Chapter Summary: Philippe and Henri face the event that has once again turned their world upside down. In a house by the sea, Christine's world is also turned upside down prompting her to begin the first steps in setting her world right again.

Author's Notes: This is a long chapter and I have hemmed and hawed about splitting it but I have decided to leave it as is; I do not want to waste all that emotional buildup to the ending.

"But, Philippe," Raoul said and coughed, his body shaking from the effort. "I do not want to stay abed any longer!"

Philippe rose from the chair beside his young brother's bed and sat next to Raoul. He reached out gentle hands, pushing Raoul back to recline against the pile of pillows. "I think you had best remain in bed until that cough leaves," Philippe told him, a hand going against Raoul's forehead. Philippe frowned at the elevated temperature he felt, the flush he saw in Raoul's cheeks. "No, I am sorry," Philippe said with a shake of his head. "You are not leaving this bed until you are well and this chill passes."

It was a sorry sentence for a ten year old who could see the bright autumn colors from his bedroom window. "I do not like this," Raoul said, sticking out his bottom lip. "Henri has gone back to school and you are busy with work and no one ever comes to see me." Another violent cough rattled his body and Raoul drew in several deep, shuddering breaths when he was finished.

Philippe could not help the worry that blossomed in his breast. The doctors had assured him that Raoul had just caught a chill and it would pass given time. Yet Philippe could not help but fear that each cough, each slight increase in temperature, was an indication that the chill had deepened into pneumonia and Philippe knew all to well what such a thing could mean. He took a moment to bury his fear of losing the child before him deep within for Raoul did not need to look toward his big brother and see such a thing on his face.

"Well?" a raspy voice was demanding his attention.

"I am sorry," Philippe said as he turned his attention back to his brother. "I was not listening."

Raoul frowned at his brother and crossed his arms over his chest. "No one ever listens to me," he grumped.

"I shall tell you something," Philippe began, waiting until Raoul had reluctantly nodded. "I am going to stay here with you until you are better." He smiled as the frown on Raoul's face began to disappear. "We shall play chess and read books and keep up with your studies…"

"Can you teach me to play cards?" Raoul wanted to know, his expression brightening for a moment.

"I will," Philippe promised with a smile and ran a hand over his brother's forehead, smoothing the sweat-soaked hair. "But now you must rest."

"I am not tired," Raoul protested, his closing eyes giving lie to his words.

"Just rest, Raoul," Philippe whispered as he took the hand of the child drifting off to sleep. "Just rest…"

"Just rest," Philippe whispered as he held to the bandaged hand clasped tightly to his own. "Know you are safe and just rest."

There was no answer from the man sleeping in his own bed.

"He will not answer you for quite some time," Senor Gallardo told Philippe. "The morphine I gave him to kill the pain will also allow him the sleep he needs." The elderly doctor shook his head. "It is a thing not to be believed," he said softly.

"It is a thing beyond hope," Philippe answered just as softly. "It is proof that there is a God." He reluctantly raised his eyes from his brother's face to look at the doctor. "He will get well?" Philippe asked.

Senor Gallardo smiled gently at the Comte. "I do not know," he said. "It depends upon how much strength he has left." He looked at Raoul, barely able to recognize the vital young man he had known in the emaciated, abused person before him. "I am an old man, Monsieur – a country doctor – the physicians who will arrive from Lyon will be able to give you a better answer."

A soft knock came at the door to the bedroom and it opened, Mathilde sticking her head in. "I did as you asked," she told Philippe.

A smile crossed Philippe's face. "Come," he told her, the smile growing broader as he took note of the pillow in Mathilde's hands. "May I have it please?" Philippe asked.

The smile of a mother danced across Mathilde's face. "Of a certainty," she replied. "But I think this may require two hands."

