Disclaimer: Well, as you know, none of us own any rights to these immortal characters, especially one dark, mesmerizing musical genius...Apologies to you readers for taking so very long to update this story...

Chapter 3: A Hearty Welcome

The brougham rolled to a stop in front of a beautiful mansion on the outskirts of Paris. The clouds had cleared away now, at least temporarily. Christine hoped the rain would not return, but there was simply no telling, what with the unpredictable Parisian weather.

Her heart was pounding with excitement. It had been six months since Meg's whirlwind courtship and marriage, and she had been gone for at least a month on a honeymoon that was every girl's dream. Christine hoped that the Baroness de Monclaire was back from her blissful trip.

Christine was handed down from the brougham by the attentive coachman, and she paid him accordingly. She lovingly gathered little Erik into her arms, and turned to the massive iron gates that spanned the two brick columns forming part of the wall surrounding the estate. She had instructed the coachman to wait a few moments, in case the occupants of the mansion were not in.

There was a rather large bronze bell hanging from one of the brick columns, with a rope attached to it. Christine looked at it dubiously, wondering whether it would be heard from the house. A long, stone walk led through a pristinely-kept lawn up to the front doors of the sprawling, gabled building.

With a sigh, Christine put Erik down, straightened, and took hold of the rope. Taking a deep breath, she rang the bell with all her might. She and Erik both regretted it immediately. The sound was deafening. Mother and son clapped their hands over their ears, and little Erik mouthed a groan.

When at last the echoes had died down, Christine took her hands away from her ears, and looked up. She was both surprised and elated to see someone running down the stone walk to them. It was a liveried servant. She breathed out in relief, only then realizing that she had been holding her breath. How she hoped that the Baroness was in!

When the man reached them, she saw that he was really a young boy, perhaps seventeen or so, hardly older than she herself had been when she had first arrived at the Opera House, so many years ago. She smiled at him tentatively. He frowned slightly in response, but then smiled down at the little boy standing solemnly next to her.

"How may I assist you, Madame?" he inquired, as politely as he had been trained to do.

"I would..." Christine had to clear her throat. She was inexplicably nervous. "I would like to see the Baroness, if you please. That is, if she has returned from her honeymoon."

Now he frowned in earnest. "May I request your name, Madame? The Baroness is not in at present, but she normally does not receive unknown callers."

Christine's hopes momentarily plummeted, but she persisted. "You may tell her that it is her adopted sister, Madame Christine Daae, with her young son, who is her nephew." She smiled triumphantly as she said this.

The young servant's eyes brightened considerably, and he smiled broadly. "Madame Daae! My sincerest apologies! She has done nothing but speak of you since her return! She had been meaning to write to you, but we were expecting her back a week ago. She came in last night, straight from the coast." Christine nodded. She was aware that the last leg of Meg's trip would include a visit to London.

Taking an immense key out of one of his pockets, he began to open the immense lock that kept the strong, heavy chains about the bars of the massive gates.

Christine had turned to the coachman, signaling that he could leave, when a jubilant shout drew her attention back toward the mansion. Her face lit up with happiness, for the former Mademoiselle Giry was running at full speed toward them, down the stone walk, screaming with joy. She had hitched up her skirts, heedless of her new station in society, as well as any possible falls.

The young footman had finally opened the lock, and drawn away the chains. He now put his shoulder to one of the gates, and pushed it open enough for Christine and little Erik to squeeze through.

The Baroness was making her squealing way toward them, and Christine was grinning widely, her arms held open. Erik started to giggle. He had always enjoyed visiting with Aunt Meg. She was always fun. She didn't quite look like herself as she ran toward them. She was dressed in such finery!

"Christine!" Meg whooped with glee, unmindful that she was presenting quite a spectacle to the young footman. She need not have worried, however, for he was grinning from ear to ear as he stared at the scene unfolding in front of him. Meg threw herself into Christine's arms, hugging her fiercely as she continued to scream. Christine hugged her back, tears pricking her eyelids. She was so happy to see the girl, now grown to womanhood, that she had shared most of her adolescence with. She was even happier to see that Meg's new station in life had not altered her personality in the least. She hoped it never would.

"Ah, then!" Meg loosened her grasp on Christine, turning her attention to Erik. "You have not forgotten your Aunt Meg, have you, Erik? Come and give her a big hug!" She held out her arms to him.

Smiling gleefully, little Erik jumped into her embrace. She began to cry as she held him, and he was mystified. He was not sure why girls wept at the slightest provocation, even the grownup ones. He knew that tears were sometimes inevitable, although, as a boy, he bravely tried to hold them back. Not that Christine had ever reprimanded him for giving in to them openly, but he was well aware that the men he had come in contact with in his young life disapproved. Since his mother's meeting with his aunt was a happy occasion, however, he saw no need for tears. He suddenly became uncomfortable, and began to squirm in Meg's arms.

