A/N: Big hugs to all of my reviewers! Have I lost some of you, though? It seems that perhaps since I haven't been able to update as frequently, many of you have dropped off this fic. Did I scare you away somehow? I certainly hope that I did not offend anyone with my wedding night scene or anything else. It's making me wonder, though...

Disclaimer: see other chapters

Chapter Fifty-Three

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen."

"Amen," came the response from the solemn crowd gathered at the Giroux graveside. The headstones seemed to glow in the light of the mid-morning sun as the mourners began to mill about again, murmuring their condolences to the man's widow and three daughters upon passing by his flower-covered casket.

The Viscomte de Chagny caught sight of Gregoire Laurent and politely made his way through the throng of black-clad figures toward him. "Monsieur Gregoire, hello! It's nice to see you…though I must say it's not in the best of circumstances."

"Hello, Viscomte. Lovely to see you as well. How have you been?" Monsieur Laurent asked him cordially, but with a slight uneasiness. Christine's marriage to Erik had unfortunately complicated the longtime friendship that the Laurents had held with the Chagnys.

Raoul sighed. "I've…been well, I suppose. Pity about Monsieur Giroux. He seemed like a very kind man. Did you know that his firm had agreed to design the plans for the new Populaire?"

Monsieur Laurent smiled cordially. "Yes, I believe I had read that in the Epoque. They have some very talented architects there…I've heard."

"Yes." Raoul nodded. "I…I was hoping to find out what the status of that project might be…now that the owner of the firm has passed on. You wouldn't happen to know what is to become of the firm's ownership, would you?" He hated to be asking for his own self-interest at a time like this…a man just died, for heaven's sake…but he was anxious to find out. The pressure he was receiving from his elder brother to discontinue the project was beginning to fray his nerves. Philippe had stopped by every day that week, demanding to see Raoul and expressing disgust with his methods of handling the family's affairs, as well as reminding his brother that the family had a "reputation to uphold."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know…I would assume that he's passed it on to family members or others." Monsieur Laurent shifted uncomfortably. "You'll likely be notified by the new owner after the reading of the will. That's how things are usually done." He smiled weakly.

"Ah." Raoul gave a slight frown. "Well…good to know," he replied, trying to think of a way to change the subject. "So…how is your family?"

"Fine, thank you for asking. Amêlie is suffering a slight illness right now, but…usually, Suzette keeps busy by chasing Amêlie around the house," he chuckled.

Raoul looked puzzled. "Chasing her? But…but I thought…. Has something happened to your daughter, Monsieur Gregoire?"

Monsieur Laurent realized his blunder upon seeing Raoul's expression. "Oh…well, no…it's just that…she now has a wheelchair in which to move about freely."

"Oh! How wonderful for her! You purchased it for her recently?"

"No, not exactly. It…was a gift from a family friend." He stared at Raoul, silently wishing for the entire conversation to be over.

Raoul sensed an awkward tension between them, incorrectly assuming the reason for it. He decided that it would be best to speak directly. "So, I am assuming that you have heard about Christine…I mean, that we are no longer engaged."

You don't know the half of it, Son. "Yes, yes, I heard. How are you doing? Are you…handling everything well enough?"

Raoul attempted a brave smile. "Yes. As well as can be expected, I suppose. It turns out that she…." He swallowed to keep his emotions in check. "It seems that she is in love with…someone else."

Monsieur Laurent nodded. "Ah. I suppose it's best that you discovered this before you married her, then."

"I suppose so," Raoul replied, casting him a queer glance. "I should be going now…please give my best to your wife and daughter."

"Thank you, Viscomte," Monsieur Laurent bowed slightly. "I will do that. Good day to you." He smiled warmly at Raoul, and couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him. Poor boy seems absolutely heartsick, he thought woefully.

As they parted ways, Monsieur Laurent passed by to speak with Madame Giroux and her daughters, who were huddled together, comforting one another. The young women were all lovely, with gray eyes and dark hair, but only one was of marrying age, and she had been promptly snatched from her teenage years by a fortunate young man nearly seven years older than herself. "I'm so very sorry for your loss, Madame," he nodded to the widow, who seemed entirely too young to be in such a situation.

"Monsieur Laurent," she smiled with an ingrained sense of politeness. "Thank you so much for coming. You have been a good friend to this family over the years."

"Thank you for saying so, Madame," he replied humbly. "I wanted you to know as well that I have spoken with Erik Durand…he has come back into town after his very recent marriage and we will both be attending the reading of your late husband's will tomorrow."

"Oh, I'm glad that you were able to reach him. I will look forward to seeing you both, then."

"Yes, tomorrow. God be with you, Madame," Monsieur Gregoire said softly, placing his dark hat on his head as he turned toward his carriage. Erik is a very private man, he thought grimly. I certainly hope that tomorrow will not lead to disaster.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Stop the carriage here, please." Raoul sat for a few moments before gathering the courage to open the door and step out. What am I thinking? She won't be glad to see me. He frowned, trying to think of a good reason for his visit. Perhaps this shall be my first attempt at establishing a cordial friendship with her. Yes, that will do. Just a friendly visit because I was passing by. After all, it would be rude not to stop. He straightened his coat and approached the door, resolving to be a kind and civil gentleman regardless of the circumstances. Stepping inside, he saw no one at first. Then after several seconds, Madame Dubois entered the storefront room.

"Monsieur le Viscomte!" She swiftly tucked some loose strands of hair behind her ears. "H-how are you today?"

"I am well, thank you. And you?"

"Ah…busy, very busy. How can I help you?"

"I was wondering if I might have a word with Mademoiselle Daae."

