Hello dear readers! As promised, I now give you the second part of the last chapter, containing Erik and Christine's first interaction. I hope I did well and that you will like it. This chapter is once again dedicated to my great-grandmother.

Christine's POV

I didn't move until Madame Giry and Meg had left. I then lowered myself into a chair near the fire and sighed. I was nervous. Not only would I meet the Comte, but I would also meet the man who was probably responsible for the beautiful gifts I had been given. Before this moment, I had not really thought about it, somehow it had not sunk in. The man in the window could not have been anyone else, though: the Comte was the only man in the house. How should I approach him? His station demanded distant respect, but I did not want to seem ungrateful. I could wait and see how he would react and act accordingly…

What would he look like? From what I had glimpsed from the window, I could deduct that he was very tall and thin, but the light behind him masked everything else. And his eyes… that could not have been true at all, they must have been a figment of my imagination. No man could possibly have such eyes.

After preparing the tea, I made my way to the library and knocked on the door, but no response came. I carefully opened the door and stepped inside. He was looking out of the window and had his back to me. I had been right: he was incredibly tall, probably over six foot, and extremely lean. His clothing, although well made, hung from his body, making him look even thinner.

"You're late," he spoke, without turning around.

I gasped. That voice! Even in his annoyance, it was the most beautiful voice I had heard in my entire life.

My silence must not have been the answer he was expecting, because he turned around, so swiftly that if I had blinked, I would have missed the movement altogether.

I think we both were surprised. He because I was not whom he expected and I… A black mask covered his whole face, masking his expression and giving him a sinister air. I could not see his eyes, all I saw were two black holes looking back at me.

"You…" he whispered.

He recovered quickly and righted himself, towering over me.

"Where is Madame Giry?"

I shifted nervously and looked at the serving plate in my hands. This was not going how I had expected.

"She went out with Meg. Their help was requested by Monsieur Dubois."

He remained silent, staring at me, until he suddenly sighed and motioned me to place the tea on his desk. I complied relieved, and after setting it down started to inch closer to the door.

"Won't you sit with me for a while, Mademoiselle? Or do you have other duties waiting?"

I shook my head.

After pulling my chair back, he sat himself in front of me, the desk like a wall between us.

"Would you like some tea, Mademoiselle?"

"No thank you, I'm afraid that I am not too fond it."

He nodded and I could feel how his invisible eyes roamed over me. Suddenly, he broke the contact and poured himself a cup of tea.

"How long have you been here now, Mademoiselle?"

"Several weeks now, Monsieur le Comte."

I wondered where he was taking this conversation. This whole encounter seemed to familiar, not enough distance between us, making me uncomfortable. It did not appear as though he had ulterior motives and yet I had never felt more nervous in my entire life. Not even when my papa asked me to sing for a public.

The Comte resumed his staring at me and I started to fidget, realising that he would not be able to drink with his mask on. Why did he not take it off? Why was he wearing it at all? To avoid staring at his mask, I took in the library. It was beautiful, the bookcases made out of a dark wood, giving the room a warm feeling. However, it was the magnificent wing piano that captured my attention. I had never seen such a fine instrument in my entire life.

The Comte had followed my gaze curiously.

"Do you play, Mademoiselle?"

"Oh no, Monsieur! I never learned how to, but I can see how beautifully made it is."

I could not read his expression easily because of the mask, but he seemed almost… proud?

"You must at least have some experience."

"My father was a musician Monsieur, he taught me how to read music and…", I stopped, it felt like that information was too personal, to share with him.

"Et quoi, Mademoiselle?"

He stared at me intently and I swallowed. It was as if those black holes looked right through me and I felt incapable of keeping anything secret from them.

"Sing, Monsieur. He taught me how to sing."

He sat up straighter than he already did, something I would have thought was impossible.

"Ah, donc vous êtes une cantatrice?", he asked.

« Non, Monsieur. Seulement une chanteuse. My father never completed my education and it was impossible for me to go to une conservatoire. My only experience was accompanying him when he played at a fair."

"Would you like to learn how to sing properly, Mademoiselle?"

What should I say? I couldn't tell him that it had been my papa's and my dream for years, that he had told me that one of my mother's little angels had given me my voice… I wanted to learn, but to learn from this man would not be proper. I did not know him, he was a rich, single man above my station who hid his face behind a mask.

"I… I don't know, Monsieur."

My answer did not seem to faze him the least. Yet he surprised me by suddenly standing and walking to the instrument. Beckoning me to follow him. I obeyed him and went to stand next to the piano. He sat down smoothly and turned to me.

"Allow me to persuade you, Mademoiselle," the Comte said.

And he played.

