Chapter Summary: Henri tries his best to warn both Raoul and Christine without breaking the persona he has adopted. Philippe, Xavier and Monique wonder about the changes that have come over Henri and Didier. Madame Giry finds herself praying for Erik and Tallis. Tallis begins to find herself regretting her choice. And Erik finishes his lullaby.

CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT

Henri gave a last look to himself in the full-length mirror and nodded his head. The tight riding pants, the heavy wool blazer, the brown boots all made him look the part. He looked like he had not a care in the world as he prepared to face the day. He looked as if he were ready to walk out the door and laugh at the previous night's snowfall. He looked as if he were ready to laugh in the face of the cruel world that waited just beyond the elegant warmth of Chagny.

"And I know just how cruel it can be," Henri sighed as he turned to pick up the riding gloves that rested casually atop the dresser. He walked to the door of his room and opened it. "Too bad no one else in this family does," he whispered to himself, a frown on his face that quickly disappeared as he walked down the hallway. He stopped before one door. "Well, perhaps one other," Henri thought as he rapped his knuckles lightly upon the polished wood before flinging the door open. "Good morning!" Henri sang out as he entered the room, the hand holding his gloves tapping lightly against his thigh.

"What do you want?" Raoul wondered as he turned around from where he leaned against his own dresser for support.

Henri strolled casually across the room, perching himself on the edge of the same dresser, one leg beginning to swing lightly back and forth. "I just came in to wish my cousin a good start to the day," Henri began.

"You did not need to shout it," Raoul told him.

Henri watched as Raoul struggled to stand upright, fighting back the urge to help him, holding tightly to the persona he would need to present to the world. "My, my, my," Henri said, hoping he remembered how to smirk. "Someone certainly arose on the wrong side of the bed this morning." He watched as Raoul slowly walked the short distance between the dresser and the bed, reaching out to the bed poster for support as he closed the last few steps before turning to sit on the mattress.

"Is there a right side?" Raoul asked as he raised his eyes to his cousin. "I seem to have forgotten that small detail over these last months."

The smirk rapidly disappeared from Henri's face as he stared at his cousin, at the fear and bitterness with which Henri was all too familiar, emotions he had never thought to see in Raoul. But as rapidly as the smirk had disappeared, it was replaced with a smile that Henri hoped did not appear to be forced. He slowly stood and sauntered over to where his cousin sat as the gloves in his hand continued to tap against his thigh. Henri casually flung the gloves on the bed and sat beside Raoul. "I thought that this was the right side of the bed," Henri replied and nodded over his shoulder, "and that was the left side of the bed."

Raoul was silent for a moment before a small laugh escaped his lips. "You have not changed," he said. "You can still manage a wise remark for everything." He turned to look at his cousin. "Thank you for that."

"I do try," Henri sighed. "I really do try."

"I am glad someone does," Raoul told Henri. "I just wish to be treated like a normal person, that is all I want. Is that asking so much?"

"No," Henri admitted and then winked at his cousin. "But – then again – I am known as the black sheep of this family and I just do not know any better."

There was a moment of awkward silence as Henri turned his head. He felt Raoul watching him with curious eyes and Henri fought back the urge to gnaw on his bottom lip; Henri knew that Raoul was aware of something different about him, that something had changed since that moment of discovery in the red light of the crypt. If only he could get past Raoul – the one person in the family who truly knew him, he would be able to fool everyone else.

"So where are you going this morning?" Henri heard Raoul wonder; it was a question he could answer.

"Didier and I had planned to go riding …"

"Even in the snow that has fallen?"

Henri nodded his head and finally turned to look at Raoul. "Oh, most certainly! A brisk gallop through snow-covered fields and then the rest of the day spent in the warm comfort of an inn." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Not to mention the warm comfort a supple barmaid. Or two."

Raoul raised a single hand to his forehead as he laughed. "You really have not changed, have you?" The hand was lowered and the amusement on Raoul's face was replaced by a wistful longing. "How I wish I was going with you. I am growing tired of constantly being in prison." His head turned toward the bright morning just beyond the windows. "No matter how elegant and comfortable the cell may be."

"We do not keep you in this room for our amusement," Henri said softly.

"Some part of me knows that." A heavy sigh moved Raoul's shoulders. "At least you differ from … at least your motivations are different." He turned back toward Henri. "Although I wonder about my wife's motivations. I think she finds far too much enjoyment in protecting me as if I were our child."

Raoul's words cut through Henri's resolve and heart and he leaned over slightly, his head next to Raoul's. "Accept her protection for the treasured gift that is," he whispered before standing, reaching for his gloves.

Henri's remarks raised a rather startled reaction from his cousin. "What do you know that you are not telling me?"