An awkward silence hung in the air for a matter of seconds before Madame Dubois' voice returned to her. "Mademoiselle Daae?" she replied uneasily. "Oh…oh, my. You haven't heard, then."

A lump formed in Raoul's throat. "Heard what, Madame?"

"She—she is on her honeymoon, Viscomte. She was married but a few days ago."

Raoul could not conceal his shock. "So soon? I knew she would be getting married, but…." He shook his head in disbelief. "I had no idea that she would be married within days…weeks, perhaps, but not days!"

Madame Dubois noticed the increasing tension in his voice. "I am sorry to have been the one to inform you of this, Viscomte. I assume that she will be returning to work after her honeymoon…I have not heard otherwise. Shall I tell her that you stopped to see her?" She smiled toothily, and Raoul's stomach began to churn.

"You-you wouldn't happen to know her married name, would you?" he asked her, feeling more ill by the second. He couldn't explain why he had a burning desire to know such information, other than the fact that he still felt it necessary to somehow remain connected to her...even if he never saw her face to face again.

"No, I'm afraid not. Mademoiselle…I mean, Madame Christine seems to be a rather private young woman. I would never dream of prying in her personal affairs," she replied, with a hint of righteous indignation.

You most certainly would, Raoul thought wryly. He nodded to her and turned to leave, but she stopped him by clearing her throat in an obvious manner. He turned back and met her eyes with a curious expression.

"I believe that the Girys may have the information that you seek, Viscomte. They took part in the wedding, so I assume that they would know her married name." She shot him a crooked smile.

He guiltily looked away and turned again toward the door, mumbling his thanks to her as he left. Stepping heavily into his carriage, he instructed his driver to travel down several streets in the general vicinity, looking for any signs of the Girys. He knew that immediately after the fire, they had stayed with friends, but he had no idea where to find them now that they had their own flat. He felt incredibly foolish for attempting to hunt them down, but he was compelled to know at least some details about Christine's new life. What is that monster's new name? Does he now think himself a man, like any other? He released a single huff of anguished laughter. I can't believe that she's gone and married him in such haste. His heart felt as if it would break when his steady stream of thoughts led him to dwell on what certainly must have occurred between them on their wedding night. She should have been my Christine! He has touched her…he has--" He tightly closed his eyes as if to rid himself of such a vision. No! He has taken away her purity and emptied his poisoned seed within her! "I hate him! I wish that I had found a way to rid the world of him completely!" He bashed his fist into the wall of the carriage, startling his driver.

"Are you alright, Viscomte?"

"Yes. Yes, I'll be fine," he replied through clenched teeth. I have to find the Girys.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meg Giry stepped out of the apartment building and headed down the street to toward a nearby bakery. She was in dire need of something sweet, telling her mother instead that she simply wanted some fresh air. Hoping that she wouldn't be caught in the act, she glanced upward behind her at the windows of their flat. So far, so good. She smiled to herself as she walked along at a leisurely pace, hopeful about her upcoming audition with a touring ballet company. She walked past several shops, pulling her cloak more tightly around her to keep out the biting wind. She barely noticed as a black carriage passed her, traveling in the opposite direction, and slowed to a stop within seconds. Turning into the bakery at last, she stepped up to the glass case to choose a sweet for herself.

"Hmmm...I think I'll have...one of those," she said pointing to a chocolate eclair and licking her lips with anticipation. "How much?"

"I'll get that," came a male voice behind her.

Meg whirled around, startled. "Viscomte?" She stared at him in disbelief as he paid for her treat and handed it to her, smiling as warmly as he could muster.

"Little Meg, we are old friends, are we not? You may call me by my Christian name."

She sensed something unsettling and dishonest in the manner of his smile. Has he followed me here? she suddenly wondered with horror. "Very well, Raoul...thank you for purchasing this for me, but it really wasn't necessary." The bitterness in her voice was plain. "Just stopping in for a bite to eat, were you?" She raised her eyebrows in suspicion, and his smile faded.

"Meg, have I done something? Are you upset with me?"

Her mouth gaped in surprise. "Have you done something? Well, I must say that you've done enough, that's for certain!" she hissed. "Christine was just trying to follow her own heart, and you made things incredibly difficult for her by refusing to simply let her go when she asked it of you!"

"Oh, I see," he said, nodding. As if she made no difficulties for me? he thought indignantly, but refrained from speaking his mind. "Even though Christine has forgiven me, it seems that you have not, Little Meg." He frowned. "She has even moved on and married her precious Phantom, I've heard. If she is no longer bitter, then why should you be? I've done no harm to you, and I never intended any harm to her."

"You're right, you know...she has moved on, Raoul, and I suppose that I should as well. Have you?"

She glared at him, and he noticed in her a stubborn fierceness that he had not witnessed before. "I'll be honest with you...no, I don't suppose that I've completely dealt with my feelings for her...but I would like to be her friend. Even if she is Madame le Fantôme now," he smirked.

"It's Madame Durand, and if you ever go near her, surely her husband will have your neck in a lasso before you can blink!" she retorted angrily, and spun on her heel to leave. "I'm sorry, but I just cannot discuss this with you any longer, or I may say something I truly regret! Good day to you, Viscomte!" She tossed her fine blond mane over her shoulders and strode out the door, the heels of her shoes clicking rapidly on the tiled floor.

Raoul stood, dumbfounded. He realized at once that a lump had formed in his throat. What have I done? She seems to hate me! It took him a few moments to relax as he made his way back to his carriage and settled himself inside. As he did, a slow smile spread across his face. Her name. She gave me Christine's married name.

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