Chapter Fifty-Seven

Raoul was seated in his study, trying desperately to occupy his thoughts with something other than Christine. Large flakes of snow drifted down from the morning sky, covering the ground with a wet, pristine blanket. A knock at his door startled him, but he recovered quickly enough to return it with a strong voice. "Come in."

Francois bowed as he entered. "Monsieur le Viscomte, this was just delivered by messenger," he said, striding quickly to Raoul's large, perfectly polished desk.

Raoul tore it open and read, his face rigid with shock:

Dear Monsieur le Viscomte:

We have been informed today by Giroux & Associates that the project for the reconstruction is still underway. All designs and planning will now be handled by one of the co-owners, M. Erik Durand. We trust that this news will be as pleasing to you as it is to us. We hope to see you again soon so that we can discuss the choice of materials and the costs involved.

Sincerely,

M. Richard Firmin

M. Gilles André

Raoul tried to read the short note over again, but his hand was trembling so violently that he could not focus on the words. He closed his eyes as if to will it all away, that it would become nothing more than a fleeting nightmare. Of course, it was no use. When he opened his eyes once more, the words seemed to leap from the page, mocking him cruelly. Monsieur Erik Durand.

"What is this?" he cried aloud, his eyes turning upward to the ornate ceiling. He had the urge to weep in anguish for a split second before he was overcome with blind rage. The note ended up in ragged pieces on the desk and floor, with his chair overturned and his desk completely cleared of all breakable objects. Shards of glass littered the floor in front of the desk, but he did not seem to notice, crushing them into a powder with the soles of his shoes as he paced back and forth across them.

Francois heard the commotion and nearly bolted through the study door. "Viscomte? Are you injured?" He took a step back, stunned at the sight before him. "What...what happened, if I may ask?"

Raoul shook his head. "It's over. It's all over. My life...is over. There is nothing left," he spoke in monotone, fighting to brace his weight against the desk with one shaky arm. It was as if he wasn't fully aware of where he was or whom he was addressing.

"Viscomte?" Francois studied him for a moment before taking action. "I'll summon the physician." He left the door standing open as he went to fetch a servant to take care of the matter.

Raoul made no objections. He made no sound at all, standing stiffly, staring out at the increasing snowfall. What on this earth is left for me now?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What on this earth is left for me now?" the young woman cried, flinging herself upon the canopied bed in her grief.

"Shhh, Angelique, it's alright. You must pull yourself together!"

"But I can't! How could he do this to me...just after he told me he loved me, no less? Oh, Justine, I thought he meant it!" She sobbed into her pillow, her curly blonde locks spread in an erratic pattern across the silk.

"Sometimes we don't know people as well as we think we do, I suppose," her older sister answered drearily. "I'm so sorry that he's broken your heart." She laid a gentle hand on her sister's back, rubbing gently between her shoulder blades. "I know it's of very little comfort to you at this moment, but soon you'll realize that it was better you found out now rather than after his engagement ring was on your finger."

Angelique sniffed and raised her head from the pillow, her eyelids encircled with swollen redness. "Well, now that ring encircles someone else's finger. But you're right...I know it's better this way. I would never want a man who was in love with someone else." She sat up halfway and lifted her chin. "When I marry, it will be for love, not for convenience or for the sake of a family name. I just want a gentleman who will love me for who I am...not for Father's money or because of my social status. I hate the sickening game that we must play, simply because we are of the 'upper crust!' Ohhhh!" She balled her fists in frustration. "How I hate that term! We are no different from anyone else...if you prick us, do we not bleed?"

Justine inwardly scolded herself for wanting to laugh. "Waxing poetic again? At a time like this?"

"I can't help it," Angelique replied, frowning. "At times like this, only the Bard is sufficient to express oneself."

"Really?" Justine rolled her eyes and looked away from her sister, twisting a tiny braid into a lock of her molasses-brown hair. "You need to get out more."

"I prefer to stay in. My books are better company than people, anyway. They're not so fickle and shallow. They have depth, meaning..."

"Oh, dear sister, don't you even think about staying away from the anniversary party for the Robichauds! Father won't hear of it!"

Angelique bit her lip sullenly. "I'd rather not talk about it. I despise those parties. They make me ill. And no one ever asks me to dance, anyway."

