My friend laid on an extravagant evening meal in honor of Christine. When I took pains to assure her that we did not normally dine in such splendor, the daroga accused me of being a curmudgeon. Christine had the temerity to laugh along.

"Now see here, my dear Comtesse," I cautioned her, "if you are to remain under my protective wing, I shall thank you to remember where your allegiance lies."

"Oh, Erik," she sighed, her musical laugh still lingering in the air, "you know I adore you." She reached boldly for my hand and stroked it most suggestively. I have no trouble reporting that I blushed mightily.

"Now gentlemen, if you will permit me, I will excuse myself. I am feeling so very drained; good night."

I refused to meet my friend's gaze after Christine left us. I had no explanation for her shocking behavior.

"Erik, she said she adored you, my friend; did you hear?"

"Of course I heard; that was for your benefit. I don't know why, but you seem to encourage the coquette in her, and I must say that I am unamused by it."

"Well, I don't know why she would feel moved to put on such a display for my benefit. I wonder if you know what you've let yourself in for, old friend."

"Reza, please. Now, if you will excuse me, I've some sketches to work on. I'll take myself and a cognac upstairs."

I worked until the small hours of the morning; I had just a bit more to finish and then to bed. Suddenly a shaft of light from the hallway spread across my periphery.

"Erik," Christine breathed sleepily. "What time is it?"

"It must be nearly two, my Dear. Is something wrong?"

"No," she rubbed her eyes like a sleepy child. Yawning, she stretched out her arms. It was then that I realized that in her dreamy state, she'd wandered from her bed with neither robe nor shawl. The light from the hallway poured through her bed gown, exposing the contours of her body like a shadow play.

I have touched Christine respectfully, and I have felt her kisses. I have dreamed of her—I am a man, after all. Many times as I lay awake with my tortured thoughts, I have imagined that I have suffered all there is to suffer of unrequited longing and love denied. But when I saw the turn of her calves, the smooth curve of her thighs, the rise of her hips before the plunging valley of her waist, and her breasts…no sculpted alabaster perfection in all the museums of the world could rival what was revealed to me in light and shadow. I burned. I realized that I had suffered nothing to compare with what was to come. I was terrified, for I understood that I was truly damned.

I do not know how long I stood, wracked with lust; seconds or minutes. Slowly, my Angel Comtesse's voice crept through the fog of my black yearnings.

"When will you come to bed?"

No, you have not heard correctly, it is the blood burning in your veins that makes you pervert her words so foully.

"I am sorry, my Dear, what it is you asked?"

Christine stepped nearer; a blessing, for she moved from the light. Nevertheless, my twisted soul groaned its loss.

"I said, when will you come to bed, Erik?"

How I was able to speak in so composed a manner I do not know. The monster within threatened to overwhelm me, crush Christine to my breast and smother her with kisses…but miraculously, it was her Guardian Angel who spoke.

"Christine, I have given you my room. I am comfortable here; I will sleep among my books, my music, my drafting table. Go back to sleep, Child."

"Erik, no." She was more fully awake now, and her eyes were worried as she took my icy fingers between her warm, soft palms.

"Please, you must share your room with me. If you do not stay with me, Mr Daroga will know that…Erik, please don't shame me."

What an unconventional little Angel I love. It appeared that Christine preferred my Persian friend believing the lie of our open adultery to the truth of our innocent friendship. I was unsure that I could sort out Christine's logic on this matter when I was in full possession of my faculties, but in my current state, it was utterly impossible. All I knew was that Christine was discomfited, and that if I came to my former quarters with her, it would please and settle her. Thus she led me by the hand. I tucked her into my mother's bed and took the afghan from the foot of the bed. I settled comfortably enough in the wing chair, and closed my eyes.

"Erik," Christine whispered, reaching out her hand to me. "Lie down here with me. You mustn't sleep in the chair like that; I feel dreadful to think of you so uncomfortable."

