Nils was introduced to the orchestra conductor immediately after breakfast the next morning. Christine wanted to accompany her father, but was told that there were some things adults had to do alone. Mme. Giry assured her that her father was well equipped to handle this particular challenge on his own.
"But there are other things you can do here, my dear," the old lady reassured her young charge. "Would you like, perhaps, to come watch the dancers? If you are a good girl, I will introduce you to my daughter, Meg who is about your age. Doesn't that sound like more fun than watching some old men talking business?"
Given these options, Christine kissed her father and ran off to join Mme. Giry. She held the older lady's hand and chattered incessantly in her rough French as they walked down the corridors.
"Are the dancers all pretty? I've never seen a ballet before." Without giving the good Madame a moment to reply, she continued. "Is Meg a nice girl? I hope so. You are nice. Maybe she will help me with my French…it is so bad!"
The ballet corps practiced every week day for an hour and a half in the morning and an hour and a half in the afternoon. In between practices, they attended lessons on reading, writing, mathematics, history, and the two languages most common to the Opera - German and Italian. Christine watched the morning dance practice and murmured under her breath, "I wish I could dance as they do. They look so pretty in their little skirts!"
Mme. Giry patted her shoulder and whispered, "I've talked to the managers, dear, and I think they would prefer you joined the chorus." The little girl's face fell. "But don't worry, you can't perform at all as a singer until you are fifteen years old. Those are house rules designed to keep young people's voices safe from overuse. We wouldn't want you to damage your voice, now, would we? I have heard so much about it. Until then you are welcome to come and dance with the older girls."
After dance practice, Mme Giry introduced Christine to the gaggle of cooing older girls. They immediately decided to adopt the pretty girl as their collective little sister. Christine happily agreed to this, considering it meant she was suddenly surrounded by family instead of strangers.
Meg, a sprightly eleven year old, took her hand and solemnly asked, "Have you not met M. Le Fantome yet?"
Christine gazed back at her just as seriously.
"As a matter of fact, M. le Fantome cooked my supper last night." She smiled sweetly, enjoying the boisterous laughter her joke elicited. She searched for words in her limited French, "It was very good of taste. Much better than Swedish food. Perhaps I shall have him over for tea this afternoon. Only I do not know – shall I serve baguettes or schnitzel?"
Having acquired their new 'pet', the girls were reluctant to let her go. With the kind permission of Mme Giry, Christine sat in on a reading lesson. She took a reader and did her best to read the French fairy tale along with the other girls. Considering that she was four years the junior of the youngest girl in the class and had only begun to learn French the year before, she kept pace with the others very well.
Writing posed more of a challenge. These girls had already learned to write in fancy looping letters they called "script", while Christine only knew block printing. Her clumsy attempts made the more sophisticated students giggle, but Meg leaned close to her ear and whispered, "It's not as though they write so much better. We've only been at this for a few months!"
As suppertime drew near, Meg shepherded Christine back to her suite, where her father was waiting. Mme Giry declared that Meg was as trustworthy as any lady on the premises (more so than some!) and would do very well as escort and protectress. She left Christine at her father's door with a hug and a promise to accompany her to classes the following day.
Meg found that she liked the younger girl quite well. The child was more mature than most of the girls in the ballet corps. Her demeanor was quieter, and when she did speak her voice was musical, lilting delicately with the Swedish accent. Meg felt that she would enjoy getting to know the little singer who had caused such a stir among the adults.
Nils was sitting in the parlor, absently playing etudes while he waited for his daughter's return. He was ready for the unsophisticated pleasure of her innocent company. Playing in the symphony for the Opera Populaire was his dream, but even sweet dreams can have moments of discomfort. The lead violinist, Francois Gasquet, had been understandably upset at his demotion and huffed angrily off the stage when asked to surrender his seat. Several of the other musicians had cast distrustful or even resentful glances at the countrified violinist. Maestro Reyeurre was more gracious, but mentioned curtly that the sudden change of lead violinists might threaten the quality of the upcoming production.
Faust was a complex Opera, the Maestro explained, critically featuring the violin. If Nils could not prepare the piece in time, he would simply have to step aside and allow M. Gasquet to play. Nils nodded, took his seat, set his music, and tucked his violin under his chin. The piece they were working on was not in his repertoire, but it felt comfortable as he played through it. Several hours later, as the orchestra disbanded for lunch, the Maestro approached him. "My dear Monsieur. Welcome to my orchestra!" By the time everyone packed up their instruments to go home, Nils had won even the grudging respect of M. Gasquet.