"Ah, he is becoming a little man, isn't he?" Meg laughed, as she set him down. "Already asserting his independence, is he not?"

They all looked up as a masculine voice drifted down to them. Christine could not help but feel some apprehension, for it was the Baron himself who now approached them. "Meg!" he called out, as he walked briskly toward them.

He was a most handsome man. Christine remembered how he had proudly stood beside his bride in the small Parisian chapel where he and Meg had pledged eternal love to one another. He was quite tall, with shining blond hair and blue eyes. His muscular shoulders were breathtakingly appealing. She sternly reminded herself that physical beauty was no guarantee of inner goodness. Her Erik was inwardly beautiful, even with his tormented soul...She lifted her chin proudly. No man could ever compare to him.

Christine's apprehensions were totally groundless. The Baron was smiling wih genuine warmth as he drew up to them.

He took her hand, kissing it gallantly. "Madame, I am truly honored. I remember you at our wedding. It is indeed a pleasure to see you again! Meg does nothing but speak of you! And of course, I have had the pleasure of hearing you sing, at the Opera House. I truly regret that you have decided to abandon what many have said was a promising career! I trust that this is a temporary decision on your part?"

At this point, the young footman discreetly and quietly whispered to Meg, "Will there be anything else, Your Ladyship?"

She smiled gratefully at him. "Nothing else for now, Henri. Thank you so much. You may go back to the house."

With a slight bow, he politely took his leave of them, and hurried up the walk. Well he knew that young Molly, recently hired from an English duke's household, but whose French was flawless, would be waiting in the foyer to hear the news. Indeed, as he glanced up at the house windows, he smiled. She hastily drew the curtains back from the window she had been peeking out of. He laughed. Beautiful young Molly. Once he regaled her with his tale, he would demand a kiss in payment!

Christine smiled shyly, ducking her head in embarrasment. She was grateful for his warm reception, as well as for his complimentary comments about her talent. However, she was also mortified that he had brought up the fact that she had given up her singing. Little Erik had been the reason. She had been too afraid that her budding public would discover she was going to give birth to an illegitimate child. Besides, the scandal would have affected ticket sales at the Opera House. She refused to harm her fellow performers' careers because of her shame. Paradoxically, she was not sorry that little Erik had been born. She had a piece of Erik, the Phantom, to care for and cherish. That, at least, was some consolation. So she had gracefully bowed out, and simply disappeared until her nine-month waiting period was over. Then she had begun to work as a seamstress, giving the occasional voice lesson, in a small village not far from Paris. Meg had helped out as much as her meager salary would allow, as did Madame Giry.

Christine looked up again at the Baron, but she saw nothing but genuine welcome and acceptance in his face.

"Thank you most kindly, Your Lordship. Your comments are..."

"Oh, pshaw!" he interrupted with a laugh, to her astonishment. "We of the so-called nobility are not immune to scandal ourselves. Besides, my darling Meg here has apprised me as to the circumstances leading up to your "indiscretion", as you would no doubt call it. Let me say, my dear, that love often makes fools of us all. Do not think that I will think the less of you for it. And do call me Andre, if you please. After all, you're in the family now!"

Christine stared at him, open-mouthed. She had never imagined such an attitude from a member of the upper classes. But then, hadn't he married Meg, even in the face of his family's staunch opposition? She wondered where he had acquired such attitudes.

"It has been wonderfully liberating to read the works of Monsieur Jean Jacques Rousseau, if you must know, Madame Daae," he continued, as if he had read her mind. Startled, she attempted a wan smile, then broadened it.

"Please, Monsieur, you must call me Christine."

"And so I shall, most gladly!" He then turned his attention to the silent young boy standing quietly by his mother's side. Little Erik had been observing and listening with an attention beyond his years.

The Baron bent down to him. "You, of course, must be Erik. I have heard much of you as well. Tell me, are you acquainted with the works of Jules Massenet? You see, I am an admirer of his."

"Oh, yes, Monsieur!" Erik nearly jumped with enthusiasm.

"Well, then, you must assuredly play for us, my lad! And now I say to you as well, please call me "Uncle Andre" from now on!"

With a very obvious wink, he shook Erik's little hand, as one gentleman to another. Erik beamed, and Christine's throat choked up.

Straightening, Andre, Baron de Monclaire, loudly proclaimed, "But come, my lovelies, for I believe that supper is being prepared! You must refresh yourselves, and join us for a repast worthy of the envy of any Parisian chef!"

Throwing an arm about his wife's shoulders, he led the way toward the mansion, Erik and Christine walking beside Meg.

Christine could still not get over her surprise at the Baron's attitude. She hastily threw up a prayer of thanks to God, and to the Angel of Music that she knew was watching over them.