Chapter 34

Now I must play my cards carefully...

-Le Nozze de Figaro, Act II, Scene IX

The music began, a slow quadrille, stately and respectable, the sort of thing grandmothers enjoyed.

Christine was relieved to only have to touch the Comte by the hand.

"I have some news you may be glad to hear," he said. "My brother is returning to France very shortly."

A chill ran through her. "I thought the expedition would not be over for some months yet."

The dance began, the couples moving in slow, intricate patterns. "He decided to leave early," the Comte said. "Apparently, he kept getting frostbite. Were it not for that, this opportunity could have been the making of him." He shook his head. "I don't know what I am going to do with him. Do you know, he almost shot a polar bear. He would have had it, too; it was only a few yards away, but he changed his mind when he saw it had a cub. The sentimental fool. He ought to have bagged them both. They would have looked magnificent in the trophy room at Chateau de Chagny."

"Did he never mention any message from me?" Christine interjected, unable to contain herself any longer.

"I have not heard of any," the Comte said.

"I sent a telegram and a letter over a month ago," Christine pressed, beginning to grow desperate. What would Erik think if he heard that she had not refused Raoul? He saw everything in black and white. The fact that she had sent the letter, and the subsequent three telegrams, would make no difference in his mind.

"Regarding what, may I ask?" the Comte demanded.

"Don't you know?"

"No. I do not," he said irritably. "Lately he almost never confides in me."

Then there was still a chance Raoul had received the message. Christine felt a small measure of relief. "Ah- have you fallen out?"

"Certainly not!" The Comte looked outraged by the question. "But he has grown very... independent. He no longer listens to the family."

"Oh."

"It has to do with our not seeing eye-to-eye as regards a certain young lady."

Christine ignored this hint. "Oh."

"Mademoiselle," the Comte said, "You may prefer to be disingenuous, but I shall not dissemble. Let me be frank - if this message is anything to do with his offer of marriage-"

"-You know of that?" Christine said.

"-Yes. Allow me to make a suggestion. It is unwise to marry outside of one's station."

Christine had been about to assure him that nothing was more unlikely than her marrying Raoul, but his last words stung, prompting her to argue. "Outside of one's station?" she cried.

"Mademoiselle, before you become too outraged - I understand that this will be a sacrifice for you, given that it is not likely you will ever again have an opportunity to equal this."

"Oh, indeed?" Christine snipped.

"Given your unfortunate circumstances..."

"Do you call my circumstances unfortunate? Monsieur de Chagny, I am not some nonentity. I have been applauded by the Emperor. Princes have sent me jewels." And what is more important than any of that, I am engaged to the most brilliant, the bravest, the noblest, the most extraordinary man in the world. You are not fit to lick his shoe.

"All that means very little," the Comte said. "Station cannot be won so easily. People's regard for you will fade, I am sorry to say."

"Do you think so?" Christine sneered.

"You are not likely to ever get a better offer of marriage, of course."

"As a matter of fact, I have received much better."

"Mademoiselle, let me finish," he said. "I am familiar with the sort of perils girls in your circumstances often face. In view of all that, the Chagnys are prepared to compensate you for any... difficulties you may encounter, should you refuse his proposal."

Christine stared at him. This must be a dream. It was the sort of thing that only happened in lurid novels. Surely no-one in real life would be ill-bred enough to do what the Comte seemed to be doing. At last she remembered she had a voice, and opened her mouth to reply. "I-"

But before she could speak further, she suddenly found herself whirled away from the Comte. She was in Erik's arms; through some machination he had contrived to pull her away for a moment without disrupting the pattern of the dance.

"Take care!" she cried in alarm. "That is the Comte de Chagny- he recognizes me - if he sees you he may suspect that I have a lover."

Erik ignored this. "Did I hear him offer you money to stay away from his dear little brother?"

"Yes, you did." Christine was still wide-eyed with shock.