Henri fixed a huge smile on his face as he looked at Raoul. "I know a great many things that I have not told anyone. What would you like to know? How to properly sit a barmaid upon your knee so that …" Henri bit the tip of a finger. "No, that would not do; you are married."

"What I want to know is the truth! I want someone in this house to tell me the truth," Raoul breathed. "Just the truth. About something. About anything!"

"Then know this," Henri began and leaned over to tap his riding gloves lightly upon Raoul's uninjured leg. "The truth is," he lowered his voice, whispering so that only Raoul could hear, "the only person you can trust is your wife. And as much as she wishes to protect you, you must find the strength to protect her and your child." Henri straightened, watching Raoul's face the entire time. He watched as stunned shock turned to puzzlement. He watched as Raoul's eyes studied his face, reaching beyond his own eyes and into his soul. Henri watched as the puzzlement on Raoul's face slowly turned to a dawning knowledge.

"Thank you," Raoul finally said, thoughts racing behind his clear gaze. "For everything," he finished with a nod.

Henri returned the nod with a slight inclination of his head and then swept of the room, leaving his cousin to think upon the whispered truths that had slipped cautiously from his lips. As he approached the top of the staircase, Henri encountered Christine and Marie, Marie carrying a breakfast tray. "Madame," Henri said as he bowed slightly from the waist, his heart beginning to break as he rose and took note of the slightly suspicious look that appeared in Christine's eyes.

"It will be all right, Marie," Henri heard her whisper. "Take that to my husband's room and I shall be with you in a moment."

Henri kept his composure as Marie moved past, eyeing him with a strange mixture of admiration and distrust. He adjusted his smile as he turned back to look at Christine. "And how are you this lovely morning?" He nodded at the bulge beneath her gown. "How is the little one?"

"We are both fine," Christine said, her tone of voice even and pleasant. "Thank you for asking. Have you been to see Raoul this morning?"

"I have. I have," Henri assured her. "He was rather put-out that he could not come riding with Didier and I."

"I promise I will have him well enough to ride out with you by the time the spring flowers are in bloom," Christine replied, a slight smile on her face. "And I saw Didier arrive with Monique and Xavier but a few moments ago."

"Well done on both counts!" Henri said with a boisterous laugh as he moved aside to let Christine pass. As she climbed the last two stairs, standing at the very edge of the upstairs hallway, Henri took his own life in his hands again and laid a hand upon Christine's arm, his heart swelling as she did not flinch or pull away. "Trust no one but your husband," he whispered, hoping his gaze was able to speak what was in his heart as Christine turned wide eyes to him. "He needs your protection and you need his." Henri nodded toward the child Christine carried. "And that baby needs all the protection you and her father can give." He lifted his head and took back his hand. "I shall see you later!" Henri called out, his voice once again boisterous and full of bonhomie as he sauntered down the grand staircase leaving a rather stunned Christine in his wake.

At the bottom of the staircase, Henri found Didier lounging against the wall of the front entry. Didier was studying the riding gloves he held with a careless nonchalance. Henri's eyes strayed around the large entry foyer and also noticed Philippe standing with Monique and Xavier, their voices low, their conversation animated. As he continued to gaze about, Henri caught Didier's eye and the two friends exchanged nods that were almost imperceptible. They knew what they expected from each other, what the world expected from them. And they knew just how dangerous a game it was they were playing.

"What a lovely sight to see on such a morning!" Henri said in a very loud voice as he jumped off the last two stairs and moved over to where Philippe stood with his friends. Henri grabbed Monique in a bear hug, kissing her soundly on the cheek. "You smell like fresh snow," he said as he drew back. He eyed Monique's fur-lined cloak with appreciation. "I bet that set Xavier back a few sous."

"Henri!" Philippe's tone of voice was amazed.

"At least he remembered the French coinage," Didier called out as he straightened his posture, his expression one of complete innocence. "That is proof that he can be taught to be civilized." He absently waved a hand in the air. "Ha'penny this, quid that, bob the other." Didier sighed. "It is all so common."

Henri placed a hand over his heart. "I am wounded, my good sir! Utterly and mortally wounded!"

Philippe fixed his young cousin with a look of resigned despair. "Henri …" he began and was interrupted by Didier.

"Oh, what have I done?" Didier wondered as he approached the small group, stopping in front of Henri and bowing from the waist. "What may I do to regain favor in your eyes?"

"What are the two of you doing?" Xavier wondered, waiting in vain for answer.

Henri nibbled at the tip of a fingernail, his eyes lidded, unable and unwilling to meet those of the man standing before him. "What gallant and grand gesture can you do? Hmm ..." Henri's voice trailed off and he stood silently for a moment before raising his head, a huge smile on his face. "If you buy the first round, I shall consider you forgiven."

