Author's note: Merry Christmas to all my readers! I hope you'll have a phantastic time!

Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen

September 17th 1892: Erik

Saying goodbye was terrible. I had never liked it. Up to now, the worst moment of saying goodbye had been on the first night of ´Don Juan Triumphant´, more than ten years ago. It had taken me months to become anything like my normal self again, and perhaps I'd never recover entirely. Yet wasn't my present situation much worse? Now I finally knew that Christine loved me, and still I had to leave her. Admittedly I'd only be gone for one or two hours, but it was too much.

Sitting on the coachbox, I felt as if I had left my heart behind at the house of the de Chagnys, which was slowly becoming a spot in the distance behind us. But then, I was far from alone. Meg was next to me on the bench. She had insisted that this was exactly the right place for her to sit. ´If I were at the back of the coach, you wouldn't know what's going on with me. You wouldn't even see me. Someone could attack me, and you wouldn't notice anything.´ There had been nothing to be said about that kind of logic. After all, I myself had introduced the whole topic of the attacks spreading over to her.

Yet I couldn't help thinking that her wish to sit next to me had a completely different reason than safety: She wanted to talk to me. And I wasn't sure whether I was comfortable with it. I had never had any close contact to Meg. Of course I knew some things about her life. Since I had spent so much time studying Christine's life, that had been inevitable. Still I had no idea what I could speak to her about. But then, I figured it was safer to start a conversation myself than to let her do it, taking the risk that she'd choose a topic I wouldn't like.

"So… how is your mother?" I asked. Mme.Giry seemed to be a very good subject. Apart from Christine, she was the only one linking Meg and me.

"She's fine," Meg replied. "She used to have a little trouble with her back a few months ago, but it has become a lot better. The doctor told her to work less. You can probably imagine the way she looked at him…"

I nodded, unable to keep from smiling. It must have been the same stern glance the chorus girls lived in fear of. I didn't envy the doctor.

"Has he suddenly decided to retire early after your mother went to see him?" I wanted to know.

She chuckled about my remark.

"No, but he never dared say such an outrageous thing to her again," she answered. "She sometimes sits down during a rehearsal, though. That's as much of a concession as she was willing to make."

"Yes, that sounds just like her," I agreed. "And frankly speaking, I'm glad about it. We couldn't ask for a better ballet mistress. Of course the dancers complain about her every now and then, but they don't mean it. The Opéra Populaire wouldn't be the same without Mme.Giry… or without Meg Giry, for that matter."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her beam at me. She knew how rare my compliments were.

"Oh, thank you," she muttered. "I just wish everyone would share that opinion. Many dancers would like to see me step aside, sooner rather than later."

"They're only jealous," I assured her. "They know that they'll never dance as well as you do, even if they practice in every free minute from now until the end of their lives. That does create hard feelings, but you should try not to listen to them."

I was a little surprised about how serious our conversation had suddenly become. Yet at the same time I was pleased that Meg seemed to trust me enough to talk to me about things that were troubling her.

"It's not just that," she admitted. "There's always been jeaousy, yet ever since I married Jean, it has become more… vicious. You know that many chorus girls regard their prefession as an easy method of getting to know rich men. As soon as they've found one who is willing to marry them, they stop performing. And now some of them seem to think it very selfish of me that I have both a husband and a job."

"And how do they express those feelings?" I asked instantly. Meg's story had made me more than just slightly worried. I had had no idea that hostility at such a level existed among the chorus girls. I prided myself to know everything that was happening at the opera, and now I hadn't known that. It was not a good sign. Was I growing less perceptive?

"Well, they talk about me," she replied, her eyes fixed on the road, as if she were the one who had to drive. "They say I wasn't a good dancer anymore, and if my mother wasn't the ballet mistress, I'd have had to leave the opera a long time ago. Besides, they always compare me to Christine. In their opinion, she did it correctly: She stopped singing as soon as she got married. Yes, I know that she had already stopped working as a singer before she married Raoul, but they don't care about such little details. They only see the world the way they like best." She shrugged, as if to indicate that nothing would ever change such opinions.

Up to now, I had been able to hold myself back. But the moment Christine was mentioned I knew I had to say something.

"That's the biggest nonsense I've heard in a long time!" I exclaimed furiously.

The horse's ears twitched nervously, and its back grew tense. It obviously thought I had scolded it. I made a series of comforting sounds, and it calmed down again. When I continued speaking, it was in a softer voice. Apart from the fact that I didn't want to scare the horse, I also wanted to avoid that Meg's coachman, who was driving behind us, would be able to hear what we talked about.

"Christine didn't stop singing because she got married," I said. "It was… well, I think it was because of me. She rejected me, so she had to reject music as well. I'll never forgive myself that I've taken one of the best singers of the century from the Parisian stages…"

I fell silent. It was the first time I had spoken about that particular guilt, and I wasn't even sure why I had done it. It had just slipped out of my mouth before I could have held it back.

It was obvious from her silence that Meg didn't know how to deal with my revelation. That made me a little angry. Did she assume that she was the only one with the right to talk about her feelings? Yet when she spoke, in a soft, considerate voice, I realised she had only needed time to choose her words carefully.

"I don't think it's right to blame yourself only," she told me. "There were so many things going wrong in those months. Do you think I never feel guilty? I wonder over and over whether things would have been different if I had listened to her more, if I had tried to help her… Of course I blame myself. But one mustn't forget that it happened in the past, and worrying makes nothing better."

I had never thought about it like that. But then, I'd have also never thought that someone except for me and possibly the Vicomte could be held responsible for Christine's situation. Through the mist of my thoughts I heard Meg's voice.

"We can't change the past, Erik, but we can try to improve the present. And that's what you're doing for Christine."

"Indeed?" I mumbled bitterly. "I've caused her so much pain…"

"…and so much joy," she finished quietly. "Christine is very happy with you, believe me."

"But what will happen once the Vicomte will be back?" I asked. I couldn't help myself: It was impossible for me to think about the joyful present without considering the future.

"I can't look into the future," Meg replied simply. "If I could, I'd have done quite a few things differently in my life. Why don't you just take it as it comes? There are aspects of the future you can't change either. The sooner you accept that fact, the better."

I wondered when this conversation had drifted off into being rather strange. Here I was, getting advice from my beloved's best friend and actually enjoying it.

"You're a very good friend," I remarked. "Christine is glad that she has you. And I don't want you to be sad either. You just have to tell me the names of those other dancers, and I'll show them that your mother isn't the only one at the opera who supports you. They'll curse the day they decided to come to the Opéra Populaire." I could only remember too well that Meg had been on my side when her coachman had insulted me, and I was determined to do the same for her.

Meg smiled at me. She had just opened her mouth – whether to start with the names ot to tell me I didn't have to do anything, I didn't know – when the ear-splitting sound of breaking wood echoed through the nearly empty street.

"What was that?" Meg cried anxiously.