She was waiting for him two nights later in the ally by the pub. She was about to give up and start roaming the streets when he memorized out of the darkness behind her.
"You came?" he whispered, his head bowed.
"Of course, monsieur. You paid for me." She replied, smiling. She heard the smirk in his voice as he stepped toward her. He held out his arm and she took it.
"You did not have to come, if you did not wish to." He announced as they walked to the inn. She smiled and laid her head on his shoulder.
"I was actually looking quite forward to seeing you again." She replied, patting his arm. She could see his smile under his black wide brimmed hat.
"You flatter me, mademoiselle." He chuckled, opening the door for her. She nodded her thanks.
"Merci, monsieur." She laughed softly. He paid for the room and he helped her up the stairs.
She woke to him crying softly in his sleep. She gently caressed his cheek, hoping to sooth him. He opened his eyes and looked at her.
"What is wrong, monsieur?" she asked, smiling at him. He smiled weakly, hiding his face in the pillow.
"Please monsieur, tell me what is wrong?" She begged, stroking his hair.
"It is nothing, mademoiselle." He informed, smiling up at her as he cried softly.
"There is something wrong, monsieur. Please tell me." She begged, staring him in the eyes. His eyes searched her face as he took a deep breath.
"The woman I loved denied me for another." He informed, bowing his head; with this, came more tears.
"How can this be, monsieur. What kind of man could she choose over you?" she asked, actually surprised at this statement.
"A vicomte." He replied, staring off into space as he spoke. He turned over onto his back as he stared up at the ceiling. He wiped his tears away but did not speak.
"Was she this Christine you whisper about?" she finally asked, snuggling closer to him. She felt him tense up and go rigid. He took a deep breath.
"Oui, mademoiselle. She was a chorus girl at the Opera Populair, on her way to stardom." He explained. She sat up and looked down at him. She remembered reading in the paper about the Opera Populair and a young chorus girl. A mysterious opera ghost or the phantom of the opera had kidnapped her. She had escaped with her lover, a Vicomte De Changy.
"You're the phantom of the opera?" she whispered, looking down at him. He looked at her and silently nodded. She stood up and wrapped the sheet around.
"Please, mademoiselle. Don't leave." He begged grabbing her before se could reach the door. He held her by her upper arms in a tight grip.
"Please, monsieur. Let me go." She cried, becoming frightened.
"I mean you no harm, please just don't go." He begged, tightening his grip. She started struggling, trying to break free. But he held on, never loosening his grip. In the struggle she got a slap in on his face, knocking his mask off. He froze and let go of her. He stumbled back, falling to the floor in a heap. He looked up at her with tear stained eyes. She gasped at his face.
It looked like it had been burned and beaten. The stories and papers were true. He saw the fear in her eyes and turned his head, leaning against the wall.
"Go!" he ordered, not looking at her. She gathered her clothes and ran out of the room, leaving him there.