"Shush!" Justine cupped her sister's rosy cheeks in her graceful hands. "Perhaps this time will be different. Besides, I want you to meet Maurice. He is going to be there," she smiled with a slight blush.

Now it was Angelique's turn to roll her eyes. "Oh, yes, Maurice Pineau, the handsomest gentleman there ever was!"

"Don't make fun of me! He's sweet, and he treats me well. I think that he's beginning to have serious feelings for me."

Angelique sighed and decided that it wasn't worth her time to quibble. "Well, that's wonderful, then. If you promise not to nag me any more, I'll go. Alright?"

"Good!" Justine smiled gleefully. "I'll go and tell Father!" She turned like the graceful swan that she was and left the room.

Angelique sat down abruptly on the bed, sulking. My whole life...changed in a matter of moments. Holding her head in her hands, she began to wonder if God had ever really heard her prayers for a loving husband, after all. Am I destined to be alone? Am I not fit to be someone's wife and the mother of his children? Let me know, Lord, please...so that I won't raise my hopes again if it is not to be. She flopped backwards onto the bed and rolled over to face the wall, falling asleep from grief and exhaustion within minutes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I said I'll be fine!" he shouted angrily, startling his personal physician.

Francois frowned. "Viscomte, please allow him to examine you...he's come all this way."

Raoul sat down on his bed. "Fine. But be quick about it, would you? I have other things to do today."

"Such as?" Doctor Perrault raised an eyebrow in question, checking Raoul's heart sounds with his stethoscope.

"Such as...I don't know!" he retorted angrily again.

The doctor pulled away. "Perhaps it's best that you lie down for a bit."

"What's wrong with him, Doctor?" Francois asked with some trepidation.

"Absolutely nothing, Francois. Monsieur le Viscomte is in very good health. But apparently, something has upset him a great deal." Doctor Perrault turned his attention back to Raoul and looked him directly in the eyes. "I have known you since you were a child, Viscomte. And yet I have never seen you in such a state. Care to speak about it?"

Raoul nearly answered, before glancing uncomfortably at Francois. His servant took the unspoken hint and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

"It's my former fianceé. She has married a man that I despise, and now I find that our lives continue to intersect, making my life nearly impossible to live!"

"Surely you're being overly dramatic, Viscomte," Doctor Perrault answered, cringing a bit at Raoul's fierce glare. "I...I mean no disrespect, mind you...but perhaps, just perhaps...you are hoping that your lives intersect?"

"Preposterous," Raoul mumbled.

"Is it?" The doctor sat down next to Raoul on the bed. "Letting go of someone you love is the most difficult thing that you will ever have to do...well, that and forgiving someone who has wronged you. It seems...that you shall have to tackle both."

Raoul shot him a sideways glance. "Since when did you become so wise?"

Doctor Perrault laughed. "Oh, my dear young Viscomte, I am an old man, married for...well, more years than I can keep track of! I should hope that some amount of wisdom has come out of the time I've had on this earth." He stood up suddenly. "I, as your physician, recommend a treatment that has been known to work many times over."

"And what would that be?"

"Let it go. Go out and be among friends...you surely have many of those. Forget that which is past, and begin to move forward. I'm a firm believer that God opens doors for us when others close." He laid a large, wrinkled hand on Raoul's shoulder. "And Raoul?"

Raoul looked up at him suddenly, surprised to hear the old man address him by his Christian name. "Yes?"

"Revenge will only serve to kill you slowly, my friend. Forgive. It's the only way."

"I'm not so sure I can do that."

"If you don't, you will come to regret it, and you could rob yourself of a good life. Your former fianceé has made her choice and moved on. You should do the same."

"You sound like my brother," Raoul quipped.

The doctor cocked his head. "I'm not so sure if I should take that as a compliment...or an insult," he grinned.

Raoul laughed...sincerely, for the first time in many days. "Thank you, Doctor."

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A/N: Well, someone needs to talk some sense into Raoul, yes? Thanks to my reviewers...it seems that some of you want Raoul to move on, yet rebuild the Opera...and some of you want Raoul and Erik to have a "showdown" at the OK Corral! LOL! We shall see what Raoul decides...stay tuned! I hope you all are enjoying the story. If you haven't left me a review (the 90 or so other readers here) please do so! I look forward to hearing from you! BTW, I know this chapter was short. Don't worry...the next one will be longer.