Didier laughed and threw his arm around Henri's shoulder. "I shall buy the first several rounds!" He said as he innocently guided Henri toward the front door.

"Henri …" Philippe tried and found a hand on his arm; he looked to see Monique shaking her head.

Henri turned to look over his shoulder. "Do not be such on old maid, Philippe!" A wide grin split his face. "We shall return in time to regale everyone over supper with the tales of our exploits."

Henri and Didier disappeared through the front door before they could be stopped. They pulled their gloves on as they nearly ran down the wet stairs to the horses that waited at the bottom, snorting their impatience into the cold morning air.

"Get me out of here," Henri muttered in disgust as he grabbed the reins of his mount.

"With pleasure," Didier replied as he lifted himself into the saddle.

The two young men were perfectly aware of the eyes that studied their backs as they rode away from Chagny. They were also perfectly aware of the words that were being said behind those backs.

"What has happened to them?" Philippe wondered as he turned from the window, allowing the drape to fall back into place.

Xavier shrugged. "I wish I knew," he said. "One moment they are acting as if they are completely out of their minds and the next they are acting like the adults we know they can be and the next they are back to being utterly foolish little boys." He looked at Philippe. "Were we ever like that?"

"I sincerely hope not!" Philippe replied with a wry, knowing smile on his face.

"You are both such old maids!" Monique told them with a sigh as she crossed her arms about her waist, keeping a straight face as the two men turned toward her. "Honestly! I would think you would be happy to see Henri and Didier out and about again, carousing, flirting and generally being young." She shook her head at them. "It has been so very long since they could do such things. Let them have their restored freedom."

Xavier leaned forward, taking his wife's hands in his own, unfolding her arms and kissing her lightly on the cheek. "You have always been the wise one, my dear," he said as he drew back, still holding to Monique's hands. "You give lie to the prevailing wisdom that women are the less intelligent sex."

"Thank you for the compliment," Monique said softly, a small smile on her face.

Philippe cleared his throat. "Before this becomes entirely too maudlin," he began, "let us retire to the dining room." He smiled at the two sets of eyes that turned toward him. "My sisters are there and are anxious to see you." Philippe laughed slightly. "And then Monique and Desiree and Charlotte can all take turns enlightening us about the superiority of the female sex."

Monique nodded at Philippe. "And we shall do so with great pleasure!"

Xavier took his wife's arm. "What of the other young people?" he wondered as they began to walk down the hall that led to the dining room.

"Meg and Val went to the village this morning," Philippe told them. "They wished to send telegrams to their respective mothers. I believe they were also planning on breakfasting at the inn and doing a small bit of shopping."

"Raoul and Christine?" Monique wondered.

"Upstairs," Philippe replied. "Hopefully being civil to each other."

"Are they still having difficulties?" Xavier asked. "Even after everything that they have been through? You would think they would be ecstatically happy."

"One would think." Philippe shook his head. "I have given up trying to understand what it is that draws and holds them together." He paused with his hands on the doors to the dining room and raised his gaze toward the ceiling. "I only hope it is enough."

Hope – and all the possibilities that blossomed forth from Pandora's forgotten emotion – was also on the mind of the woman who sat quietly at her breakfast table reading the morning's mail. Varied emotions passed over her eyes as she read and re-read the letter held in her hands. She nodded and sighed. She shook her head and frowned. She reached for the cup of lukewarm tea at her side, sipping it and tasting nothing. She could feel her heart breaking with each and every word she read. She put the letter down next to her half-empty plate and rose to her feet. She walked to the windows on the other side of the room, pulling back the drape, feeling the cold of a November morning radiating inward. She gazed out over her snow-covered front lawn and wondered if the same snow had covered England as well as France.

"Oh, Tallis," Antoinette sighed to herself. "What is to become of you?"

The letter she had just finished reading spoke of all the new challenges that faced her friend. It spoke of the lovely home whose charge she been given. It told of the equally lovely estate cottage that she had been given. Antoinette had read between the lines, knowing the unspoken emotions that motivated all that her friend now did and knew that the cottage was too large for one person alone. She read of the happiness of reconnecting with distant relations and could see the longing to reconnect with that which had been left behind. She read of the experience of rediscovering the simple joys of youth that had been set aside for adulthood and could see the wish to share the memories with someone else, to let them experience the new and the wonderful.

Antoinette shook her head sadly. "I cannot do this any longer," she said to herself and turned back to the table. She settled back into her chair, frowning at the cold tea before picking up another letter. Antoinette's frown turned into a small smile at the sight of her daughter's lovely script and she briefly closed her eyes. "I do not have the strength anymore," she prayed to an unseen presence. "I turn them over to You." Thin fingers caressed the letter she held. "I only wish to spend my time in peace and happiness. Do what I cannot – guide them back to each other," Antoinette finished and opened her eyes, turning them to the letter she held, the smile returning to her face.

