The day of the auditions, Christine's Angel of Music bade her rest until it was time to warm her voice. The piece she picked was a lovely, gentle piece that showcased Christine's incredible range and crystaline voice quality. She knew every nuance of the piece by heart; more than once she woke in the night with the refrain on her lips. As she sat in the middle of her bed, sipping chamomile tea without sugar, she found herself pondering a puzzle that occasionally plagued her. It was the same puzzle that Erik had realized months before.

As she moved through her warm-up routine, scales, and pitch placement exercises, she tried to understand why she was not content with her singing. Her voice was pretty enough, and her tone was pure. Perfect pitch, excellent projection, and a broad range: all these things told her that she had an exceptional voice.

Then why this feeling of dissatisfaction? When she sang, something beyond the notes fell flat. Though she easily exceeded the talents of any other performer at the Opera Populaire, that indefinable missing piece nagged constantly at the edge of her conscious. She had never asked her Angel what the problem was, assuming that he would tell her if she needed to know.

"Angel, I am going to the audition now. Please be with me." She waited until a gentle voice answered, "I will be."

The audition hall was full of choral hopefuls. Checking the list, Christine saw that she would audition after more than half the people present. This was good, in that she would have a chance to hear her competition. Unfortunately, it also meant that by the time she mounted the stage, the judge would be bored and restless. There was nothing to do but wait and listen, so she settled into a seat.

Many of the auditioners were flatly untalented. The choral director rarely allowed these more than a few bars of song before curtly dismissing them with a, "Thank you, that will be all." A few voices were talented, but untaught. These were asked to leave an address where they could be reached. The rest were pleasant to listen to; for amusement, Christine made a list of the ones she thought would make good chorus members.

Her focus sharpened each time a soprano hopeful took the stage, but soon she grew as bored and restless as the judges. This one became shrill in head register, that one had a rasping tone, another could not switch over her passagio without hitting a sour note. Finally, Christine's name was called and she slowly walked up to the mark.

The choral director, M. Besson, had heard rumors of the young girl's unearthly talent, but never was able to corner her and make her sing. Christine looked at his bored, expectant face and said, "I will sing Bellini." It was a simple piece, and there were some giggles at her choice.

After the first two notes other performers stopped their warm-ups. Several women who were there to try for the soprano seat simply got up and left. Ennui melted away from M. Besson's face as he stared up at the stage in blank wonderment. The rumors did the girl no justice. There was no question whether she would be chosen for the vacancy, but he allowed her to finish her audition piece, simply for the pleasure of listening. When she was done, applause erupted throughout the room.

"Well, my dear," began M. Besson, "I believe I can safely welcome you to the Chorus of the Opera Populaire. Please report to rehearsal Wednesday at three o'clock." He stood and bowed to her. "It will be an honor to place you in my chorus, but I do not believe you will last long there…"

Christine lowered her head, feeling her cheeks flame.

"As soon as your voice is a bit more mature, you will be obliged to audition for greater roles in the Operas, and I will lose you to M. Reyeurre. I will try to keep you for three years, but I doubt you'll stay a day longer."

He smiled at her and bowed again. She realized she was dismissed and calmly left the stage. She measured each step as she walked up the aisle of the theatre, nodding and smiling at people who congratulated her. She maintained this tranquil pace until she reached her own hallway. Then she broke into a flat run, burst through the door of her apartment and sang a snippet of "Ode to Joy" fervently.

"Congratulations." Her Angel was there. "I don't know why you are here. Go celebrate your victory with your friends, only be sure to return in time for your lesson."

Erik watched her smile her thanks and skip out the door. He turned and left her apartments, headed to his home. He had fallen behind in his work there since his tutelage of Christine began five years before. His own music had suffered; in that time he had barely composed three pieces and was not pleased with the quality of the work he produced. Now, however, he heard the strains of a new work lilting in his mind and this piece had the feel of a masterpiece. When it was finished, his pipe organ would have a piece worthy of its construction.