It had been a day of triumphs, indeed. He grinned happily, imagining Christine's pride in her Daddy's accomplishments. Almost on cue, his little zangvogel walked through the door. She ran to side, pulling his sleeve to make him turn and look.
"Daddy! See what I learned today!" She thrust her practice sheets into his lap so he could see her efforts at script, then began glissading and pirouetting around the room with seven-year-old abandon.
Nils laughed and scooped his daughter into a tight hug. "That's lovely, ma petite, but you mustn't forget to sing now and again." She stared at him as though he had reminded her to breathe now and again.
"I'm hungry. Will they bring the cart to our rooms again tonight, do you think?"
"I think that was a one night only performance, cherie. Let's go to the dining room and join everyone else. Did you make any friends today?"
"Yes. I met Meg. She has a funny name, but she's very nice. And there was Antoinette, and Giselle, and Karin who can already do some pointe dancing…" Christine prattled on happily as she and her father wended their way towards the refectory. Neither she nor Nils noticed that they were being shadowed.
Erik moved with light, catlike steps, staying several yards behind the pair. The way they moved together drew him to them, despite the danger of being caught in the open. The way her little hand often rose to clutch her father's sleeve, the way his eyes sparkled with pride when he looked down at her bobbing, curly head; these things at once lit a warm glow in his chest and gnawed painfully at the pit of his stomach. In a moment of weakness, Erik dared to imagine himself walking to Nils' left. He imagined a fatherly hand on his shoulder, the occasional proud fatherly glance like the ones he cast over his little daughter. After dinner, he and Christine would sing while Nils accompanied them…
Approaching footsteps shook Erik from his reverie and reminded him that there were consequences to being seen. Too late, he slipped down a corridor and found one of his secret panels. The valet stopped dead at the sight of a masked and cloaked figure rounding the corner.
"The Opera Ghost! Look! He is here!" yelped the boy.
Christine and her father whirled around to regard the empty hallway. The valet ran to the corridor and skidded to a halt, dumbfounded. There was no one. The corridor was empty, yet he had heard no door open or close. The young valet bowed apologetically to the startled father and daughter, but his eyes were shining with excitement.
"I am sorry, Monsieur, Mademoiselle, but I have seen the Ghost just now. I saw his face…or his lack of a face!"
Christine and Nils looked at the man, and then to one another, warily. What sort of practical joke was this? Did every new addition to the Opera Populaire get teased with this mythical Phantom? Nils shrugged and led his daughter one way as the valet ran another. He was making a beeline for the servants' hall to spread the news among his contemporaries.
Every step of his walk home, Erik upbraided himself bitterly. He had stood there, daydreaming, and let himself be seen. Worse, he had almost been seen by the subjects of his reverie. And the worst yet was that the peculiar feeling born of that daydream was blooming uncomfortably in his mind. Until this day, all Erik desired was the seclusion of his lake home and puppet-mastery over the opera house. People believed he was a ghost, and he was more than content to allow them that fantasy.
Now though, the loneliness of his life surrounded him in a cold, choking fog. He barely saw the completed body of his pipe organ with the disconnected pipes arrayed around it by pitch. He was supposed to spend the evening working on the instrument, but now had little care for the task. After a few silent moments staring at his wavering reflection in the black lake water, he wandered off to practice singing. Christine would never take him as her teacher if he were out of practice.
The servant spread his tale to anyone who would listen, which was most everyone. Tales of the Opera Ghost were savored by the dramatic community of actors, singers, and musicians. It gave their lives savor and interest. Until now, the ghost was described as a dark, swirling shadow, or a feeling of cold, malevolent evil. The valet took great pleasure in knocking aside both descriptions.
"He was all hunched over, but if he hadn't been, he would have been tall. He wore a gentleman's cloak and hat, but under that…" here he always took a dramatic pause, though his listener may have heard him five times before, "no face! He has only a white masquerade mask! And he did not run down the hall, he glided, and then he was just… gone. But he was following M. Daae and his little girl, as though he meant to pounce on them. It's a good thing I happened to see him, or who knows what might have happened!"
Normally, Erik listened to stories of the Opera Ghost with a macabre interest, but the idea that he had been stalking Nils and Christine with ill intent was simply abhorrent to him. They should know by now, he thought angrily, I only do what I do for the good of the Opera. There was little he could do about it now, though. Perhaps it was time to make himself known to one of the staff and spread a few rumors of his own.