There was no smile on the face of the young woman whose letter had prompted the prayer to be whispered from Antoinette's lips.

Tallis walked out the back door of Trevinny and blinked, turning her head aside as a rush of cold air borne forth from the open moors slapped at her face. Her hands reached up from beneath the cloak she wore to pull the hood over her head, one hand holding on the edges of the hood so that it would not blow off. The other hand Tallis slipped back beneath her cloak, gripping to the seams, holding it closed and enjoying the warmth the heavy wool offered against the harsh winds. Tallis walked slowly through the wind-swept gardens, watching the snow begin to melt beneath the temperate breezes that blew from the ocean she could hear pounding in the distance. Her lips pursed into a thin, tight line as Tallis thought that the cold of the morning and the pounding of the ocean matched the coldness and pounding of her own heart.

The previous night had seen little sleep found and Tallis was beginning to feel the effects that no rest placed upon her body. She felt as if she were moving in a heavy fog, unable to see anything about her, her limbs weighed down and unresponsive. Tallis found herself unable to put two thoughts together, unable to utter two coherent words in the same sentence. She found herself weary during the day, longing to sit down and rest for a but the moment her eyes closed, they would jump open, her mind unwilling to face the consequences of her choice. The nights were far worse as exhaustion claimed her body, the guards about her mind fading away, allowing forbidden, unwanted images to seep through. It was then, in the dark, quiet of the night, that Tallis could feel her resolve and self-respect slowly fading away. It was then that she had to fight the urge to run for the nearest train or boat – any conveyance that would allow her to find her way back to France. It was then that her regrets turned into insurmountable obstacles. It was then that she wished she could find a way past stupid promises and wounded pride.

While she was struggling to think, to find a way beyond the morass in which she found herself, Tallis' feet had guided her to stand before the estate cottage that she could call her own. She stared it for a moment, taking two steps forward, her hand beginning to reach for the door. Then Tallis stopped in her tracks, knowing that the inside of the huge cottage was just as cold as the inside of her heart. She knew that there would be no cheery fire blazing in the hearth, no sound of magical notes weaving their way from room to room, no hesitant smile to greet her as she stepped across the threshold. Tallis turned her back on the cottage and walked toward the edge of the cliff overlooking the ocean. She stared down at the foamy surf, the gray waves that jumped up and over jagged rocks, desperately trying to reach the freedom upon which she stood while Tallis longed to find the freedom the waves offered. She let her hands open, feeling the ache in tiny muscles as they straightened, her hood slipping from her head, her cloak flying open, fluttering behind her.

"Oh God, Erik," Tallis breathed, as the strong winds buffeted her still figure and her hands went over face as she sought in vain to hide herself from the world.

And the man who was the cause of so much misery for Tallis had also been finding sleep elusive in the days since she had left. Yet, unlike Tallis, Erik took the silent, dark times when he could not sleep and turned them outward. He looked beyond himself, listening to the voices that moved just below the silence, the voices he had been hearing all his life. He took what the voices told him and transcribed it to paper. It was a long and laborious process for the voices did not always speak to him. There were nights when Erik found the silence utterly deafening and those were the times when he would pace aimlessly back and forth across his small garret. He would pull at his hair, slap his hands over and over against his ears, grateful for the noise of the slaps, the pain they brought forth for it let him know some small part of him was still alive.

Now, as the morning sun began to peak through the closed draperies and into the darkness that wrapped him so tightly, Erik's pen gave a last scratch to the paper that rested on the piano before him. Erik's hand moved away, absently dropping the pen to the floor as he studied the notes before him. He could hear the music singing in his head, drowning out the bleak silence surrounding him. As he closed his eyes, Erik placed his hands over the keyboard, fingers beginning to move of their own accord, knowing the music that played in the heart. In the softness of the cradlesong that was coaxed from beneath loving fingers, Erik could hear the far-off laughter of tiny promises left unfulfilled. In the gentle rocking motion from stanza to stanza, Erik could feel the easy movement of the woman in his arms as they danced beneath a moonlit sky. In the beautiful simplicity of a song written to welcome a new life into the world, a part of Erik remembered the joy of discovering all the beautiful simplicity that life had begun to offer him. And in the closing notes, the dying music that faded into the stillness, Erik could feel all the tiny promises, the laughter, the beautiful simplicity that was the woman he had loved so fiercely fade away as well, taking his heart and soul – his very humanity – with them.

Erik lifted his hands from the keyboard and gave a final once over to the music he had written for the baby that Val and Meg were expecting. He placed his hands upon his knees and nodded once.

"It is over," he said without emotion.