Erik laughed bitterly. "Good God. Imagine, offering someone a fortune to stay away from you! Who do they think they are?" Then, as the wheels of his mind kept turning, "Doesn't he know you already refused him?"

Christine glanced at him, startled. But she could see no trace of suspicion in his eyes.

"It appears not," she said at last. She swallowed guiltily. "They've fallen out."

He stared at her. "Why, but this is better than I dared hope, Christine! This evening gets better and better!"

Christine stared at him in bewilderment, confused enough that she forgot her anxiety for the moment. "My darling, what do you mean?"

"You do not want to take it?" he said with evident surprise.

"You don't think I should, surely?"

"He is offering you a fortune not to do something that you weren't going to do anyway." Erik's eyes gleamed. "I call that a windfall."

"Do you mean to say you really would not mind?" she asked, surprised in turn.

"Mind? Ha!"

"Oh," Christine said quietly.

He thought. "Is it out of concern for me that you want to refuse the offer?"

"Largely, yes."

"Well, set your mind at ease on that score. I have not the slightest objection."

"Very well," she said hesitantly. "I shall certainly bear it in mind-"

"-Good. Then go and blackmail him for all he is worth. See if you can get him up to a million." He grinned. "He deserves to be bankrupted, a man as hateful as that."

"-But that was not my only objection," she finished at last.

His brow furrowed. "What, then?"

"It seems deceitful."

"But of course it is!" he said gleefully.

"Yes, it is, and that is not something to be pleased about! Added to which, it will break the poor Vicomte's heart, if it is not broken already."

His expression hardened. "It is time you stopped caring so much about 'the poor Vicomte', you know."

"It is possible to feel concern for more than one creature on this earth, you know."

"Possible - but not necessary," he grinned. "It seems excessively troublesome. For my part, I do not care for anyone's heart save yours."

"I believe you have it in you to care for more, my darling," she said.

"No, you are wrong." He smiled. "There is just enough affection in my shriveled soul for one person - no more."

"What nonsense," she said. "You have a soul greater than anyone's I have ever met. A man who can write such music as yours can never be without feeling."

He smiled, a genuine smile this time.

"You ought to pity the Vicomte, you know," she said after a moment.

The warmth faded from Erik's eyes. "Pity him?" he cried in disgust.

"Yes, if only for this one reason - he has not been happy in love, while you have."

A triumphant smirk appeared on Erik's face. She could not begrudge him that. Indeed, against her better nature, she found it rather attractive. "He will get over it," he said. "He may think he loves you. But he cannot love you as I do."

"I agree," she said. "He has not your capacity to love, your depth of feeling. But he thinks he loves me, which may in fact be just as painful. Even a silly little pampered rich boy such as him has some feelings, you know."

"Hm. I am not sure I agree," Erik said. "But if you are so concerned, allow me to offer some consolation. The Comte would never tell his little brother that he bribed a woman not to marry him."

"You are right."

"Of course I am," he said. "I am always right."

At last, Christine smiled.

"In fact," Erik said, "I think the coward will not say anything to him about the matter at all."

"That is true. Oh, but... suppose Raoul suspects that I refused him because of money... He may think that means my refusal was not really due to a lack of affection."

"Well, the fop already knows of your refusal."

"Ah... yes," Christine said uncomfortably.

"Therefore," Erik went on, "even if he did somehow find out about the bribe, which would require a level of intelligence I doubt he possesses..."

Christine hid a smile in spite of herself.

"...He shall never think this event, which occurred afterwards, was the cause of it. He cannot suspect what is impossible," Erik finished.

"Yes... of course..." But still Christine hesitated. Does Raoul know? This uncertainly was intolerable, excruciating.

Just then, a hand tapped Erik on the shoulder.

Christine whirled around, stunned by the presumption. Who would dare...?

Erik stiffened.

"Excuse me," came the Comte's voice.

