Raoul was awake again. He did not want to open his eyes or move; such actions would take too much of his waning energy. His ears were working perfectly. He heard the pitiful separation of Christine and Erik. He heard Erik's declaration of love and Christine's cries. He knew that Erik was being arrested. He remembered Erik's care in bringing him back up to the surface.
The surgeon was talking to him, trying make him respond. Where was the pain? Could he hear him? Could he speak? Did he know where he was? Raoul wanted the annoying man to go away and leave him alone. It was impossible to think with that high pitched voice droning in his ear and those cold hands pressing his belly, setting off explosions like Chinese fireworks. What did he want to think about? Oh yes. Christine and Erik. Erik, who did what he did for the love of Christine. Could he stop them from arresting Erik? He owed the man that, at least, considering everything Raoul had done to him and all he had done for Raoul. What was the surgeon saying now?
"Your brother is here. The Vicompte is here."
Raoul licked his lips and forced air into his lungs, which felt squeezed and cramped. "Get my brother."
Within seconds, he sensed his brother's powerful presence. This was the man who had taught him everything he knew about being a nobleman, and about honor. Raoul hoped he could make his brother understand quickly. There was no air, no strength. The surgeon murmured to his brother for a moment, too low for Raoul to hear. There was no need to hear; he knew that that quick and quiet conversation meant that he was dying.
"I am here, little brother. I just talked to the good doctor." There was a long pause while Phillippe searched for the right words. "You will feel better very soon." That was true. Raoul would not likely live out the hour.
"Pepe," Raoul reverted to his brother's pet name; it was shorter and easier to say. "Tell them…let him go."
"Don't be ridiculous! He set the trap that has…has injured you. I'll not let him walk free." Phillippe did not say that he intended to charge the monstrous man with his brother's murder.
"No. Did it…to myself." Raoul rested for a moment. The thoughts and words were ponderous, unwieldy things. "My own fault. Please. Let him go." This was his last chance, he knew. "Please. On my honor. Let him go. We did …what we have done…for the love of Christine."
That rocked Phillippe back on his heels. "On my honor." How could he deny a dying man his final wish that he made on his honor. With a deep sigh, Phillippe patted his brother's shoulder, then kissed him on each cheek. "As you wish it, Raoul. I will see them set free today. Worry no more about it." The younger man smiled, then began to convulse. The priest who served the Opera Populaire, and had been summoned along with the surgeon, ran forward and began pronouncing the final sacred rights. By the time his intonations ended, so had Raoul's life.
A respectful silence hung over the room. With hearing honed by years of stealthy listening, Erik overheard much of the brothers' conversation. Hitherto, he had felt only contempt for the boy, but now he mourned the passing of the man. A glance at Christine broke and exulted his heart. She had not looked away from her Angel of Music until silence descended. Now, she dissolved in tears, doubtless believing that Erik's chances of survival had passed with the man. Her fearful eyes followed the Vicompte as he blotted his eyes with his handkerchief, cleared his throat and stood to face the crowd that had gathered.
"My brother, Raoul DeChagny, has died…" he stopped to clear his throat. "His last request, which I and the good Commissaire will honor," here he shot a significant glance to Commissaire Duprix, "is that this man and this woman go free. But before Monsieur le Fantome is let go, I have my own demand. Everyone who is not clergy, law, under arrest, or Christine: leave us."
The rush towards the door was instantaneous. No one wanted to stay in a room with a dead man and a living ghost. Meg and Mme Giry paused by Christine and squeezed her hand in friendship. Christine was standing bolt upright, her eyes wide open, her mouth working soundlessly. She leaned against the grip of the gendarme who held her, but was not struggling. Her face was white with hectic splotches of red on the cheeks; her eyes were glassy. She looked as though she were in the grip of a killing fever. The two women did not think she was aware of their friendly gesture.
When the room was cleared, Phillippe turned to Erik.
"You are on your honor not to run if I allow these men to release you." It was an order, there was no question.
The turmoil in Erik's mind whirled incessantly. Men had ever been a bane to him. Men beat and tortured, men used threats and force. As much as he had feared the prospect of meeting Mme Giry face to face, he discovered that he feared dealing with this man more. Erik realized that never once in his entire life had he stood face-to-face with another man and held a conversation. Outwardly, he stood strong, his eyes impassive, ignoring the men who held him as though they were beneath his notice.
"Monsieur, I am always on my honor." It was all he could think to say, so he said it with as much power and grace as he possessed.
Phillippe smiled sadly. Had his brother had half of this man's self-possession and nobility, he might not be lying dead on an opera couch now. He looked to the gendarmes.
"Release him, and step away."
Reluctantly, the men did as they were ordered. Erik continued to stand as he had before, moving only to smooth his rumpled dress clothes.
"I cannot speak to a mask. Remove it." Phillippe was as curious as anyone else.
"I respectfully decline, Monsieur." Erik kept his voice melodious and calm as he reached for the mode of discourse he had heard spoken by the elite in the tea rooms over the years. Phillippe's countenance darkened. "I assure you that you would prefer it to…the face behind the mask."
