Chapter Summary: Henri faces a sleepless night as he struggles with his sanity. The police and Louis close in on Chagny. And in a moment of blind courage, defying his family, Henri finds his redemption ..

Author's Notes: This chapter is for my "Sounding Board", the person who has so nicely petted me when my doubts arose and kicked my ass when I needed to be kicked. She has answered all my questions with patience and grace. And she has kept more secrets about this story than any will ever know. So, LiveJournal user "Musiquephan", this chapter is for you! I could not have made it this far without your assistance! Merci, madame!

CHAPTER FIFTY NINE

Henri slowly crossed estate grounds from the stables to the main house. He paused by the back portico, standing in the deepening twilight, staring at the bright lights winking from nearly every window on every floor of the chateau. A sad smile crossed his face and he sighed deeply. "I have been such a disappointment," he whispered to himself and turned his face to the stars beginning to appear in the evening sky. "I swear, I will not let you down this time." Henri shoved his hands into his pockets. "Not this time." He walked down the familiar garden path and up the stairs to the back portico. He paused with his hand on the door latch, turning to look out over the dark landscape, his eyes turning toward the family chapel and cemetery, a lone voice echoing in his head.

"Let me die!" the voice screamed in Henri's mind.

"I cannot let your memory die," Henri said. "I have to keep it alive for your child. I have to hold my memories of you in trust until your child is old enough to share them with." Henri shook his head and turned to enter the house. He paused in the back hallway listening to the sounds, following them toward the dining room.

"Well," Philippe said as Henri opened the door to the dining room. "Where have you been?" he asked and paused as Henri entered the room and took a seat at Philippe's right hand.

"No, thank you," Henri said to the servant who appeared at his side. "I am not hungry."

The servant looked at Philippe who waved his hand and the man disappeared, leaving Philippe staring at his young cousin.

Across the table from Henri, Arthur cleared his throat, catching the young man's attention. "Where have you been?"

Henri, usually the first to challenge Arthur's authority and privilege in the household, did not rise to the bait. "I went to the inn for a quiet drink and I encountered Didier doing the same."

"One drink only?" Arthur was skeptical.

"One only," Henri assured him with a nod. "We had much about which to speak." Henri sighed. "And we said our goodbyes."

Philippe pulled the napkin from his lap, placing it on the table before reaching for his cousin. "Xavier is worried for Didier."

Henri interrupted Philippe with a strange guttural sound.

"And I am worried – deeply – about you," Philippe finished and closed his hand over the one upon which it rested.

Henri could not meet the eyes of either man who stared worriedly at him and he studied the linen tablecloth. "I think I am… I have been having…" he began softly. "Ever since Raoul died, I have been seeing things and just recently I have begun to hear things." Henri closed his eyes, his chin trembling, before opening them and raising his head. "I think I am losing my mind," he finally admitted aloud

Arthur looked stunned and Philippe was slightly angry.

"Why did you not say anything before?" Philippe wondered.

Henri shook his head. "Philippe, you were too wrapped in your own grief, too concerned over Christine and her child to worry about the fool in your midst."

"Henri …" Philippe tried.

"No," Henri interrupted him and nodded toward Arthur. "He knows. Arthur knows just what kind of a man I am capable of being." He gave Philippe a slight smile. "And he is the best friend you will ever know for he never said a word to you."

Philippe turned an amazed countenance to his aide and friend. "Arthur," he questioned, "is this true?"

Arthur nodded. "What occurred was between us. It was resolved quietly with no lasting harm done and I felt it need not concern you."

"Mon Dieu!" Philippe exclaimed as he sat back in his chair. "Is there anything else that I should know about? Any other secrets being kept from me in my own home?"

There was an awkward silence broken by Henri. "Yes," he said as he fixed his eyes on his cousin and rose to his feet, "but until I am certain of what I know I will say nothing." Henri swallowed and straightened his shoulders, raising his hand to pause Philippe as he opened his mouth. "At least allow me this much dignity," Henri begged. "If I am truly losing my mind, I wish to have my last moments of sanity be the one thing in this world about which I can be proud." Henri watched as a confused Philippe nodded his head slightly. "Thank you," he replied. "I am going to go upstairs and try to sleep before I must leave in the morning."

