The two girls ran off to tell the improbable story to Mme Giry, who did her best to look surprised and intrigued. In truth, she was uneasy about M. le Phantom's interest in the little Daae girl. The child's voice was divine, true, but how wholesome could it be for a child to have a Ghost as a teacher? Would he be as demanding of the child as he was of his harried Housekeeper? On the other hand, if she could intercede on Christine's behalf and keep the Ghost's demands reasonable, it was likely that Christine would become the greatest coloratura soprano ever to grace any stage.
The dance instructor called the class to order and the girls ran to their places. Poor Christine was tucked behind two tall girls where her faux-pas would not be so easily seen. Mme Giry covered her smile with a hand. Christine would never be a dancer, for certain. She left the room, determined to have firm words with the Phantom. Music might be his province, but little girls were hers. He would be angry with her; he might even punish her for questioning him, but it was her duty to protect the children of the Opera, and she was unfailing in that duty. In her private chambers she began to pen her own letter to the Phantom.
Dear M. le Phantom,
I make bold to write to you on account of Nils Daae's daughter. Christine told me that you'd be teaching her this morning. She was so happy that I thought it prudent to write to you concerning children in general and little girls in particular. Monsieur, with all due respect, you must be careful of demanding too much from the child. Children need to be children or they fade like cut flowers. You know music, but I know children. I would respectfully request that you allow me to help you in rearing her, or you may mar her soul as badly as you think the instructors would mar her voice.
The managers are furious, Monsieur, and say they will not pay you to haunt their place of business. The matter is quite beyond me.
Respectfully,
Mme A. Giry.
After carefully sealing it in a small envelope addressed to M. le Phantom. She carried it to box 5 and left it on the velvet upholstered seat. He would find and read it in his own time. She could only hope he would not be as angry as the managers were when she relayed his demand for salary to them. She worried for M. Debienne, whose face turned white, then proceeded to darken from pink to red to scarlet and finally to an alarming shade of purple.
M. Poligny (as was his wont) had exploded, "What the devil does a ghost need money for, hmm? Answer me that, Madame, and he can have his damned money!"
Retaining her dignity, Mme Giry had calmly replied, "I do not presume to question M. Opera Ghost. Perhaps you should read the last line of the letter again, Messieurs, as I believe it makes an important point that you may wish to consider. Thomas is not in the best of health right now. I intend to keep my neck unblemished. Au revoir, and God keep you."
She curtsied curtly to them and departed. Now, as she returned to her apartment, she guiltily hoped that M. le Fantome would direct his ire at the stubborn managers and not at her. As far as she was concerned, he did serve the Opera House well, and did deserve some compensation for his efforts. Of course, the managers only saw their profits shrinking.
Erik found the letter shortly after the performance of Aida began. Overjoyed to see his box empty, he slipped in after the curtains rose and the symphony swelled. Usually, Mme Giry communicated in notes. The envelope was most unusual. Erik opened it and read silently. At first he sneered at the idea that he would need the Housekeeper's assistance in dealing with Christine. But the sneer slipped into solemn thought. He hadn't been allowed his childhood, and look where he was now - a murderer hiding in a basement, a demon pretending to be an Angel. Perhaps he would allow the good lady to give him advice, if advice were needed.
Then his eyes scanned the last bit of information, and narrowed dangerously. It was out of her hands indeed. He sighed as he left in the midst of his favorite aria, sloppily rendered by the Carlotta. Once, she had been great. Her vibrato had always been a bit excessive, but now her voice was becoming breathy, raspy, even tinny at times. She had developed many bad habits which depleted her voice's natural beauty. Yes, she would have to be replaced as soon as a suitable soprano could be found. Right now, though, he had some stubborn managers to deal with.
M. Debienne always watched the performances from box 1, mistakenly believing that since it was the closest box it afforded the best experience of the performance. Tonight, he was alone in the plush seat, with his heavy shoes scuffing the polished balcony. Erik ran the velvet curtain tie between his fingers and calmed his wildly beating heart. He would have to be very careful not to actually hurt the man, or let him cry out above the music. A deep breath later, the velvet looped over Debienne's head and under his pudgy neck.
His beady eyes bulged as a voice whispered in his ear, "Monsieur, dear Monsieur, I ask for so very little. I only request a portion of the money I bring in for you by culling the mediocre talent. Shall I let you breathe? Or will you continue to deny my modest request?"
Debienne nodded frantically, tearing at the strangling rope with both hands. Erik simultaneously released pressure on the rope and clapped a leather-gloved hand over Debienne's mouth.
"Good choice, Monsieur. I shall expect my first payment on the fifteenth of next month. Please do not disappoint me. I do not enjoy your company, and I know you do not prefer mine. But I will return if need be."
The hand lifted and Debienne spun around to face his attacker. No one was there, but a length of red velvet attested to the reality of the encounter, as did Debienne's aching throat. The Phantom had let him live. How kind.
"And really," muttered the demoralized man to himself, "He doesn't ask so very much."