Erik rounded on him slowly and stared at him in silence for a moment, his expression inscrutable. For a moment, Christine was possessed by a wild fear that he would attack the Comte out there in front of everyone.

Finally, however, he released Christine's hand, though not before making a show of pressing a kiss to it. At last, with a mocking bow, he strode off, never having said a word.

Christine had to hide a laugh.

"Insolence," the Comte said, squinting at Erik's retreating figure. "Who is that fellow?"

"I do not know." Christine said it so automatically now that she did not even have to think. She felt suddenly cold. She had been snatched from the warmth of their happiness back into the real world, where everything was lies and deceit, where for all anyone knew, they had never seen each other before.

"Not some acquaintance of yours?" the Comte pressed.

Christine did her best to look offended by the suggestion. "Certainly not."

"Did he give his name?"

"No."

"What did he say to you?" he prodded.

Well, since you asked! "He, ah... I am afraid he had some choice remarks about your personal appearance."

"What? For five minutes?"

"Oh, he waxed very poetic. He said your moustache looks like someone killed a fly on your upper lip." Christine jumped. Where did that come from, Christine, you brilliant creature? Well done! "And that your hairline is receding and your costume is the dullest one he's seen all evening and-"

"-I believe I have caught the general drift of his remarks, thank you." The Comte scowled. "A common scoundrel."

Oh, a scoundrel, yes, but not common! Christine heard Erik's voice say in her head, and she hid a smile.

"I'm sure he does not have an invitation," the Comte went on. "Perhaps I should speak with the doormen."

Christine jumped. "Oh, no, not when everyone is enjoying themselves," she said hastily. "It would be a pity to spoil the occasion with unpleasantness."

"Yes, I suppose that is so. Perhaps the managers, however. I really ought to speak with Andre and Firmin about this. They are letting the Opéra go to the dogs."

The managers, Christine thought. All at once she realized: here, at last, was the solution for getting free from Raoul without angering the managers.

They would not dare get on the bad side of the Comte de Chagny. If he wanted her away from Raoul, they would never dare bring up the subject again.

Until that moment, she had never quite accepted the idea of taking the Comte's bribe. Now, however, her mind was changed.

"Monsieur le Comte," she said, as they began the next dance, "You were going to ask me something earlier, I believe? Before we were interrupted?"

The Comte looked round at her. "Yes. Do you agree to my request?"

"Well, that depends," she began carefully. How did one go about this sort of thing? "You were in the midst of a fascinating suggestion. I should be very interested in hearing what you were going to say."

The Comte stared at her in confusion for a moment. Then, as understanding sank in, his finely molded brow contracted with a strange mixture of annoyance and relief. "Very well," he sighed. He leaned toward Christine and pronounced a sum which made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "There, are you satisfied?" he said, leaning back. "Can I speak any more plainly than that?"

"I accept the terms you mentioned," Christine replied in a shaky voice.

"I am glad," the Comte said, though looking at her with disgust.

Try for more, a voice in her head seemed to interject. Erik's voice.

"Although... Were you to, ah, expand your offer," she pressed, shocked by her own boldness, "it would be in my power to go home."

"Home?" the Comte said.

"To Sweden. I have long wished to return to my homeland. That is what you want, is it not - for me to be as far from here as possible?"

The Comte blinked in surprise. "Mademoiselle-"

"-And furthermore, I must say I am disgusted that you would trade away your brother's-"

"-My dear Mademoiselle, you misunderstand me!"

"Pardon?" Christine said.

"A marriage is out of the question, certainly, but I certainly do not wish for Raoul to be parted from you."

Christine froze. "What?"

"There are other arrangements. There is no reason you and he could not live a very happy life together. He would see that you were always well looked-after. De Chagnys always honor their obligations. Any children you had would receive the finest education."

