The journey was long, but peaceful. There had not been much rain, and the nearer they came to Paris, the harder the ground was. The frost that had long left Venice still lingered here and it made Renzo shiver. Paris…city of elegance, of fine music and theater, of fashion and good food.

"You believe to find things in Paris Venice can not offer you Renzo?" The master had noticed his excitement. Renzo bowed his head and said nothing.

"Do not allow yourself to be deceived by a shimmer, my boy. Even a whore in fine clothes is still a whore. She will seduce and betray where she seems fit…"

His words had come out quite bitter and he immediately cursed himself for not controlling his anger, spitting at his young servant for no reason. He had just cause to be exited, it was his first trip abroad! He sighed and closed his eyes. Why had he decided to come here? Was it the letter? Was it the despair of his beloved friend and sister? Or was it the long and never ending yearning that he had managed to control, but never fully kill, to look upon her face once more? The maddening realisation that no matter how he fought, no matter what remedies he had been seeking, she would never leave him be. Haunting his sweetest dreams and darkest nightmares, until his worst fear had now come true. All the happiness that should have been hers, that should have kept him at ease knowing his decision had been for the best, had deserted her and had brought her to the very edge of sanity. It would not do. He would not allow it!

It was growing dark as Marie Giry heard a loud and decisive knock on the door of her small but comfortable town house. She wrapped herself in her dark shawl, and carefully opened the door just far enough to see what she had most prayed for. A tall man, dressed impeccably in black silk, the white leather of his mask the only distinction between him and the dark streets. He looked, as she had expected, quite put out.

"Madame, am I to be a guest in your house, or would you prefer me to return to the warmth of my Palazzo? Lord knows I would gladly make the decision for you!"

Quickly she opened further, allowing him to enter, and after she checked to see no one but his carriage waiting outside she closed the door behind them. They sat silent for a while, as she poured them both a glass of wine.

"You are well, I trust?" The tone of his voice had soothed again, as if the warmth and safety of her home had calmed him.

"Very well indeed, I thank you. The Baroness de Valoix seems very pleased with the progress I am making at her Collège de Ballet. My darling child has become engaged of late, to a Monsieur Valmont. He is a tradesman, and a good soul. I believe he will provide her with a happy and comfortable life."

"I congratulate you, Madame. I am happy to see you escape the nightmares of the Opéra Populaire..."

He drank his wine in silence before looking up at her again. "Now, tell me all that your letter has not yet revealed."

Marie Giry sighed. He had come, and his initial anger seemed to have passed. They were off to a good start. "The union between the Vicomte and his wife has been...civil to say the least. I suppose to the outside world they seemed to be everything lovely and happy and elegant. But I received letters, Monsieur. Letters of the Comtesse that worried me. She was not accepted by the Vicomte's family, not being a noblesse. She was walking on glass, so to speak, to perform according to their expectations. The Vicomte would ask her over and over again what had happened to her while she was living at the Opéra, but she would refuse to speak to him of it. She would write to me of nightmares, haunted dreams from the past. She wrote how all her Angels had abandoned her and how she was looking for forgiveness for her wicked ways. She believed the...wrath of our Lord was keeping her from giving the Vicomte his so desired heir. She remained a loyal wife to the end, nursing him as the typhoid fever got to him, until the doctors pulled her away from him in fear she would fall to it herself. It was to no avail, the Vicomte died in no less then a week. Chateau de Chagny was covered in black veils where Christmas lights should have been."

Her voice died as she remembered that awful week, the grand funeral, Christine wandering around the Chateau in an almost comatose state. She looked up to find him frozen in his chair, shielded from any emotion as if he fought against the facts presented to him and the images associated with them.

"It was not a week after the new year when the Vicomte's cousin, a Francois de Bonneville arrived in Paris. Should the heir to the title of the House of Chagny die without an heir, Monsieur Francois was the next in line to claim the title and the Chateau. He did both. He even tried to win Christine's favor for a while, but to no avail. He ultimately branded her "out of her wits" and only allowed her to remain at the Chateau as he found it improper to turn a young widow out on the streets. From that moment on her letters stopped, my only chance of meeting her was to go to the cemetary myself and even there she would not speak with me. She would linger endlessly between the graves of her father and her husband, praying for their forgiveness. If only you could hear her frantic prayers, Monsieur!"

"Enough!" He stood up so briskly that the chair flew to the ground.

His voice had once again turned to ice. "I have not let her leave my guard only to end up in a grave. Oh yes, how she would love to find her peace there, but I will not allow it!"

Realising his composure, he calmed himself, his breath still trembling with fury. "Stupid, insolent girl...Christine, what have you condemned yourself to..."

Marie Giry had backed away from him in fear, but realised her plea had found a willing ear. "Please act how you see fit Monsieur. I hope you understand I found myself with no other choice then to write you. I fear there is no one else who can even begin to comprehend the depths of her sorrow...except for someone who has been to those depths and has returned from them."

He paced about for a while, thinking out his next move.

"You do understand...If I were to take her back in my care, it would mean she would leave Paris on the shortest possible term. It might mean you would never see her again. Are you willing to surrender your precious Christine to me, Madame?"

Her answer came as quiet and resolute as had all her decisions been, at her days at the Opéra. "I would happily never see her again in my days knowing she was safe and about in this world, my friend."

He nodded. "God be merciful on me..." It was no more then a whisper, but she had caught it. He had decided, and she was grateful for it.