Philippe looked down, having momentarily forgotten that Raoul had never let go of his hand from the moment they had embraced in the red light of the crypt. Philippe gently disentangled their hands, reaching for the pillow Mathilde extended, raising it to his nose, inhaling the scent of lilies. He rose from his chair and carefully lifted Raoul's head, placing Christine's pillow beneath it, before lowering his brother's head. Philippe waited a moment, watching as Raoul drew a deep breath, his chest expanding and Philippe was certain his brother could smell his wife's perfume that had been dropped on the linen pillow cover. "Let that bring you comfort," Philippe whispered, "until we can bring her back to you." He turned to Mathilde. "Will you sit with him for a few moments, please? I do not want him to be alone."

"With pleasure," Mathilde replied.

Philippe turned his attention to Senor Gallardo. "Where was Henri when you left him?"

"In the library," the doctor replied.

"I will be back," Philippe assured everyone, "but I must speak with Henri for a few moments." He looked at the uniformed officer seated discreetly in a corner; Philippe was taking no chances. He turned back to his brother and leaned over to place a kiss on Raoul's forehead. "I love you," he whispered before turning and leaving Raoul's bedroom.

Philippe walked down the grand staircase, feeling the charged atmosphere of his home. He took note of the uniformed officer stationed just beyond the front door, knowing there was another at the back portico. Philippe wondered if there were any uniformed gendarmes left in the small village. He walked back toward the library, past servants who whispered quietly, knowing aboutwhom they whispered and not caring. God had granted a miracle and his brother was alive and that was what mattered. Philippe opened the door to the library; the young man who sat staring out at the lengthening shadows that signaled the start of late afternoon, the other thing that mattered.

"How is he?" Henri asked softly, having heard the door open.

Philippe took note of the open decanter, the full glass beside it. "I do not know yet. Senor Gallardo has done what he can but I do not know yet." Philippe said as he entered the library and closed the door. He walked across the room full of gleaming furniture and leather bound books and treasured family keepsakes. "Doctors from Lyon have been sent for and they may be able to tell us more."

"Good," Henri replied.

Philippe walked around the table next to the chair where Henri sat, continuing to talk. "I know that Raoul should be in a hospital but the trip back here was nearly more than he could take. I am terrified to move him any further. I could not stand to lose him again." Philippe paused for a moment to look out the windows before turning to face his cousin, a frown creasing his features. "Are you all right?"

Henri seemed to think and then raised a hand to his swollen lip, bandaged nose and blackened eyes. "This? It is nothing," he said. "What happened to those two men?"

"What two men …" Philippe began and shook himself. He sank into the leather chair opposite Henri. "The two men outside the crypt?" Henri nodded his head. "One of them stabbed the other in the shoulder and Arthur shot the one who wielded the knife in the leg. They were taken into custody by the inspectors who arrived from Lyon," an expression of death crossed Philippe's face, "and I intend to see them hung for what they have done."

Henri briefly closed his eyes, his hand reaching out for the full whiskey glass. "Hanging is too good for them," he muttered as he stared into the amber depths of the glass he held. A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "I do not even want this!" he exclaimed.

Philippe held out his hand. "I do," he said. "Let me have it." Philippe took the glass that Henri extended, raising it to his lips and downing in one swallow. He did not even choke as he felt fingers of fire snake their way outward from his belly, warming the numbness in which he found himself wrapped. He handed the glass back to Henri. "Are you certain there is nothing wrong with you?"

"A broken nose, a headache, nothing more." Henri's tongue snaked out to play along his cut bottom lip. "What of Christine? Raoul kept …" he shook his head and swallowed back the emotions of the morning. "Raoul kept asking for her. He was concerned for her safety and that of their child." A perplexed look crossed his face. "I do not even wish to know how those men knew of the child and how they must have used such knowledge against Raoul."

"Arthur is on his way to Paris to see the same people as … as the last time," Philippe said. "If there are any who will know where Christine is, it shall be the people she loves as family." Now it was Philippe's turn to worry. "Surely when Arthur tells them of what has occurred, they will not keep her location a secret any longer. Surely they will know she would wish to return to her husband."