Yet sleep did not come easy for Henri that night. He lay down upon his bed, packed and locked trunks scattered about the room, the next day's clothes neatly pressed and hanging upon the wardrobe door, ready for traveling. Henri took little note of them, though, as he tossed and turned beneath the fine bedding. He would sleep for a short time before waking again, rolling over to fall asleep – only to repeat the cycle. Finally in the wee small hours of the morning, Henri surrendered to his agitation, rose to his feet and began to pace the bedroom floor. His hands clenched and unclenched at his side, his bottom lip beginning to bleed from Henri's constant chewing upon it.

"The voices, the voices, the damn voices," Henri muttered to himself. "Why did they seem so real? Why are they not like the cross – distant, unreachable." He paused in his pacing, looking out the second story window of his room. "And why is there more than one?" Henri ran a trembling hand through his hair. "What is happening to me?" he worried, listening for an answer in the dark quiet.

Henri walked over to his bed and fell to shaking knees at its side. Barely able to remember the prayers of his youth, Henri spoke from his heart. "Help me, God," he prayed. "Please!" Henri's shoulders began to shake and he buried his face in the bed linens, his hands beating upon the mattress, as he cried out his fears. And there Henri would stay until dawn began to creep over the mountains, lighting a new day and another chance to begin again.

The same rosy dawn that saw Henri slowly rise from his knees, a determined look upon his face, also saw a coach and four racing down the main road from Lyon to Chagny. The coach was now far closer to Chagny than to Lyon and that pleased the two men inside the coach who, also, wore determined looks upon their faces. They had been in the coach for two days, only leaving it to stretch aching muscles as the team was changed before the coach returned to its desperate journey.

Chief Inspector Robert Pichette looked at his watch, a frown upon his unshaven face. His hand reached for the curtain over the coach window and pulled it up, staring out at the brightening countryside. "How much longer?" he wondered, his tone anxious and irritable.

Inspector Guy Rousseau raised the curtain on the other window. Unlike Pichette who had grown up in the north of France, Rousseau was a local boy who had been raised in the quaint countryside between Lyon and Chagny. He studied the landscape for a few moments before turning back to look at his mentor. "It should be another two hours," Rousseau did not flinch beneath Pichette's angry gaze. "Perhaps less – should the driver and team maintain this speed."

"Two more hours," Pichette muttered beneath his breath and raised his eyes to look at Rousseau. "This is the hardest thing I have ever had to do," he told his favorite inspector.

Rousseau sat still and silent, allowing Pichette to speak his mind, knowing that the words would express his own emotions.

"What am I to say to the Comte?" Pichette wondered. "Excuse me, Monsieur le Comte, but your brother was not killed in the explosion and has, indeed, been alive all these months?" He shook his head. "There is reason to believe he was grossly mistreated during this time and that he may still be in the hands of the person who perpetuated such actions upon him. No, we are not quite sure where he is or if your brother should even still be alive. Nor we do we know why such a thing was done to him."

Rousseau swallowed. "It sounds as if we do not know much," he said evenly.

"We do not," Pichette admitted and shook his head. "These last few days, the finding of the farmhouse, the questioning of Francois Amerlaine, it presents to the world the image that the Ministry in Paris has of us – foolish country bumpkins incapable of solving even the simplest of crimes and completely inept when it comes to serious crimes and crimes of vast importance."

"I do not think the Comte will not think so harshly of us," Rousseau replied thoughtfully. "The few times we have interacted with him, he struck me as a reasonable, well-thought man."

Pichette nodded his head slightly. "I agree; yet, such reasonable thoughts disappear when it is your loved one who is the victim of a crime. You know such is true – we see it everyday in even the simple action of a pickpocket. Such a simple thing, a common occurance, leaves the victim feeling violated. How much worse shall it be for the Comte and his family when we arrive bearing the news we carry with us?"

"How much worse has it been for the Vicomte?" Rousseau wondered softly.

"I tell you truly that it is not something I wish to think upon," Pichette admitted, "but it is something I find I cannot chase from my mind. How does one survive months of such mistreatment, the separation from loved ones and not be an altered person?"

"I do not imagine the Vicomte will be the same person when we find him." Rousseau answered. "Yet I think he will be relieved and grateful to be back in the arms of his family."

A ghost of smile passed over Pichette's lips. "You are so certain he will be found?"

"I cannot think otherwise."

