Raoul escorted Christine to her apartment, glowing with excitement. He had had a wonderful night, and was convinced that Christine had similarly enjoyed herself. After the unpleasant business with La Carlotta and someone pretending to be the Phantom of the Opera, he had worried that Christine would be too upset to continue on at the party. Her resilience pleased him.

"I am so glad you enjoyed yourself tonight, Christine. You really are a charming dancer. There were several moments when I thought I had in hand a real angel!" He stopped at her door and took her hand. "And you were so brave! Whoever that scoundrel was, playing at being the Phantom – I was worried you might faint."

Christine smiled and bit her lip. She was tired, over-excited, and ready to retire to the privacy of her rooms. "I did have a lovely time Raoul. Thank you so much for being my escort. It's a pity about Carlotta, but at least we know she has taken no lasting harm. Besides, how could I be afraid of the Opera Ghost? I was completely safe."

She meant that she was completely safe because her teacher would never hurt her. Raoul, though, knew nothing of this. He thought she referred to his protective presence. Thrilled by the prospect of being this faerie-like girl's protector, he decided to try to extend their evening together.

"Would you care to walk the grounds with me? It would be calming before you sleep."

"Thank you, Raoul, but no. I am exhausted with dancing, and I must begin rehearsals again tomorrow now that Carlotta will be unable to sing. Again, thank you for a wonderful evening, but I really must retire." She gently but firmly retrieved her hand.

Raoul bowed. "Bon soir, then, Mademoiselle. I will call on you next week." His head drooped slightly as he turned and walked away down the hall. Christine watched him go, feeling a mix of relief and sympathy.

She entered her parlor, and went to the mirror. Should she thank Erik, or scold him? While she stood there trying to make up her mind, the glass swung inward and the object of her contemplation was revealed. He was no longer dressed as the Red Death, having changed back into his customary tuxedo shortly after escaping from the crowd.

"You were expecting me, Mlle. Daae?" his tone was self-satisfied, smug.

"An Angel, the Phantom, Erik...Red Death. So many names for a man who has no face…"

The glass swung closed. "It was a marvelous Masquerade, I thought. And I hope you are pleased. I could have given that atrocious wretch hemlock just as easily."

Christine's doubting look brought a smile to Erik's face. It seemed he never smiled except in her presence. No one else in all of Paris would have doubted that the dreaded Phantom would kill the mean-spirited woman; only Christine and Erik.

Since she did not speak, he continued. "Maybe her crimes did not warrant death, but you do have to admit that justice has been dealt. I hope you have been rehearsing faithfully."

"I have. Only now I shall have to inform Raoul deChagny that I can no longer accept his gracious invitations…"

"Never mind the boy. He will have to make do with some other objet d'amour," Erik's pompous demeanor suddenly shifted. This was not a mood with which Christine was familiar. He turned to her with a shy, almost childlike smile. "If you are not too tired, I would like to play something for you. Will you walk with me?"

Erik extended his black-clad arm to her. Christine placed her hand lightly on his arm with only the slightest hesitation. Hadn't she just turned Raoul down for a similar invitation?

On this night, Erik could walk the corridors without fear. Indeed, he walked with the air of a king surveying his domain. He knew that no one would mark his passage, especially with a lady on his arm. Even at this late hour, a masked man dressed as the Phantom of the Opera would not raise a single eyebrow. They stepped into the hallway together. Erik led her through the hallway, nodded pleasantly at the few servants they passed in the halls. The servants bowed perfunctorily before turning back to their work. They had an entire opera house to clean by daybreak.

As the pair passed a cluster of servants attempting to remove bands of crepe from the fifteen foot high walls, Christine turned a worried eye to her escort. She understood his need for secrecyand she knew well that, after tonight's escapades, he would not fare well if caught.

"Erik, they've seen us. What if..."

Lowering his voice so that it carried no further than Christine's ear, Erik whispered, "They will not even remember having seen us tomorrow. After they have finished cleaning they will collect a part of their paycheck: all the remaining alcohol from the party."

Erik led her to the actors' entrance to the theatre, and then up onto the stage where the grand piano waited. He pulled a chair onto the stage and set it several feet behind the piano bench, where he would not be able to see her face as he played.

"If you would have a seat, Mademoiselle. This piece I wish to play for you is a little long for standing." She sat without question. One of the greater joys she had discovered when her Angel finally become flesh was listening to his genius on the grand piano.

He looked back at her, memorizing her expression of eager anticipation. This might be the last time she would sit with him willingly, if she understood this music. Erik swept his cape behind him and sat down as the keyboard. Teeth gritted fiercely, he stared at the keys. He would play for her. If she understood the language of his music then let her judge him as she would. If not, then let this music pass away into darkness; it would make no difference. His fingers caressed the cold smoothness of the keys.