"I am certain of it," Henri replied. "What of Desiree and Charlotte?"

A genuine small smile crossed Philippe's face. "Who are you now?" he wondered. "Me?"

Henri looked frightened. "I do not mean to intrude! I just … I just …"

Philippe leaned forward and placed a hand on Henri's knee. "I am glad that someone is thinking clearly for I cannot think beyond the fact that my brother … that Raoul …" Philippe choked and could not continue.

"I understand," Henri said softly, leaning back in his chair. "I understand all too well."

"Arthur was to telegraph my sisters from the station in Lyon." Philippe let out a long breath. "It seems cold and callous to telegraph them when Arthur is going to tell Christine in person but I can think of no faster way to let them know …" Words failed Philippe again and he leaned back in his own chair.

"I suspect we will be overwhelmed with family and friends when everyone discovers what has happened," Henri said. "Have you told Xavier and Monique?" he wondered in a strange tone. "And Didier?"

Philippe nodded. "I just sent one of the valets over; I did not wish to say anything until Raoul had been seen by a doctor. The gendarmes know that they are permitted past my threshold." Philippe grew grim. "The gendarmes will not leave these grounds until I have answers. I need to know why this was done. I do not give a damn about the money but I need to know why those men felt they could do this to my brother!"

Henri could not see Philippe's eyes narrow as he turned his head, avoiding his cousin's gaze.

"I need answers from you, as well," Philippe continued, the determination evident in his voice. "You need to tell me everything you know, everything you even suspect. If this was done merely for the money, than so be it; but I do not believe it is so."

Henri closed his eyes and hung his head.

"And neither do you," Philippe finished.

The silence in the room was palpable.

"I am ordering you – as head of this family – to speak to me!" Philippe demanded.

Henri sniffled through his bandaged nose, the sound causing his cousin to relent.

Philippe let out a long breath. "I am sorry. I did not mean to be harsh," he apologized. "But I need answers and you seem to have more of them than anyone other than those men and Raoul. The inspectors are with those men at the local jail and Raoul is incapable of giving answers at the moment. Henri, please," Philippe pleaded, "talk to me!"

Henri kept his head turned, his eyes closed. "I do not know what to say to you." There was a long moment before Henri turned his head, opening his eyes, fixing his gaze upon his cousin. "You do not think I had anything to do with this, do you?" Henri watched the emotions that played across Philippe's face and placed his hands upon the arms of the chair, pushing himself upward. "You do," he said sadly. "My trunks are still packed; you can send them to my parents. I will gather a horse from the stable and be gone in ten minutes." He started to turn and stopped as a hand gripped his arm. Henri looked down at the hand and then up into Philippe's hurt face.

"I will not allow you to leave," Philippe said.

"Philippe, please," Henri asked softly, "just let me go."

"Listen to me!" Philippe insisted, gripping Henri's other arm. "I do not know what I am thinking at the moment. I am amazed I even have the ability to form sentences after the events of this morning." Philippe shook his head. "I feel as if I am in a dream and I am terrified that I shall awaken and everything will be as it was yesterday. Can you understand that?"

"Yes," Henri nodded, "for a part of my life still lives within the past."

"And that is what I need you to explain to me!"

Henri nodded his head once. "You know I heard voices. I thought … I thought … I thought they were in my head. I thought too many years of drink and play were robbing me of my mind. Such thoughts kept me awake all through the last night. When the sun finally begin to rise, I made a decision – I was going to prove the voices real or I was going to give into the insanity that I feared." Henri paused, watching as Philippe shook his head in understanding.

"That was why you behaved as you did earlier," he replied. Philippe raised a hand to clasp Henri's shoulder. "Thank God you found the strength to face your fears! I do not even wish to imagine what might have happened had you not done so."

"I have not yet faced all of them," Henri said, praying Philippe would not press him further.