Chief Inspector Pichette felt a warmth swell within his heart – he had chosen his succesor well. "You are a good man," he told Inspector Rousseau and turned to look out at the countryside that was racing by. "I only wonder what kind of man could do such things as were done to the Vicomte. What drives such a person?" He turned to look back at Rousseau. "And shall we find him sane enough to punish for his actions?"

The man about whom Chief Inspector Pichette wondered was also on the mind of the man who guided a tired horse through the woods surrounding Chagny. He had been in the saddle for nearly two days, his legs were numb, his body exhausted. Yet his mind was still sharp, still focused on the one prevailing thought that held sway at the forefront of all other thoughts – where was Nico and what had he done with their hostage.

"He had better not have done anything he is going to regret," Louis muttered to himself as he turned his horse down a familiar lane.

Louis recognized the lane that meandered through the woods, past a small river, from the months he and those whom he had recruited into his plans had lived in them. A strange look passed his face when the horse emerged into an open field where all the planning and waiting had come to fruition when their prey had so carelessly ridden his horse over his own land. Louis paused for a moment in that open field, wondering why the young man had not fought back harder – even when faced with two loaded pistols – but the thought quickly fled from his mind. He had other issues – more important issues – issues upon which his own life hung that needed to be addressed immediately.

He had to find Nico.

Louis gently tapped heels into his horse's flanks, urging the tired animal forward again. He guided the horse through the open clearing and into the woods on the other side. Louis was heading for the area where he and the others had made camp for he did not know what else to do. He had no idea what had happened to Francois and could not have cared less. He had no idea to where Nico had disappeared with their hostage. Louis knew that he feared what would happen when the person who had been directing each movement from the shadows discovered what had occurred. He was acting upon pure instinct and nothing else, unable to think beyond what he would do should he not find Nico and their hostage in the general vicinty of Chagny.

"Mad enough to think he could do it, as well," Louis said to the surrounding landscape, the bright autumn morning, the birds twittering away in the trees.

There had been moments – at the beginning – when Louis had second-guessed his decision to recruit Nico into the scheme that had been laid out before him. He had known of Nico's penchant for blood-letting, for the infliction of pain and humiliation and it had been for those reasons – and those reasons only – that he had brought Nico into his plans. The man who controlled the purse strings, who had presented detailed plans to earn easy money to Louis, had also wanted someone who could make the hostage miserable, to humiliate him, to topple the man from the pedestal upon which his family had placed him. Louis knew that Nico would be able to do such things even while asleep. And Nico had done exactly what was needed of him; but then something snapped, some intangible part of Nico's mind had broken and he had gone above and beyond what had been expected of him.

Now Louis only hoped that when he eventually found Nico and their hostage, both men would still be alive. And Nico would be manageable. Or, if not manageable, able to be taken unawares and done away with in as simple and as quiet a manner as possible.

Louis slowed his horse even further as he approached the area in the woods where four men had patiently lain in wait for months. He could see no evidence that any other had recently passed that way and Louis could begin to feel the anger overwhelm him. He tightened the grip on his reins and inhaled through his teeth when he paused, a sound catching his ear. Louis pulled back on the reins, stopping his horse, sitting still and listening to the surrounding day. And there it was again – that sound. A sound that caused Louis' eyes to narrow dangerously. He sat for another moment as his ears tried to pinpoint the direction from which the whinny of horse's could be heard.

"Forward," Louis told his horse as he began to follow the faint sound.

Man and mount continued to walk through the woods, avoiding obstacles on the ground and low-hanging branches overhead. Finally the horse moved through a particularly dense thicket of oak and maple and as the horse emerged from the trees and into a tiny clearing, a nasty smile twitched at the edges of Louis' lips as a familiar gypsy wagon greeted his eyes.

"Got you," he hissed triumphantly as he slid from his saddle, numb feet hitting the soft earth beneath.

Even as the police and the criminals closed in upon Chagny – each party searching for one man - another young man was preparing to leave the great chateau in an attempt to discover where he had gone wrong, where he had misplaced the dreams everyone held for him.

Henri walked down the grand staircase of the chateau after a long and restless night. His complexion was ghostly, his eyes circled by a darkness that only highlighted their pale blue color. Henri's hands were sunk into his pockets, the material moving almost imperceptably in response to the nervous fidgeting of the fingers it hid. Yet there was a look of grim determination on his handsome face, a look that caused the valet at the front door to start beneath its intensity. Henri ignored him, turning and walking down the main hall to the small dining room where he knew that Philippe would breakfast each morning with Arthur as they discussed the needs of the upcoming day.