That music! That music that soared and scorched my soul, only to heal it with a heavenly caress afterwards. He had no score, it was as if he invented to gorgeous melody while he played. His hands danced on the keys. Despite their almost skeletal quality, I could only admire the elegance and fluidity with which they called forth that beautiful music.

Oh, how I wished my papa could have heard this! Not even he could put this much emotion in his music. In my eyes he had always been a musical genius, but he paled in comparison to this masked man. How honoured he would have felt to meet such a virtuoso!

I almost cried when he stopped playing. It felt as if I had been given a piece of haven, only for it to be ripped away from me moments later.

"Well then, Mademoiselle, will you let me teach you?"

I could only nod, all my defences had melted away at hearing him play. I could no longer deny him. No matter what consequences this could have in the future, I could only accept his offer.

He stood and walked back to his desk, opened a drawer and some papers out of it. I followed him, and when he turned to hand them to me, the light coming in through the large window fell directly on his mask. I could see his eyes. I had never seen such pale eyes in my entire life, yet they held a yellowish quality. And they were piercing, making it impossible for me to look away.

"Learn this song by next week. I shall give you this long only for once, since it is the first time you shall have to learn one by yourself. It is fairly simple and should suite your voice. Eventually we shall practice more complicated music, but this will do nicely for our first lesson. What do you say, Mademoiselle?"

I glanced down at the score in my hands. "Tre giorni son che Nina" of Pergolesi. I had never heard of it before, but it seemed simple enough.

"I shall learn it by next week, Monsieur", I answered.

"Then I will meet you here next week at three pm. Do not be late, Mademoiselle. During our lessons you may address me as maestro. You are dismissed for today."

I curtsied and went to fetch the tray, but he stopped me with a motion of his hand.

"Leave it, Mademoiselle. I shall take care of it."

I could only nod and turned to leave the room and its strange occupier. His voice stopped me, when I was about to walk through the door.

"Mademoiselle?"

I turned.

"Yes, Monsieur?"

He shifted, almost seeming nervous.

"How did you like my gifts, Mademoiselle?"

My eyes widened, I had not expected this question, but I decided to answer truthfully.

"They were very beautiful, Monsieur", I answered.

I could not see his face, yet I had the impression that if I could, I would have seen him smile.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle. You may leave now. Enjoy your evening."

I curtsied again, walked through the door and closed it behind me.

I then practically ran to my room and sat down on my bed. What an afternoon! Nothing went like I expected and instead of learning more about the master of the mansion, he had only become more mysterious than before. I truly did not know what to think of him.

Everything in his appearance screamed at me not to touch him, from his pale eyes to the black mask he wore. His general strangeness unsettled me, but his voice and the music he created destroyed all my defences. How could I not put my trust into someone with such musical genius?

But what could bring a wealthy man of high station to hide his face from the world? It could not be a fashion statement: there was no one in this house but me and the other servants. There had to be another reason, but what?

Suddenly I thought of my father and how he had come home one day, when I had not been able to accompany him, and told me of a boy he had met. The boy had been disfigured, he said. He had even given my papa a rose for me. I remembered that I had tried to dry it, but I had not succeeded and it had become mouldy.

Perhaps the comte also had a disfigurement? It would explain his need for the mask, though it seemed cruel that he would feel forced to wear one in his own house. How had he been treated in the past to make him feel that wearing it constantly was nessecary? Meg had told me that he had not had a happy childhood. Had his parents forced him to wear the mask? Could they really have treated their son so cruelly? It appeared to be true…

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on my door. It was opened by Madame Giry before I was able to say anything. She was carrying a tray with food and my stomach grumbled. Had I been late for dinner? Had I been thinking for so long?

She placed the tray on the small table in the corner of the room and turned to me.

"I told Meg you had gone to bed early tonight. I thought you might need some time to get your thoughts straight. Is there anything you want to ask me child? But I must warn that there are certain questions I cannot and will not answer."

I guessed that that included everything involving the mask.

"Did you know?", I asked.

"Know what, Christine?"

"That he would offer me lessons."

"I suspected, but know? No."

I decided to ask the question that plagued me the most.

"Did I do well in accepting his offer? Or should I decline it when I see him next week?"

"You did well child."

I nodded, assured now that I had her permission, and thanked her for bringing me dinner.

She inclined her head and went to leave my room. Before she left the room I caught her whisper: "Better than you know, my child."

I frowned, confused, but decided not to break my head over it. I had had enough to analyse and think about for one night. After attacking my food, I prepared for bed. Sleep came surprisingly easy that night.

In my dream I was once again joined by my father, but it was not he who played. A masked man played for us and my papa wondered how he was able to create music that made us think of fallingsnowflakes.

Well then my loyal readers, what did you think? Did I handle their first meeting well? Please let me know what thought of it. Thank you very much and until next time!

With all my love,

LoreLorelei