The Next morning, Erik walked to the market before Christine awoke, and bought a few things. He always had his ear out for some sort of gossip. The little stories that the villagers told each other about each other were very amusing to Erik. But today, as Erik was buying some bread, he heard an older couple talking.

"Lafayette," the woman said, "Did you hear about that De Changy affair?"

"No, Clarice," the one called Lafayette said. "What's the news?"

"Well, apparently, The Vicomtess is "missing" from home," The Clarice woman said in a hushed voice.

"Missing?"

"Aye," she continued, "but I hear that the Vicomte threw her out because she was a whore."

Erik's hands balled into fists at these words. She wasn't a whore!

"A whore? Really? How'd he know?" said Lafayette.

"She was apparently havin' another man's baby! And this whole incident happens over six months ago, so no one knows if she's dead or livin'! But now he wants her back, and has a 25,000 franc reward for her to come home!"

Lafayette shook his head. "Wonder why, seein' she's a strumpet and all…"

"Ah, but listen close now," Clarice beckoned him closer. "What I hear from my sister is that he's gonna have his own revenge on her!"

"You mean he's gonna kill her?!" Lafayette gasped.

Clarice nodded.

Erik had been frozen to the spot listening to this exchange. He hastily paid for his things, and rushed back to his home. His head was spinning, and he had to tell Christine this.

Or Do you? The twisted voice said in his ear. Why tell her? If he cast her out, she's all yours now… You have her, you keep her!

Erik had reached the door, and opened it slowly, not making any sound in case Christine was still asleep. He crept in, and saw that Christine was sitting at his desk, reading something.

"Good morning, Christine," Erik said, bringing his groceries to his kitchen. "Why are you awake?"

She looked up from the desk and said, "I got antsy," She smiled, and looked back down at the paper. "Erik?" she called into the next room.

"Yes?" he replied, still putting away what he bought.

"Come here, please."

He obliged. "What is it?"

"Did you write this?" she asked, holding up what he was writing the night before. It was a song.

"Yes, Christine. I was working on it last night, but I don't have a title for it yet."

"I was singing it to myself. It's beautiful, Erik." She said, "Did you write this for me?"

He paused for a moment, "Actually, I wrote it for the two of you."

Christine looked puzzled. "The two of—" but then she smiled, and looked down at her stomach. "Thank you, Erik."

He tried to smile back, but his mind was still on the rumors he had heard earlier that day.

"You're welcome, Christine."