Meg heard the rumors before Christine ever left the audition: La Carlotta was on the warpath. She had stalked out of the audition, uttering a thousand complaints against the managers and that "little blonde wretch" who was trying to usurp her rightful place on the stage. She drew a large crowd very quickly with her ranting, and declared that the fates would not allow this injustice; La Carlotta would play the lead as always. No scheme to remove Christine was mentioned but, as Clara said, "she was positively weasel- eyed." The woman was up to something, as Meg told her mother, and Christine's debut was in danger before she had even held the sheet music.

Erik was jubilant. His Christine would finally be recognized for her genius. His marvelous instrument would soon take Paris by force of beauty. No longer would he be forced to suffer through endless hours of La Carlotta's painful performances. He would guide Christine, but she would need most of her voice and energy for the rigors of rehearsal. The pipe organ waited in the dimness of his cavernous home. He would not be teaching Christine as intensively in the intervening weeks. She would have to accomplish this triumph for herself. He had his own performance coming up; success in it was more critical to him than breath.

Over the next two months the Opera Populaire prepared for Faust and the Masquerade Ball. Dancers rehearsed until their slippers were in tatters and their feet bled. The orchestra kept to their regular hours, but small groups of musicians could be heard at odd hours practicing in the great lobby, in the theatre, anywhere they could find a space that would accommodate their instruments. Servants were hired in from everywhere in the city to clean, buff, and polish every inch of the massive building. Set artists and stage crews worked behind the scenes to prepare the elaborate decorations that would adorn every public area.

Christine rehearsed with the cast and practiced on her own. Her Angel visited her occasionally to guide her practice, but was absent more often than not. She had no time to wonder why he was suddenly unavailable. Every moment of her time was caught up in the particulars of the stage and music. This opera had to be ready in less than two months. The director had to deal with a complete novice. Though her singing and emotional production were exquisite, she had to learn some acting technique and blocking.

Then there were her rendezvous with Raoul, always accompanied by Meg or Mme Giry, or both. Every moment they spent together fanned the flames of Raoul's growing infatuation with the sweet, serious girl - so unlike any girl he had ever known. Conversely, the more time Christine spent with Raoul, the more she could imagine the domestic, controlled, music-less life she would endure as the Mme deChagny. Still, he was a pleasant companion, and she enjoyed the time away from rehearsal.

The Masquerade Ball loomed as large in the Opera's collective mind as the production of Faust. Privately, everyone worked on ornate masks with beads, silk, satin, lace, and sequins. Christine and Meg, usually privileged to one another's deepest secrets, hid their masks from one another with giggly paranoia. Raoul tried to convince Christine to make her mask to match his, but she would have none of it.

As she worked, she thought of Erik and his mask. No question was forbidden to her but the subject of his mask. She wanted to know what lay beneath the smooth and featureless white plaster, but even to ask meant risking his singular fury. It was maddening. Her curiosity was overcoming her. As she worked on her mask, she constantly envisioned herself pulling the mask from his face, regardless of the consequences.

As Christine entertained these dark fantasies, La Carlotta was making real her own plot. She rung the bell of the deChagny estate and asked the butler to please make her introduction to the Vicompte.

"I have grave news concerning the Opera, and his brother. I think he will be very concerned to hear what I have to say."

Moments later she was admitted to the drawing room, where the Vicompte graciously received her. His polite, disinterested demeanor intensified and darkened as she spoke. When she was done, he escorted her to the door and ordered that his carriage be brought around at once. "Madame, I shall solve this problem without further ado. We cannot have any such disgrace." He followed her to the managers' office and closed the door behind them. When they emerged fifteen minutes later, Carlotta was beaming, deChagny looked grim, and the managers' looked frightened. They were headed in the direction of Christine's rooms.

Christine answered the knock on her door with a deep curtsy to the gentlemen, but no acknowledgement of Carlotta.

"May we come in, Mlle Daae? There is a serious matter we must discuss."

"Of course, Messieurs." She stood aside to let the group pass. They settled where they could in her tiny parlor.

The Vicompte did not bandy his words. "Mlle, you were recently given the part of Margeurite in the upcoming production of Faust. According to what I have gathered from Opera staff, you are also currently romantically involved with my brother. This poses a significant problem, since it would shame our entire family to have one of us involved with an opera singer. Because I am fond of my brother, I will not insist that the two of you cease your relationship. I cannot, however, have you making a spectacle of us by singing the lead role in an opera which would have your character seduced, pregnant, and a murderer before the final curtain fell. I am overruling the managers, and the Maestro. La Carlotta will sing the role of Margeurite."

Christine leapt to her feet and began to protest, but the managers shook their heads forbiddingly at her. She saw that they would not relent no matter what protestations she brought forth. Even if she denounced Raoul before every person in the room, the role was taken from her. The world became faint and ghostly in her eyes. She pressed her hand to her heart, which suddenly pained her. Not knowing what guided her words, she begged, "May I at least remain her understudy? Leave me that, at least. La Carlotta has never missed a performance…"

The managers looked to the Vicompte, who shrugged. Let the girl be an understudy. There was no name recognition in that, no danger to the deChagny name. M. Poligny nodded sympathetically. "Of course, Christine. There must always be an understudy. I do hope this hasn't upset you. It is more important that a beautiful young girl like you find a good husband, than that she star in an opera. You'll thank us later."