Christine's mind was suddenly a thousand miles away, filled with a vision of Erik holding a tiny curly-headed little boy, gently kissing his cheek as he fell asleep. She thought her heart would twist up inside her. To think men like this had offspring they would not even claim as their own, while she and Erik could never have a child.

"They would not have the advantage of the de Chagny name, but they would still be welcome in the best society," the Comte went on. "And this way you would be able to continue your singing career. You certainly would not be able to do that as the Vicomtesse de Chagny."

Erik would never think of making me give up my singing career simply because I was his wife! Christine wanted to shout.

"And this... this is a condition of your offer?" she said.

"I suppose so. It would not do for him to be unhappy."

Christine's plan was utterly spoilt. She was so distracted with fury, she almost missed a step in the dance.

"You are not insulted, I hope?" the Comte said, peering at her. "Here in France, particularly in the capitol, many respectable women become the maitresses* of prominent men. There is no shame in it. They are still received in society-"

In fact, Christine knew this, and she was not insulted.

But being puritanical was a convenient excuse. Far, far better than that the Comte find out about Erik. "-But I will not enter into such an 'arrangement'! How can you suggest such a thing? For Raoul to have a wife and children, and a mistress on the side? Do not ask him to divide himself that way. It is intolerable."

Surely the Comte could not blame her for refusing.

But he persisted. "It is the only way for Raoul to be happy and fulfill his duty to our family," he said.

"It is not the only way for him to be happy. There is never only one way for a person to be happy," Christine said. This was one of her cherished personal philosophies. "You should not put his happiness so squarely in my hands."

"I certainly would not have, if I had the choice, but it cannot be helped," the Comte said. "I cannot reason him out of it. He is devoted to you."

Christine's temper began to fray. "Then I am sorry, but he will have to get over it!"

"Then is all you wanted from him a title?" the Comte cried.

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur?"

"And you were certainly happy enough to take his money when he offered to sponsor your singing lessons. You have used him abominably!"

At last she lost her temper. "I never wanted anything from him! I have repaid him in full for his generosity. I never sought to become a Vicomtesse. You may ask anyone. I never asked for his attentions."

"But you-"

"-I have certainly given him little enough encouragement. It is you who have used him cruelly."

"What?" he cried.

"You had best hope I do not tell him of this!"

The Comte's face went white with rage. "How dare you?"

"Good night, Monsieur de Chagny!" Christine snarled. "I wish you a very pleasant New Year!" Shoving her way through the crowd, Christine abandoned him in the middle of the floor. She did not care what he thought. Hang him - and hang Raoul too if he was stupid enough to listen to him.

It is just as well I avoided marrying him - it appears there is insanity in the family!

Let the Comte's bribe be damned - she could not endure any more of this harassment. And as for the managers - well, she would have to find some other way to get them to leave her alone.

She was so angry she did not see where she was walking to or who she passed; she did not become aware of her surroundings until she emerged into the corridor that ringed the grand foyer and saw Meg standing before her.

"There you are, ducky!" she cried. "I've been hunting for you for ages! What have you and the Comte been talking of for so long?"

"This is not to be borne!" Christine cried without preamble. "Do you know what he said to me? I tell you, no matter how many years I live in this city, there are some things I will never understand about the Parisians!"

"That will have to wait," Meg said, taking her by the arm and compelling her across the room.

"Why?" said Christine. And then, "Where is Erik?"

"That's what I need to tell you," Meg said. "There's something you need to see."

End of Chapter 34. Thank you so much for reading! Thank you so much to pinkdynamite, WraithSnakeZenith, Marzz, and LadyMyth for your thoughtful feedback and kind words, and of course thank you as ever to the marvelous Crystal for your continued support!

*"Maîtresse" = technically, the French version of the word 'mistress'. I kept it untranslated because the connotation in France at the time was different and less perjorative, more like what we would think of as a girlfriend today than a "mistress". We think of the Victorians as very prudish, but in France at the time this was very widely accepted, even considered normal, especially in Paris and among the working class.