"I know I am doing the right thing," Henri whispered reassuringly to himself as his hand tightened on the doorknob and he opened the door, walking into the sunny room.

"Good Morning," Arthur said to the young man who stood in the doorway.

Philippe looked at Henri and favored his young cousin with a bright smile. "I am so glad you decided to join us," he said and waved at the chafing dishes on the buffet. "I had Mathilde prepare all your favorite dishes. I do not want you traveling all the way to Lyon without a sustaining meal in your stomach."

"Thank you for the thought and thank Mathilde for her efforts," Henri said as he remained rooted in the doorway, his eyes closing momentarily.

"But …" Philippe encouraged, sensing something different about his cousin.

"I am done being a coward," Henri said to himself, "I am done being a coward," and opened his eyes, fixing Philippe with a steady look. "When I said last evening that I have been hearing voices, that was not a lie nor was it the whole truth." Henri took note of the looks on the faces of the two men on the opposite side of the room and drew a deep breath. "I have been spending a good deal of time at Raoul's crypt …"

"That is not so different from anyone else here," Philippe interrupted gently.

Henri ignored him. "But that is where I have been hearing the voices." He ignored the stunned looks he was receiving. "They only started a few days ago and I think … I think …" Henri shook his head, his lips tightening into a grim line. "No, I know that the voices were not in my head."

"What are you saying?" Arthur wondered as he exchanged a brief look with Philippe.

"I am saying that the voices I have been hearing at Raoul's tomb were real," Henri told them. "There was a voice I did not recognize." He knew his next words would cause consternation but Henri would not back down now and he released his grip on the door. "And the other was Raoul's."

The silence in the room was deafening.

"You truly are mad!" Arthur blurted out.

Philippe quickly rose to his feet, his chair falling over in the process. "You have gone too far this time," he warned Henri.

"I know what I heard!" Henri said in a deadly tone of voice. "And I am going to prove it!" He turned on his heel and quickly ran down the hall, leaving two shocked man staring after him.

Arthur rose to his feet. "What is wrong with him?" he asked Philippe.

"I do not know," Philippe replied angrily. "But I intend to stop him before he does anything foolish," he finished as he threw down his napkin and fled the room, chasing after Henri, Arthur hard on his heels.

Henri ran down the hallway, bursting through one of the many doors lining the back portico, ignoring the shocked looks from Philippe's staff, leaving the door opened behind him. Henri could hear familiar voices calling after him but he chose to ignore them, as well. He used his long legs to lengthen his stride, disregarding the pain in his knees caused by spending hours on them. Henri chose to not look down to ensure that his feet would not falter and stumble over some unexpected obstacle; he was certain he had God on his side and God would never let a seeker for truth falter. Or so Henri remembered from a long-forgotten catechism lesson. And with that certainty on his side – for what felt like the first time in his life – Henri kept his focus, shutting out the world around him. He knew his goal and knew he could not afford to be distracted from it.

"If I am wrong," he panted as he raised his eyes to the Heavens, "at least take my mind so I will not have to see the looks on the faces of those about me." Henri drew a deep breath into this mouth and continued to run toward his goal.

The cemetery.

It took only a few minutes for Henri, pursued by his own demons, to cross the rolling distance between the chateau and the cemetery. He paused momentarily at the edge of the well tended gravesites, bending over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Henri could feel the burning ache in his chest as lungs - only used to the physical activity of bouncing a bargirl on his knee – protested their indignence at having to work so hard. Henri opened his eyes and saw the grass at which he stared waving and swirling before the lightheadedness laying claim to the mind he so feared losing. Henri drew several deep breaths and straightened, as the worst of the dizziness began to pass.

"Right," he breathed to himself, steadying his nerves and pulling forth the loaded pistol from his pocket. He began to walk toward Raoul's crypt. "I am going to get in there one way or the other."

Henri moved lightly and quietly over the graveled pathways of the cemetery, years of training as a dancer unconsciously guiding his footfalls. Henri stopped just short of the small rise that led to Raoul's crypt, drawing several deep breaths to steady his nerves, the shaking hand that held the pistol. He crossed the remaining distance to his goal with all the grace and silence of a cat, stopping next to the hinges of the iron door and closing his eyes, listening.