Does she think I am made of stone, that I can lie unmoved beside her? Am I so entirely inhuman to her?

"Christine, you asked me to stay behind closed doors with you while we sleep; that is enough to satisfy your fears about what my friend may think. I have never required much sleep, and I can sleep most comfortably here. I appreciate your concern, but I am quite fine. Good night, now, my Dear."

"Erik?"

"Yes, Christine."

"Thank you."

"It is my joy and privilege to be of whatever service I may, Comtesse."

Soon Christine's breathing became regular. Rising silently from the chair, I studied the sleeping child briefly. It was a blasphemy for my eyes to look upon this most perfect of human forms; lips gently parted as if awaiting my kiss; arms thrown above her head, freeing her breasts from protection of the coverlet. I had only to take three steps and reach out my hand to touch the flesh of an angel. I raised my hand and beheld the skeletal fingers, snatching me from my lurid fantasy. I knew my flesh to be cold; even if I dared attempt so bestial an act, I could never hope to escape undetected. Sickened by my own depravity, I tore myself from the room.

I retreated to my coffin and removed my mask. I slept tortured, haunted by dreams of Christine's shadowy form, dancing behind a gauzy curtain. Sometimes the curtain would part slightly, and her hand would beckon, reaching for me. 'Erik, lie down here with me,' she called, whirling and undulating. The music was all drums and cymbals; did Christine dance to it, or was it her body itself that created the rhythm? Her laughter was a siren call as she parted the curtain. I took her hand, and instantly, in the bizarre timelessness of dreams, we were lying in each other's arms in a jumble of silken pillows. I recognized the pillows from the harem beds in Persia. I saw that Christine and I were in a splendid walled garden, also in the Persian style: shaded arbors, nectar-sweet flowers, laden fruit trees and murmuring fountains. Christine's eyes shone with love; I shuddered as her lips brushed my ear. 'Erik,' she whispered, 'it wouldn't be like that if you and I were married…'

I was jarred awake, breathless and overheated. I tossed around, attempting to find a comfortable position. Each time I dropped off to sleep, it was the same: Christine called to me, drew me in, teased and welcomed me…and warned me not to touch. The sun was casting a rosy net across the horizon when I abandoned the idea of rest, dressed and went to the kitchen to jolt myself to life with strong Persian coffee.

Darius was already puttering about, so I sat staring blankly at the kitchen table while I sipped my coffee. The daroga was descended upon us much too soon. He was his usual intolerably cheerful self.

"Good Morning! I trust it is a better morning for you, now that your lady love is returned."

"Yes…delightful. The only thing I enjoy more is your company at this hour."

Darius had abandoned us to prepare the dining room for breakfast.

"How are you really, Erik?"

"I'm fine, Mother, dear. Will you leave it?"

"Of course," he sniffed. "I don't know why I worry about you anyway."

We were finishing breakfast; I was reviewing L'Epoque while the daroga and Christine charmed each other.

"Erik, I daresay you are the strangest man I've ever known. Here we have our lovely Comtesse, a charming conversationalist and a delight to behold on a chilly morning, and your nose is stuck in the newspaper."

"I have no nose, daroga," I replied, turning the page. "You do look lovely, as always, my Dear. You resemble…a spring narcissus in that dress, all cream and yellow."

"Thank you, Erik," Christine smiled demurely. Much better than her last performance at the table.

"You see, Reza, I know something of how one treats a woman." I returned to the paper.

"Not the most romantic fellow in Paris, is he?"

"He can be…" Christine replied. I was gratified that she was taking the proper side in this debate.

"My friend, has it ever occurred to you that I may prefer to do my romancing without an audience? And not at the breakfast table, of all things. If you'll excuse me, my Dear."

"Of course," she agreed, eyes downcast.

I retreated to my drawing table. Christine appeared at my elbow several minutes later.

"Erik, he means no harm," she began hesitantly. "I believe he is…happy to see us reunited."

