Faces...voices...night and day seemed to dissolve each minute until she had no reckoning of what time it would be. She remembered the cemetary, his raging eyes, his breath on her skin..."neither heaven nor hell will have me!"...it was all her fault, she knew it! She remembered his arms, a potion. "Drink this my angel, you must heal" and then a sweet dark oblivion of time. Hands carefully lifting her from her bed, touching her...lungs have taken quite a beating...must try to eat...plenty of rest...lucky to be found...

Suddenly she woke. A soft stream of sunlight tickled her face. She did not sit up immediately, but let her eyes wander the room. She was not at home, this she knew for fact. Home was cold and dark and quiet. This room, so full of light, the fragrance of flowers...she heard church bells chiming not far away and people speaking and laughing in a foreign language. It was Italian. She recognised it from her beloved Opera's. Carefully, she tried to sit up, feeling it was useless. He body was far too weak to support her. Suddenly she heard a friendly voice beside her.

"Buongiorno, Madama. You are awake? Maestro will be pleased! Here, let me help you."

She felt two gentle hands lifting her to a sitting position, carefully tucking the pillows around her. For a moment the world seemed to spin around her, but then her vision sharpened and she beheld the face of a woman in her early twenties, smiling encouragingly at her.

"What day is this? Where am I?"

"It is March, Madama, the tenth today. You are at Palazzo Persico, home to my master il Signore Alighieri."

Alighieri...the name meant nothing to her. Palazzo...there was only one place in the world where a manor was called that way. Venice!

"How did I...I don't know Signore Alighieri, how.." But at that moment she felt her breath leaving her lungs and she started coughing uncontrollably.

Franca held her, shushing her. When the worst had passed, she walked over to a small table in the middle of the room to pour out what seemed to be a cup of hot tea. Chamomile, she could smell it.

"Maestro received a letter one night, from Paris. I don't know what was written in it, but that same night he left for France, and not one week later, now five days ago, he returned, with you and your darling girl."

Her heart skipped a beat. her darling girl, Céline! "My daughter, my child, how is she, I long to see her, please bring me to her, I beg you!"

In her confusion her French was too quick for Franca to understand. She looked at her puzzled, but then seemed to understand what Christine had meant.

"I understand, Madama, but my master forbid it. You have been very ill indeed and have yet to recover a great deal. Until you are strong enough and the Dottore is certain you will not infect the child with your disease, he will not let you see the child."

Christine felt tears coming to her eyes, sad to be deprived of Célines smiling face and angry that someone else dictated what she could or could not do.

"Have your master meet me here at once, I wish to explain to him that he has no power over me! Who is he to decide when a mother can see her child?"

Franca, again struggling to follow the lady's quick and angry French, backed away from the bed. She remembered what her master had told her. "The lady is in no condition to make her own decisions, you answer only to me, directly to me."

"I'm sorry to upset you so Madama, but seeing that my master is the person who just saved you from death I suggest you might reconsider your opinion of him. He is now away for his work in the city, but I will inform him of your request when he returns."

And with that, she left Christine to her tea.

That evening when Franca related her dealings to her master, he could not help but smile. "La Madama must feel a lot better, flinching at you like that Franca. I will pass by her room tonight, until then, let her pout. She is in no position to state her demands right now."

As he spoke the words he suddenly realised how well that felt. Christine back under his control, nowhere to go and too weak to run from him...On the way to Christine's room, he passed the Nursery. He still had to get used to the idea that his house now actually had one. Without knowing why he knocked and entered, finding Nicole there with the little girl, trying to get her to eat. The maid shot up from the chair she'd been sitting in, and carefully curtsied at her new master. He walked in, never taking his eyes of the child who was enjoying a piece of apple on her plate. She was the mirroring image of Christine! The girl looked up at him, again without any form of fear or doubt and smiled at him. "Bonsoir!"

He leveled himself to her height. "Bonsoir, ma petite mademoiselle."

Suddenly she seemed to remember that this was the gentleman who took her mother away, and she pouted at him. "I want my maman!"

He could not help but run his hand through her disorganised curls. "Your maman has been very ill. She was in a lot of pain and had to cough very badly. She has to sleep a lot to get better so she can come and play with you."

The little girl listened very carefully, mesmorised, as was Nicole, by the man's deep, warm voice. "When maman is no longer sleeping, she will come play?"