"Wakey, wakey, wakey," a voice could be heard followed by the sound of something slamming. "Wake up when I order you!"

Henri winced in pain and bit his bottom lip, drawing blood.

"Leave me to die," a pained, barely audible reply could be heard.

Henri's eyes snapped open. "Oh God," he breathed as he turned toward the door and paused. "Who are you?" he demanded of the graying man approaching from the woods that sheltered Raoul's crypt.

The man froze in his tracks. "You …" he breathed and shook his head. "You …" he repeated.

Henri levelled his gun in the man's direction. "What do you want here?"

The man gave no answer but stared, an evil look passing over his face. "You are not him," he snarled and pulled a knife from his pocket.

A sick feeling began to grow in the pit of Henri's stomach. "I am not whom?" he asked and before he could receive an answer, the door to Raoul's crypt flew open, hitting Henri square in the face, knocking him to the ground, sending his pistol flying.

"No!" Nico shouted as he lunged out of the crypt, throwing himself at Louis. "He is mine!"

Henri lay on the ground, stunned, listening to the sound of fighting, struggling to see past the swirling dots that clouded his vision. He reached up a shaking hand to his face and drew it back, seeing blood on it and seeing past his bloody hand to the open door to his cousin's crypt.

"Henri!" a familiar voice called across the distance to him but Henri chose to ignore it, reaching out to grab to the edge of the heavy iron door, using it to pull himself upright.

"Henri!" another voice called to him as Henri stood on shaking legs, holding to the iron door.

"Dear God!" the first voice shouted, even closer.

Henri blocked out the voices that closed the distance behind him and used the door to steady his steps as he dodged the brawling bodies in front of the crypt.

Nico turned to look over his shoulder. "No!" he shouted to Henri, trying to reach the young man, only to find himself pulled back by Louis. "Let me go!" Nico screamed, suddenly a flurry of flashing arms and legs. "Mine!"

Henri took one note of the madness on the ground before him and quickly stumbled into his cousin's crypt, pulling the door shut behind him. He stood for a moment, transfixed by the light of the Presence lamp and the casket beneath it. "Raoul," he breathed and crossed himself, taking hesitant steps towards his cousin's remains. "How could I have been so wrong? Graverobbers. It was only graverob …" Henri's words were cut off by the sound of groaning coming from behind him. All the color drained from Henri's face as he turned around. "Oh dear God," came the strangled exclamation and Henri sank to his knees and crawled across the small distance toward the sound coming from the extra coffin in a crypt meant only for one.

From beyond the closed door, Henri could hear the angry shouts of Philippe and Arthur, voices he had been hearing for years. They sounded angry and angrier voices, crazed voices answered them in response. Henri thought he heard the sound of a scuffle begin but he could not care, could not focus on anything but what was before him. Henri drew in a ragged breath, his chin quivering, as he held out a tentative hand, lightly touching the man before him. "Raoul?" he whispered.

There was no response from the thin, bound, unshaven man in the casket. Yet despite the sunken cheeks, the haggard, abused appearance, Henri would know the person anywhere. "Raoul," he said more urgently, the sounds of fighting audible through the door. "Oh God, Raoul," Henri said, unable to truly believe it was his cousin. He rested a gentle hand on Raoul's chest to ensure he was breathing, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. "Thank God." Henri lifted his hand to rest against his cousin's cheek. "Please Raoul, it is Henri! Please wake up!" Henri turned to look over his shoulder at the Presence lamp. "Please God! You cannot have brought me this far only to have him die now."

"No more," a pained whisper caught Henri's ear. "Please let me die."

Henri's head quickly turned back. "Raoul, please!" And Henri watched as his cousin's eyes slowly fluttered open and stared at him blankly. "Raoul," Henri continued to speak gently to his cousin, trying to pull him forth from whatever darkness into which he had sunk.

"Henri?" Raoul wondered as he stared, trying to focus and then his eyes closed.

"No!" Henri shouted and lightly gripped his cousin's arm. "You need to stay!" And in the red glow from the Presence lamp, Henri could see the tears on Raoul's cheek. He reached in and brushed the tears from Raoul's unshaven cheeks. "Dear God, you are alive! It is a miracle!"

The sound of a pained scream from beyond the cool interior of the crypt caused Raoul's eyes to snap open and he turned his head to Henri. "You have to go," he breathed. "He will kill you. He will kill the baby."