"That is all very well, Christine, but I require neither a chaperone nor a matchmaker. It's a farce, anyway; you're not here for me. The sooner we can dispense with this charade, the better. Precisely when can we dispense with this charade, Christine?" I fumed.

"It isn't a charade, Erik," she insisted, her hand resting on mine. "Not if you want it to be otherwise. Yesterday, you said you still wanted me."

"It is not what I want that is in question here. I have always wanted you; nothing has changed. But whatever sort of detour you and your Comte have encountered on your marital carriage road, you know perfectly well that you'll be here as long as it suits you, and not a moment longer," I spat. Four months is not so very long a time for a heart to mend; if I was self-protective, I felt justified for being so.

Christine frowned and withdrew her hand. Her cheeks pinked with irritation.

"No, Erik, you're wrong. I told you yesterday that I have no intention of returning to Raoul; if you refuse to believe me, that is your choice. I did not just come here because I needed a place to run; if you would put aside your pride for a moment, you'd realize that Madam Giry would gladly take me in. I came looking for you because I want to be with you."

I was moved to hear things I'd never imagined anyone would say to me. Christine's eyes told me that she spoke truly; most importantly, they told me that my verbal assault had wounded her.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. Christine moved closer and raised her face to be kissed.

The sound of someone clearing his throat discreetly in the hall sent us leaping apart like guilty adolescents. Darius advised that we were wanted downstairs. When we joined my Persian friend, Christine gasped and ducked behind me. Her husband and two police officers wheeled on us.

"What do you mean, secreting my wife here, Sir?" the Comte demanded, unduly red-faced. He turned to Christine.

"Collect your things, Christine. This escapade is finished."

"I am staying here, Raoul. I will not return with you," Christine replied adamantly.

De Chagny ignored her protests and glared at me.

"You have spirited a married woman away from her lawful husband for nefarious purposes, Sir. I will have satisfaction."

The daroga stepped between us.

"See here, Comte, if you do not retract your statement, I shall be forced to demand my own satisfaction. You have impugned my honor and that of my house. What do you take me for, Sir, to think that I would aid a man in such a despicable endeavor?"

"What other explanation can there be for the Comtesse's presence here, Sir?" the taller policeman demanded.

"I told you all," Christine insisted. "I came here of my own accord. I have come to seek refuge with my friend here." She took my arm. "Long ago, he pledged himself as my guardian and protector. Now that I have been disappointed in my marriage, I have returned to his care, as is fitting and proper for an orphan such as myself."

"It's a lie! He's brought her here as his lover!" the Comte wailed.

My Persian friend approached the frantic Comte as an uncle would do. He spoke confidentially.

"My dear Comte, I understand what a difficult time this must be for you, and I give you my word as a gentleman that none of what has passed here will ever be divulged to anyone. Perhaps in a few days, the Comtesse will be more kindly disposed toward discussion with you…sometimes the best thing a man can do is let the lady breathe, my boy."

The boy seemed mollified. Nodding, he spoke to no one in particular.

"I retract my earlier statement."

I acknowledged him with a slight nod. As the challenged man, I had the right to name my weapon, and while he is substantially younger than I, still I was confident in my ability to run him through in a swordfight. Ah, well. Perhaps another time.

The Comte turned to his erstwhile bride.

"Christine, won't you please consider…please consider that I love you?"

"I shall, Raoul," she replied non-committally.

The diminished Comte departed with his policemen friends.

Christine heaved a sigh of relief when he they had gone.

"He will probably return, do you think?" she wondered.

"Hm. He seems unconvinced that you would really wish to leave him," I agreed.

The doorbell screamed again. Christine clutched my arm anew. We were all pleasantly surprised when Darius returned nothing but with a special delivery for me.

"Well, here is delightful news," I read. "It appears that yours truly submitted the winning bid for the Louvre job." I laughed heartily. "I am expected in their offices at eleven this morning."

"Welcome back to the working week, my friend!" the daroga laughed.