"You have done enough for one day!" Philippe assured him. "You have done enough for a lifetime." He squeezed the shoulder he held. "Come. I do not wish to leave Raoul alone for long, even if he is in a drugged sleep." Philippe looked pained. "He seems to need constant reassurance that he is no longer with those … bastards." The look of pain disappeared as he smiled at Henri. "And I know he wants you there."

"I want to be there," Henri said with a nod. He allowed Philippe to keep a hand on his shoulder and lead him from the library. Henri paused as the door opened.

"What?" Philippe wondered.

"What of the man we buried? Do we know who he is? Does he have a family?" Henri worried.

"The inspectors assured me they know who is buried in …" Philippe grimaced and would not say the words any longer. "We know who we buried and I have vowed to find his family and compensate them for their loss."

"Good," Henri whispered to himself. "All that remains is for Christine to return."

Ignorant of the event that had raised such joy at Chagny and – three days later – had raised the same joy in Paris, Christine sat peaceful and content in the parlor of her leased home, plying a needle through pink ribbon, ivory linen and matching lace. She tied off the thread, raised it to her lips and bit, the needle coming away from the small item in her hands. Christine sighed happily and it drew the attention of the woman seated next to her.

"Is it not sweet?" Christine asked as she held up the small bonnet for Marie to see. "And so tiny." She shook her head in wonder. "It is hard to believe any of us could ever have been so small!"

"It is beautiful," Marie agreed with her own smile. "It looks just the right size for a new baby." She shook her head. "Yet what if your child turns out to be a boy – will he not look silly in a baby bonnet tied with pink ribbons?"

Christine placed the tiny bonnet in her hands on the sofa next to her and lifted up another. "And that is why I sewed this bonnet with blue ribbons," she replied and waved the ribbons in Marie's direction, joining in Marie's laughter. Christine ran her hands down the length of the ribbon. "All those years spent sewing my own ribbons on ballet slippers came in handy."

"You do not need to do this," Marie told her. "You do not need to make a layette; you could buy one! And when you return to your family, to Paris, this child will receive more gifts than you will ever be able to use!"

"I know," Christine replied and sat quietly for a moment, fingers running over the tiny lace cap she held. "Raoul never knew his mother," she began, "and I can barely remember my own. His father was very stern and – I think – never forgave Raoul for that fact that his mother died giving birth to him. You know my father died when I was still very young. Neither of us truly knew our parents." A frown creased her brow. "Now my child will never know her father." Christine raised her eyes to look at Marie. "And when Raoul and I would speak of the children we wanted, we agreed that we would be the ones to raise our child. We would be the ones to wipe noses and tell stories, to comfort tears and tuck them in at night. We would be the ones to love our child! It was so important to us!"

"I think I can understand," Marie replied.

"But do you not see!" Christine said as she clasped the baby bonnet tightly. "That is why I am making this layette! I know my child will never want for anything! I know she," she smiled slightly, "or he will be loved by all the people who loved Raoul. But the first thing that touches my baby must be something made from love. It must be something that I made. It must be something in which my child can feel all the love I have for her – all the love I know her father would have had for her." Christine put down the small bonnet and picked up a quilted receiving blanket. "Just as you purchased this gift from her father on the day of Raoul's birthday. You knew … you knew! … that would have been something that Raoul would have done."

Marie nodded and sniffled. "I did," she admitted. "I knew Monsieur would have been buying gifts for his baby at every opportunity. I just wanted his baby to have something from her father."

A warm smile lit Christine's face, reaching up to twinkle her eyes. "And now she will. When my baby is born she will be surrounded by so much love." Christine sniffled back her own tears. "It is almost too much for me to think upon at times."

The two women sat silently for a moment, each wrapped in their private memories. The moment was broken by Christine's laugh as she reached out for her child.

"I do not think she likes for me to be melancholy," she said.

Marie nodded toward the blue-ribboned bonnet. "Or, perhaps, he does not like to be referred to as a she."