"Regardless of your respect and my comfort; remove it. I would see the face of the man who is responsible for the death of my brother." Phillippe was getting angry. He had something to say to this man before he could go home and grieve and he did not intend to say it to a blank theatre mask.
"Monsieur, I will not." Erik was also becoming angry. He was so close to freedom and if this powerful man saw what was hidden, he would likely revoke that offer of freedom.
Phillippe started forward aggressively and Erik was poised to meet him when a sweet, but strong voice interrupted them.
"Gentlemen, there is still a lady present." Christine had fought for and won her composure. There was still a man holding her firmly; this suddenly felt like a great indignity. She was a lady, not a street-walking cut-purse. "And she is being treated insufferably."
Phillippe felt himself flush. It was, indeed, ungracious to have a lady held so. He gestured to the gendarme assigned to her and he released her.
Christine looked down at her torn, dirtied, bloodied clothing and sighed. She knew her hair was also in a terrible state. I must behave as though I were dressed in silks and satins, she thought, and drew herself up. She walked with light, steady steps to Erik's side.
"Vicompte, is it truly your wish that this man remove his mask?" She knew what the answer would be, but she wanted to give him a chance to recant.
"It is my wish and my condition for his freedom." The Vicompte was determined not to be swayed.
"Then, sir, I must make a request, as a lady."
He sighed. This woman pressed more than she ought. "What is it?"
"That you allow these gendarmes with their guns to leave the room." The Vicompte only raised his eyebrow. Christine understood that more of an explanation was needed. "It is for the protection of my fiancé." Unconsciously, Christine had pressed close to Erik's side and twined her arms through his. They were so close. "I will be responsible for his actions."
Phillippe laughed outright at her. "He is so tame that a woman can control him?" He smirked when Erik stiffened a bit.
"He is such a gentleman that he needs no one to 'control' him." Christine hoped that her frequent allusions to station would keep this man in a noble state of mind. She smiled inwardly to feel Erik relax again beside her.
"Alright. Leave us." He pointed towards the door. "You too, Alexandre."
Finally, no one remained in the room but the chapel priest, Phillippe, Erik, and Christine. Christine looked around with satisfaction. If they had to run, they at least had a chance. "Now, Erik, please oblige the gentleman and remove your mask."
"Christine…" How could she take the Vicompte's side?
"Please, Erik." She turned towards him and laid a hand on the back of his neck. Her voice dropped to a sorrowing whisper. She looked sadly at what was left of Raoul. "He paid for his ticket, did he not? Let him see the show." They were Erik's words from a lifetime ago.
Phillippe watched the two of them. He was moved by the girl's tenderness towards her lover. His brother's last words came back to him. "…for the love of Christine." Now he saw the attraction in this woman. She was otherworldly in form, face, voice and action – it was a pity she held no rank. Her strange whispered words made no sense to him, but they had an immediate effect on the man – Erik.
Erik lifted his eyes to stare deeply into the Vicompte's, who was suddenly uncomfortably sure that those eyes saw much more than his face. A long, thin, pale hand with delicate musician's fingers reached up and slowly, grudgingly removed the mask. Phillippe had two reactions to what he saw: his eyes widened and he stepped backwards. That was all. Years as an officer in the French army had taught him courage; he had already looked death in the face. Erik's face startled, but did not discompose, him. Once he was sure his voice would come out even and sure, he said his piece.
"Know that I am setting you free because my brother's last request was that you go free. You set the traps; I hold you responsible for his death and the death of the other man. Note that I do not call you a murderer. As the young mademoiselle said earlier, 'A man has a right to defend his home…' A man also has the right to defend his own life and I am sure my brother's intent was to kill you. Nevertheless, he was my brother and now he is dead by your device. I own this Opera House. Clearly, I cannot have my brother's killer living in it. You must leave. I give you a fortnight to gather what you can. Afterwards, I shall send a garrison of men into the depths to seek you out. They will have orders to kill you if they find you. Do you agree that this is a fair offer?" When he finished speaking, Phillippe felt a brief flash of fear. This was no ordinary man standing across from him. This man's eyes held a rage that threatened to burst forth with deadly result. Slowly, the fire died away; Erik would accept the offer.
"I would not know "fair", but I do know when I have no choice. I will be gone within a fortnight."
On an impulse, the Vicompte extended his hand. It was an irrational move by all appearances, but he could not dismiss the feeling that he was in the presence of a man greater than himself. After a long pause, Erik took the proffered hand.
Next, Phillippe turned to Christine. "You are an extraordinary young lady, though trouble seems drawn to you like filings to a magnet. The Opera Populaire is honored to have you. You are welcome to stay here, though…" he looked from her to the monstrous creature beside her, "I doubt that will be your choice. Know that you may return any time to rehearse, perform, visit or live. My brother would have wanted it that way. Adieu, mademoiselle, monsieur. I must go tend to my brother now."
