meg. The idea of going to dinner with the Marquis to get money for the opera seemed awful to her.

"No, no you're right. You just be your usual lovely and graceful self. The opportunity will present itself eventually," he acquiesced. "This could be wonderful for all of us Meg, especially you," Francois said squeezing her hand.

"You must hurry, my dear, we cannot keep the Marquis waiting," he spouted as he practically pushed her into her dressing room.

When Meg closed the door behind her and turned around, she could hardly believe her eyes. The sight before her was so overwhelming that her heart felt as though it might leap right out of her chest.

Meg's dressing room was blanketed in what looked like a fresh fallen snow. But indeed, it was not snow. It was perfectly splendid white roses covering her room for floor to ceiling. There were hundreds of them everywhere. Every piece of furniture was covered in gorgeous bouquets with white satin ribbons. Even her floor and bed were enshrouded in white rose petals. It was as though she had walked into a fantasy garden of white in her own room.

Meg leaned over and inhaled the sweet fragrant aroma of one of the bouquets. She realized that every single bloom was flawless. There were no brown spots or blemishes anywhere that she could find. She could hardly believe that they were real. She spun around on top of petals that were layered all over the floor.

Erik watched concealed behind the mirror as Meg danced with joy around the white garden that he had created for her. Her smile filled his empty soul. For a brief moment the inner agony that he had felt since he had savagely grabbed her throat subsided. He had made her happy, and that gave him peace.

Erik's moment of contentment was interrupted all too soon by pounding on the door. Meg looked like she had been ripped from a wonderful dream.

"Mademoiselle, I am sure you look divine. You must hurry now, the Marquis is waiting!" called Francois from outside the door.

"I'm coming," Meg called back as she ran frantically around the jungle of white roses that consumed her dressing room. "Just a moment, Monsieur!"

Erik watched as Meg disappeared for a few minutes and then returned to the mirror wearing a pink dress lined in cream lace. She looked as beautiful as ever. Erik gazed at her as though she could see him while she fixed her long blond hair and then put on her dainty shoes. Meg took one last brief look at herself in the mirror, and then one long glance at the miracle of white that was her room. She headed for the door, but then she stopped. She turned around and went to her bed. Meg picked up one white rose petal and rubbed it her fingers. Clutching the petal in her hand, she rushed out the door.

Erik stood disbelieving the events that had just taken place. Could Meg be going to meet the Marquis?

Of course she could, he thought, remembering the way he had looked at her the night before.

But how could she? How could she be off in a carriage somewhere with that arrogant old drone? The thought of him touching her instantly made Erik's stomach and chest burn in anguish. Erik forced himself to rid his mind of such thoughts.

Everything he had planned was now destroyed. He had wanted to go to Meg tonight and try to ask for her forgiveness. He was going to try to find out the name of the man she loved. But now none of that could occur. All his work had been in vain.

Perhaps Meg had given up on the man she loved, and thus she was receiving the Marquis.

I'll kill them both, Erik thought.

Although the events of the evening enraged him, it also solidified his fervent desire to make Meg his, permanently. If she was going to settle for life with someone, it was going to be him, not the Marquis de Condorcet. The moment that Meg left, Erik's mind started racing. His plan would have to be altered, but it could still be successful. He would not be the one left behind again, and no one was going to stand in his way.

Hours later, Erik stood waiting once again in the damp darkness of the stone stairwell behind the mirror in Meg's dressing room. It was nearing midnight and she had not yet returned. Erik could feel his temper starting to flare inside of him.

Where could she be? Has she no decency? Does she not know what this man will think of her if she is out till all hours of night?

Just then, as if to answer his questions, Meg came quietly into the room. She lit several candles and looked around her room with distressed shock. The room that she had left covered from wall to wall in gorgeous white roses was now as bare as it had been that morning. The old bouquets of red and pink from the night before were back just as they had been. There was not a white rose anywhere in sight. Meg's face changed in a matter of seconds from astonishment to bewilderment.

Hot tears began to pour down her flushed cheeks.

Had she imagined it, she questioned herself. She felt for the one white rose petal in the pocket of her cloak. It was there; she had not been dreaming.

All night she had waited in childlike anticipation to get back to her amazing rose covered room, and now they were all gone. Erik watched Meg take one candle and dash out of her room weeping.

Minutes later, Erik was watching Meg yet again at their familiar rendezvous point from the weeks prior. She sat on the concrete ledge brushing her fingers across her one white rose petal as tears streamed from the corners of her eyes.

"Marguerite," Meg heard a low voice whisper.

Meg jumped up startled and frightened.

"Hello?"

"Show yourself, Monsieur Fantome," she tried to command with authority through her tears. "I know you are a man, so why must you hide in the shadows and try to be some voice or ghost to frighten me?" she yelled.

"I'm not hiding, Marguerite," said the voice. "Turn around."