"Perhaps," Christine said and sighed. "I do not care if the baby is a boy or a girl, as long as it is born healthy and we both survive, that is all that matters. This is Raoul's child and I could not have asked for anything more precious from God. I will love Raoul's child no matter what. I will love her even if…" Christine paused and bit her lip, losing herself in memories of her teacher. "I will love this child no matter what."

"Tina has birthed three babies and never had a problem," Marie told Christine as she spoke of her niece and nephews, seeing the emotions play across Christine's face, knowing to where her thoughts had drifted. "Women have been giving birth since the Garden of Eden." Her mouth set in a determined line. "And I will not allow anything to happen to you or the baby."

"From your lips to God's ear," Christine breathed softly. "I am holding you to that promise," she smiled, reaching out to touch Marie's hand. "You have been such a good friend. How would I have ever gotten through these last months without you?"

Marie sat up a bit straighter. "I am quite certain I do not know. I am also quite certain that I do not intend to let you find out how you can get through the rest of your life," she nodded toward the prominent bulge beneath Christine's dark green gown, "or your child's life without me."

The two women stared at each for a long moment before they burst into simultaneous laughter.

"We shall go to town tomorrow," Christine finally managed, drawing deep breaths to steady the laughter that was fading into giggles. "I must see the doctor and we shall mail the letter to Philippe." The thought of her brother-in-law brought a small, beautiful smile to Christine's face. "Oh, how he will be pleased!"

The sound of the doorknocker echoing insistently interrupted anything Marie may have said and she rose to her feet. "I shall get it and return momentarily."

"Thank you," Christine said. "I am fine as long as I am down or up but it is the process of getting from one to the other that is becoming increasingly difficult!"

Marie rolled her eyes and laughed, leaving the room to answer the sound of the doorknocker once again pounding on the door.

Christine watched her friend leave and stared at the mess of sewing and boxes and tissue paper scattered about the parlor. "Our mess," she told her child, "and we need to straighten it." Christine steadied her hands on the coffee table and pushed herself upright. "Consider this your first lesson in housework," she said, picking up the bonnets, wrapping them in tissue paper before putting them into a box. She could hear the soft murmur of voices and picked up the box, placing it on a sideboard along with several others. "I wonder who is at the door?" Christine asked her child as a hand went to rub at a spot where the baby had made its presence known in a particularly determined way. "You are certainly your father's child," Christine whispered, a smile crossing her face as she turned around. "Stubborn little thing ..." Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the person standing in the parlor door. "Meg!" she exclaimed and crossed the rooms, hands outstretched.

"Christine," Meg replied softly as she found herself wrapped in Christine's embrace.

"I am so glad to see you!" Christine said as she drew back. "I was wondering when you would come for a visit! I have so much to tell you and …" Christine's voice faded as she finally took note of the pained look on Meg's face.

"I have news," Meg continued in the same soft voice.

Christine reached for the stitch that was flaring in her side. "Not your mother," she pleaded. "Please not your mother, I do not think … I cannot take …"

Meg took Christine by the arms. "It is not Maman," she said and smiled. "Maman is quite well and sends her love. And before you even ask – Erik is well, too."

"If it is not your mother and it is not Erik," Christine caught a movement over Meg's shoulder and the color drained from her face as Val and Arthur entered the parlor, followed closely by a Marie, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Oh God," Christine breathed, "Philippe. Something has happened to Philippe."

Meg reached for Arthur, urging him forward.

"It is true," Arthur said and stopped in his tracks. "you are with child." He closed his eyes and shook his head.

Christine winced slightly and massaged the stitch in her side. "What has happened? Please tell me it is not Philippe! Please!" she begged and watched as Arthur opened his eyes. Christine looked down as Arthur took her hands before raising frightened eyes to his face.

"It is not Philippe," Arthur assured her. "It is Raoul." There was no easy way to lighten the impact Arthur's next words. "He is alive."