Henri's face turned into a frown. "I am not leaving without you!" His eyes scanned the red-lit interior.

"You do not," Raoul panted, the effort to speak, the emotional shock of seeing a family member after nearly five months of abusive captivity, taking its toll what remained of his strength. "Christine … the baby … please go … help them …"

Henri paused in his searching to look at Raoul. "I am NOT leaving without you! Not now!" Henri turned to his left and picked up the knife hidden in the shadows before turning back to Raoul. "I have to get you out of here!" Henri reached in to the ropes about Raoul's legs, beginning to untie them.

"Christine …" Raoul repeated.

Henri paused for a moment, he took his hands and placed them on either side of Raoul's face. "She is safe, I swear to you. I do not know how you know about the baby but I vow on everything I hold dear that they are safe. Please, you must believe me!"

Raoul managed to nod his head once.

"I am going to help you to sit up," Henri said, frowning at the coffin. "You need to get out of this thing," he spat and slipped his arms beneath Raoul's shoulders, slowly lifting him into a sitting position. Henri could feel his cousin swaying and tightened his grip.

"I cannot feel anything," Raoul breathed and turned his head to look at Henri. Suddenly Raoul began to shake violently. "Do not hurt me … please … no more …"

Henri stared at Raoul, a puzzled look on his face and then his eyes drifted downward to the knife he held. "I would never hurt you," Henri said. "But I need to cut the knot so I can get these ropes off." He massaged Raoul's neck in comfort. "I will not hurt you," Henri said softly. "Do you trust me?"

Raoul still shook but he gave a slight nod.

"Close your eyes for a moment," Henri said softly, waiting until Raoul had done as he asked. Henri wet his lips and very carefully, with deliberate action so as to disturb the man in his arms as little as possible, Henri slipped the tip of the knife into the knots at Raoul's waist. He drew a deep breath and with one quick flick of a shaking wrist, Henri moved the knife upward and forward, slicing through the ropes. He placed the knife down, flinging away the ropes that fell from Raoul's body. Henri wrapped his arms about his cousin, no longer able to stop the tears. "It is over," he whispered as Raoul's head fell to his chest. Henri rested his own head against Raoul's. "I love you."

Raoul still shook and he winced as increased blood flow in his limbs caused them to tingle unmercifully but the sound of a heart beating comfortably beneath his ear, the gentle touch of loving arms, drew forth tears from the depths of his soul that Raoul no longer thought he possessed. "I love you, too," he breathed. "Thank you."

"Let me know when you can stand …" Henri began and his words were cut off by the sound of a gunshot echoing in the morning air.

Raoul managed to lift his head. "Oh God," he said, his shaking increasing.

Henri could feel his cousin begin to slip from his grip and he wrapped his arms tighter about Raoul. "No one will ever hurt you again," he insisted.

Raoul looked up at Henri, the defeat evident in his eyes. "You have to go," he said. "Christine … the baby … he will kill us both … please!"

"No." Henri set his chin in a determined jut. "I have been a coward all my life and I have run from everything." He shook his head. "But I am not running from this."

"Please!" Raoul pleaded.

"I cannot leave you here!" Henri exclaimed, reaching down for the knife next to him. "If he wants to get to you, he will have to go through me. And I will die before I ever let anyone touch you again!"

In the eerie silence that reached in from the outside, permeating the stillness of the crypt, Henri wrapped one arm about his cousin's shoulders, pulling him close, holding out the knife with his other hand.

"No," Raoul said, feeling the tension in the atmosphere. He buried his head in Henri's chest. "Please, no more."

The iron door to the crypt slowly began to open, its well-tended hinges silent, noiseless and suddenly bright sun flooded the red-lit crypt, temporarily blinding Henri, silouhetting the dark figure in the doorway.

"If you take another step forward," Henri said in a trembling voice, the hand holding the knife shaking, "I promise it will be the last step you take."

"I swear I am going to have your parents clap you irons and ship you to Bedlam!" came Philippe's angry voice. "What is the meaning of this?"

The knife clattered to the stone floor from Henri's shaking hand. "Philippe," he breathed and louder. "Philippe!"

Philippe's eyes were growing accustomed to the red interior of the crypt. "Henri …" he began and paused as a familiar whisper reached his ears.

"Philippe," Raoul breathed as he turned his head and opened his eyes.

Philippe swayed and fell to his knees. "Oh … my … God …"