He smiled at her. "She will. Until then you need to be patient and do as Nicole tells you." At that he turned to Nicole, who was caught gazing at him intently.

"I trust she is giving you no troubles?"

Nicole smiled. "We are adjusting very well Monsieur. Our chambers are very well accommodated indeed..."

Suddenly she could not help but ask. "Pray tell me Monsieur, how is Madame? I have such worries for her!" Tears were burning to her eyes, and she could feel his stare once more. He was obviously still deciding how trustworthy she was.

"She is recovering very well, Nicole. We were very fortunate to find her when we did. But she has lost much of her strength and must still recover greatly. Both in body and in spirit."

Nicole dried her tears. "That is such wonderful news, Monsieur. Thank you." With that he turned to face the child once more, who was now fully focused on her food again, and walked away.

In her room, Christine had managed to make her way to the balcony. Franca had brought her some food, and had helped her to sit by the table to eat it. From there, it was only a little further to the end of the room, but Christine felt her legs were still trembling from the exercise. She tried to remember all that had happened of late, but all that sprang to mind was that surreal moment at the cemetary, when suddenly HE had arrived. After that, all was black. Why was she here, who had brought her here. Alighieri... the name sounded familiar somehow. Was it someone she had known from the Opéra? She felt a soft breeze coming in from the window, it was salty from the sea nearby. The sea...once again in a house by the sea. Where she had met Raoul...where life had seemed so wonderful and her father would make sure that no harm would befall her. But father was gone, and Raoul was gone...made their way up to the heavens like the angels at the ceiling she had been staring at all day. Who would protect her now? Like an answer to her question, she suddenly heard that familiar voice behind her again.

"And why, pray, are you not in bed? Are you so determined to leave this earth that you wish to catch another cold?" The voice made her shiver. It was him. She could have known. He was with her before she fell into darkness...and here again to wake her from it.

She turned around to face him, suddenly realising she wore no more than a nightgown. As always he read her mind. Without a word he reached out in her closet and presented her with a beautiful, silk dressing gown reaching down to the ground. He walked over to her and wrapped the fine cloth around her before proceeding to close the balcony doors and closing the curtains. All the time she had stood mesmerised at seeing him again. He looked well. Tired, but well. Tall and strong, impeccably dressed, and always that determined yet unreadable look on his face.

"How are you feeling?"

His voice shook her back into reality. "I don't know. Better I suppose. I am still not aware of what has happened with me."

"You had gotten yourself a dreadful pneumonia with all your wandering around the cemetary. By word of your friends I reached you in time and brought you here. A combination of excellent doctors and a much warmer climate have done the rest...for your physical health that is."

"My friends?"

He smirked at her. "Surprised you still have any Madame? Your beloved Maitresse de Ballet perhaps? Or had you not realised that despite your attempts to shun her, she has continued to look after you as a mother would?"

She closed her eyes, trying to shake his angry words from her. Madame Giry. How she had missed her.

"And my daughter?"

"Mademoiselle Céline is in perfect health, her nurse informs me she eats very well and is anxious to see you."

Christine felt her tears growing on her. "Why then, do you keep her from me?"

It took him a while to answer, he seemed off balance by her sudden tears. "When your health permits it, you may see her as often as you wish. For now, are in no condition to raise a child my dear."

"Don't patronize me!" As he turned to look at her he suddenly seemed to recognise a spark in her eyes he remembered from long ago.

"My father, the Opera managers, Raoul...it was always "my dear" this and "my dear" that! I am no longer a little girl. I am a woman and a mother and I believe I can very well judge what is best for me and my child!"

While she spoke she felt the air leaving her lungs and before long her coughing had made it near impossible to breath. Within seconds she felt him picking her up and carrying her over to the big bed, allowing her to sit up and regain her strength.

"You do not wish me to treat you as a child. very well. I will hand you the adult manuscript then. Do you expect to lead by example by sitting around on a graveyard, wishing for death to come get you while your child is playing at home, awaiting your return? Do you expect anything good to come from your life by wandering through the empty halls of a Chateau that is no longer yours, living at the whims of a baboon who stripped you of your title and your dignity?" She shunned away as his voice became more and more angry.

"I gave up everything to see you happy in this life, and how have you repaid me? This denial of life itself is a far worse betrayal to me than not answering my love! You ask why have I brought you here? To give you your life back, so that I may move on with mine. Goodnight, Madame de Chagny!"