Christine was silent for a moment before taking her hands back, an angry look coming over her face. "That is just cruel! How dare you! How dare you come here and … and …" Christine broke into tears and turned to Meg. "How could you do this to me?" She looked at Val and Marie. "How could any of you allow this to happen? How? How could you be capable of such cruelty?" She coughed, her hands reaching down to support her child. "I buried my husband!" Christine hissed between clenched teeth.

"Christine," Meg said. "You know I would never hurt you. I would never do anything to hurt you." She turned to look at her husband. "Neither would Val."

Val nodded. "Arthur came to us three days ago with the very words on his lips that he just told you. We knew you would need to see him, tthat you would want to go home to Raoul – to the man you love."

Arthur placed his hands calmly by his side. "Vicomtess," he began gently. "Nearly a week ago, Philippe and I chased your cousin Henri to the cemetery – the reasons are best left for later. There we found what we thought were graverobbers. We overpowered them and found your husband alive in his own crypt." He shook his head. "It was Henri who suspected that the Vicomte was there and it was Henri who saved your husband's life." Once again he reached for Christine's hands. "You know I would never lie to you. When I left Chagny, Senor Gallardo was just arriving to treat the Vicomte. He is alive, Madame."

A stunned Christine was silent for a moment, the tears disappearing from her eyes. "Raoul is alive?" she whispered.

Arthur took back one of his hands and placed it over his heart. "I swear on my eternal soul that your husband is alive."

Christine's lids lowered over eyes that flitted back and forth, thoughts racing behind them. "Dear God," she whispered as the color drained from her face.

"Christine!" Marie exclaimed, pushing her way forward, taking Christine by the arms. "Are you all right?"

"Sit," Christine managed to say.

Marie guided Christine back to the sofa, helping her to sit, aware of the worried eyes that watched them. Marie looked over her shoulder for a moment. "She has had problems over these last months." She turned her attention back to Christine. "Are you all right?" Marie repeated.

"I think … I think … I am fine," Christine nodded. "We are fine." She raised teary eyes to Arthur. "I need to be with him! Do you know when the next train leaves?"

The next train left late that afternoon and upon being informed it would take four days to reach Lyon, Christine withdrew into herself. Accompanied by Meg, Val, Arthur, Marie and the barest of luggage, Christine sat quietly watching the colorful autumn countryside roll past the train windows. When not sitting, Christine meekly gave in to Marie's urgings to rest. She lay still on one of the small beds in the private train car, stunned, unable to focus on anything beyond the words that kept playing over and over in her head, echoing the clackity-clackity-clack of the train wheels:

"Raoul is alive."

Marie and Meg, both familiar with Christine's moods, watched anxiously for a sign that she was succumbing to the stress, the shock. They waited for her to explode or to break down yet there was nothing. There was no sign of any emotion from Christine. She just sat quietly, lost in a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions that no one could penetrate. The only sign of life they could detect was when Christine would whisper to her baby whilse she traced gentle circles over the chid's movements, the softly spoken words unintelligible and meant only for the baby and God.

Finally, nearly two weeks to the day after Raoul had been found, two coaches rolled to a stop at the bottom of the steps that led to the main door of Chagny. One of the coaches was piled with luggage, the other coach that bore no luggage was the first to stop, its door flinging open. A man jumped from the coach, extending his hands and helping a pregnant woman alight. She ignored his offer of further assistance and climbed the stairs before her as quickly as her condition would allow, trusting that those behind would follow her. She did not pause to knock at the main door but burst through, leaving it open.

Finally the explosion that Meg and Marie had feared let loose.

Christine turned to the stunned valet who was rising to his feet. "Where is my husband?" she demanded.

The valet held out his hand to stop the armed officer who had also risen to his feet. "Vicomtess …" he stammered, his eyes straying to her mid-section.

Christine turned her anger toward the officer. "Put that gun down," she ordered, "or are you in the habit of shooting expectant mothers?" She turned her attention back to the valet. "I asked a question – where is my husband?" she repeated.

