Many people find that when their luck has run out, so have their friends. Not so for the Daae family. Maestro Reyeurre bargained with M.Poligny and M.Debienne for Christine's right to stay in Nils' suite without any payments on Nils' part. His orchestra had profited greatly from the two years Nils played for them. His reputation drew other talented musicians who enriched the brass and strings sections. The orchestra could almost rest on its own laurels now, without Nils, but the Maestro was an honorable man who felt his debts keenly. He and Mme Giry were adamant that she should be allowed to stay in the suite she had shared with her father.

Despite their arguments, the good Messieurs came very close to insisting that Christine move into the dormitory with the other girls. They announced their intentions as such, and then stormed off to their office. A few hours later they emerged, pale and shaking.

Erik normally communicated with the managers via letters or Mme Giry. Because they had never seen him, innate French skepticism caused the managers to doubt that M le Fantome was "real." They had always assumed that some member of their staff was responsible for all the accidents and mishaps that plagued the less talented residents of the Opera house. They were no longer under any such illusions.

They marched into their office, complaining about their upstart staff. It was not, however, their staff who greeted them within. An eerie voice, low and hypnotic, sounded from every corner of the lavish office.

"A pity..." it boomed. Poligny and Debienne froze. Debiene clutched Poligny's sleeve convulsively. "Such a pity. I had hoped the two of you might go on managing my Opera house."

M. Poligny tried to regain his composure. "Who..." he squawked, then tried again, "who is in this office. Show yourself!"

"You do not know me, Messieurs?" A low chuckle, as sinister a sound as either man had ever heard, emitted from the walls. "But of course you know me. And you surely know that I will not stand for such barbarism!" The voice rose in power and volume. M. Poligny resisted the urge to cover his ears; M Debienne did not.

Inside the wall, Erik lifted a heavy lever, dropping all four paintings adorning the office walls to the floor.

M. Debienne turned to his partner, revealing a face as pasty white as fresh-washed linen. "Don't you think, perhaps, that arrangements could be made for the child could stay in her apartents?"

M. Poligny stared at the cracked frame of his favorite landscape. He cleared his throat. "She is a nine-year-old girl with no guardian. How can she possibly..."

"Paintings," murmured the disembodied voice, "are not the only things that chance to fall from high places. And, truly, I do not ask so very much."

Poligny exploded. "Fine! Fine! Let her stay there, then. Turn one of our finest suites into a nursery! But someone must be responsible for her. I will not have little girls running wild in the Opera house without governance."

M. Debienne nodded energetically in agreement. "It really is a small request."

The two men waited, but there was no response. The Phantom was satisfied. He cared little for specifics.

Mme Giry tried to feel sorry for the two men shaking in their custom tailored shoes, but found herself suppressing a smile. M. le Phantom was often a demanding master, but in this case he was in the right. She was only too glad to agree when the managers asked her to act as guardian of the little girl in her father's absence. Monsieur Daae was leaving this very afternoon for the sanitarium, but those who saw him weakly board the hansom cab knew that he would not last long, even with the expert care of sanitarium doctors and nurses. Mme Giry told him of the arrangements and smiled at the relieved look that settled across his features. That this matronly woman would care for his daughter made his departure easier.

After Nils' hansom cab left, all Christine would talk about were the promised Sunday visits. When Meg asked her if she had finished her assignments for geometry, she would respond that she had finished it, but hoped that Madame would let her keep the papers after checking them, so she could show her triangles to her father. If Mme Giry took her to get fitted for a new dress, she agonized over whether her father would rather see her in blue or white.

Christine's Sunday visits were restricted to one hour by the rules of the sanitarium. In truth, this was the best thing for the girl. It gave her less time to watch her father die. Though the grounds were beautifully landscaped as advertised, Nils never had the chance to take her for walks. His condition warranted 24 hour bedrest. For the hour Christine was there each Sunday, he was allowed to sit up, wrapped in lap rugs and soft blankets, on the room's comfortable love seat. Nils played his beloved violin while she sang to him. Though the staff objected on the grounds that he might damage his fragile health, their complaints faded to silence once the music began. They couldn't help standing outside the doorway, along with all the patients capable of independent movement.

During these times, Nils felt almost well, and Christine could easily pretend they were at home, playing for the Opera dinner audience. The doctors claimed for years after that their cure rate spiked while the Swedes made their musical magic. The nurses were certain that the visits were as good as medicine for Nils, who outlived their expectations by nearly six months. Everyone concerned was amazed that the child did not contract the disease, as both her parents had. When they discussed this with her father, he speculated that she was watched over by angels.

He wasn't entirely wrong. Christine was watched over by an Angel of sorts. Erik had begun to study her, as he had studied the chapel pipe organ and the little practice room piano. She had just passed her tenth birthday; he, his seventeenth. Her voice was still that of a child, but it had begun to show the subtle signs of maturation: breathiness and a slight deepening. He noted her study habits, her practice habits, her moods, her likes and dislikes. Everything would be critical when it came time to speak to her as her Angel of Music. There was one limit to Erik's prying, however. As a matter of decency and principle, he never looked in on her when she was in her bedroom.