The gala was a huge success. All of Paris was enthralled by the new prima donna, Christine Daae. The wing where the girl's dressing room was had to be protected by several stagehands and a rather vicious Mme Giry to prevent any intrusion. Cecily was listening to Fabrizio tell of one of his childhood exploits, an obvious attempt to make her smile. It was working. He had an entire circle of hardened chorus members laughing, an impressive feat. It would be a shame when he left for Italy.

Cecily was brought from her laughter by the call of her name. She turned and saw Nicholai Tchikevsky leaning against the wall, watching the group of them. "Monsieur! What are you doing here?" She had not meant to sound so upset, but she was certainly surprised to see him backstage.

"Ah, my lord was rather taken with one of the dancer girls and came to see if he could obtain her name and a dinner appointment."

Cecily raised her eyebrow. "I see. So you are left to fend for yourself while he is off on his quest?"

"I suppose, but I was rather hoping to speak with you."

"Me? Whatever for?"

"Simply to find out more about you. You are an interesting woman, Mlle Pencombe, and I could only hope to find out some of the reasons for your personality."

"Well, I am honored. Perhaps you would like a bite to eat, as well? I know that many of the nobility are off to a late meal. I cannot offer you a spread like theirs, but there is soup in the kitchen."

"That sounds wonderful."

Cecily turned back to Fabrizio and the others. "I'm off. I will see you all later. And Fabrizio, tell Linnea to find me in the morning. I want to speak to her."

He nodded his head in agreement, gave a quick appraising look to the blonde man standing behind Cecily, and turned back to the others. The man looked decent enough, and Cecily knew how to take care of herself.

Cecily stood and led the Russian man through the chaos of the backstage after an opera. "Now, Mr. Tchikevsky…"

"Call me Nicholai."

Cecily blushed lightly. What was it about this man that was reducing her to the levels of a flirtatious ballerina? "Cecily. Call me Cecily then."

---

It must have been nearly 4 o'clock in the morning when a mildly drunken Lord Karkevnin found Cecily and Nicholai seated in the kitchen. His quest had evidently been successful, and he grabbed Nicholai by the arm, slapping him soundly on the back. "So there you are, you rascal! I've been looking all over for you! Never knew there were so many rooms in this damned place! Well, hello, there miss…"

"Pencombe," Nicholai intruded. "Cecily joined us for the first half of the opera, but was called away on other business. My lord, we really should be getting you back to the flat. You will need your sleep before tomorrow, well, this morning." Standing, he bowed lightly to Cecily. "Thank you. The evening was most enjoyable." Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed it, a roguish smile playing at his face. "I hope I can see you again?"

She paused for a moment, considering. "Yes, I think I would like that, Nicholai."

She sat there for a moment sipping her coffee and watching the retreating forms of the two Russians. If she wasn't mistaken, Nicholai winked at her before he turned the corner. Feeling the heat of a blush spread on her cheeks, Cecily hastened to her room, locked the door, and settled in for a brief sleep.