"Christine?" a voice called.

Christine turned to see Raoul's sisters approaching down the main hallway. They paused as the reached the bottom of the grand staircase, staring at Christine.

"Yes," Christine said, taking note of where their eyes were looking. "I am with child. And – yes – this is Raoul's baby." She drew a deep breath. "I have just spent nearly a week on a train. I am tired. My back hurts. My feet hurt. I have a headache and I am getting angrier and more anxious by the moment. Now, will someone please tell me where my husband is!" Christine's frustration caused her voice to rise with each word. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Meg, Val and Arthur behind her. Marie was standing just beyond the open front door.

There was a shocked silence in the great chateau. This was not the frightened, unsure little girl who had suddenly found herself the wife of titled man; this was a Vicomtess.

Christine turned her attention back to Desiree and Charlotte. "If one of you does not tell me where Raoul is, I shall begin tearing this chateau apart stone-by-stone and when I am done with the chateau, I shall tear you apart until someone tells me …"

"Christine!" a male voice called, footsteps rapidly tapping down the stairs.

"Philippe," Christine breathed as she crossed to meet Philippe at the bottom of the stairs. She embraced him warmly and nodded as Philippe drew back, watching as his eyes strayed downward. "Yes, I am with child," she repeated in a soft, tired tone. "Where is Raoul?"

"Come with me," Philippe said, taking her hand, walking her up the stairs. "He is in his room." A smile crossed his face. "The room you share with him."

"Philippe," Christine said with a shake of her head and paused as they reached the top of the stairs, wincing, reaching for her side.

"What is wrong?" Philippe worried.

"Nothing," Christine said. "A slight twinge; I have grown used to it. I need to see Raoul. Please!"

Philippe wrapped his arm about her shoulders. "Not nearly as much as he needs to see you."

"Another officer?" Christine wondered as they stopped outside of Raoul's door and she took note of the armed man sitting against the wall.

"I shall tell you later," Philippe promised and placed gentle hands on Christine's arms. "Christine, I do not know much Arthur has told you but Raoul has been ill-used. They never stopped their abuse." Philippe shook his head. "The doctors will return in the morning and will be able to tell you about his condition in great detail but for now, I want you to be prepared. He is not the same man who was taken from us."

Christine studied Philippe's face. "I understand," she acknowledged, "but I do not care. I love him and I need to be with him." She reached for her child. "We need to be with him."

Philippe reached for the door handle. "Come then," he said and opened the door. "He is drugged for the pain and may not know you are here," Philippe warned and moved aside to let Christine enter.

"Oh dear God, Raoul," she whimpered as she paused in the doorway. Christine could feel Philippe's reassuring hand on her back but her attention was entirely focused on the man before her.

Raoul lay on the bed, his eyes closed, arms resting by his sides. Bandages wrapped around several of his fingers and a similar bandage wrapped around his chest and extended around one shoulder. Christine's eyes filled with tears as she took note of her husband's sunken cheeks, the short-cropped hair. "What did they do to you?" she whispered as her eyes traveled down the length of his body, taking note of the bandaged leg that lay outside the blankets.

The sound of Raoul moaning drew Christine back to the moment and she quickly crossed to his side, placing a cool hand against his cheek, her other hand going to hold lightly to one of his. "It is all right, Raoul," Christine said gently as she reached in and placed a kiss against his forehead, drawing back, shocked at the heightened temperature of her husband's skin. "I am here now and I love you." Christine raised the hand she held and rested it against the motion of their child. "We love you." A smile grew on Christine's face as Raoul's eyes fluttered open, focusing on her.

"Christine," he breathed, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips. "Safe." His eyes closed again.

Christine bit her bottom lip and placed Raoul's hand back on the bed. "Sleep, Raoul," she said softly and leaned over, placing a kiss on his lips. She felt the hand she still held squeeze her own. "I love you, too," she whispered.