Chapter Two- Little Lotte, the Opera Star

"The role of Elissa will be performed by Christine Daaé of Uppsala in this special gala performance of Hannibal," Philippe de Chagny read off the program. "What happened to Carlotta Giudicelli?"

"Christine Daaé?" Raoul asked his brother, a memory starting to stir. "The daughter of the Swedish violinist?"

"How should I know?" Philippe sounded irritated. "All I want to know is whether Carlotta will perform at all during the week so we can go to another— better— performance."

Raoul almost retaliated, but the lights darkened and he fell silent. The spotlight centered on a young woman alone on stage, dressed in the elaborate red and gold and green costume of the Queen of Carthage, preparing to sing the first score.

Christine was quite a good actress, and had grown ever more beautiful. Raoul remembered her voice to be sweet and youthful; even back then, it was on its way to becoming wonderful.

There was no comparison now. Her voice was mature and phenomenal, causing tears in the audience. The only word Raoul could conjure was sephardic.

Raoul sat, enthralled, during the entire performance. He was the first in the audience to stand and call out many bravos. He watched Christine curtsy and acknowledge the applause and many roses thrown to the stage. Raoul was certain of one thing: he must meet with Christine once more.

It's easier said than done, Raoul, he told himself as he struggled though the mass of patrons and admirers crowded against Christine's dressing room. Many carried bouquets in hopes of winning the chorus-girl-turned-star's attention, while their wives looked on jealously.

Christine finally appeared at the door of the dressing room, inciting a revival of calls and pleas. She seemed tired and unsure of what to do.

Raoul pushed his way to the front and made sure to get her attention. "Christine! Little Lotte! Do you remember me? Raoul de Changy, the boy who saved your red scarf from the ocean."

Christine gasped. "Raoul? Is it really you?" He saw tears of exhaustion glimmering in her eyes. "Before we do anything else, please help me turn them away."

Raoul nodded and turned to the crowd. "Mademoiselle Daaé gives you her apologies, however she wishes to retire for the night."

"Will you be performing again, mademoiselle?" a voice called out.

"I do not know, monsieur," Christine replied. "Possibly. Speak with Monsieur Firmin or Monsieur André." She beckoned Raoul to step inside the dressing room and shut the door behind them.

"I never thought I would see you again, after we left Perros-Guirec," Christine said as she removed costumes from chairs and offered one to Raoul. "I mean, your family is French nobility. My ancestors were Swedish peasants. I hardly expected us to mix."

"I'm glad we did," Raoul replied. "Where did you go afterwards?"

"My father took me here, to Paris," she answered. "He got a job as a violinist in the orchestra, and enrolled me as a dancer in the chorus."

"Did you still sing?"

Christine looked down. "I did, for a while. When my father died, I gave it up. I couldn't bear to sing without his guidance."

"What prompted you to start again?"

Christine looked uncomfortable, as though concealing something. "When the An— when my friend suggested I step in for Carlotta Giudicelli." She had a strange, focused look on her face, as if trying to convince herself that the lie was true. Then she seemed to shake herself out of the reverie. "But enough about me. What have you been doing all these years?"

There wasn't much to tell. He had attended the Paris University for several years, but his father had died several years previously, surprisingly naming Raoul vicomte de Chagny. Raoul had left the university to care for his family.

"Have you met any beautiful young women to become your vicomtess?" Christine asked.

Raoul sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No. My mother and siblings are pressuring me to marry, but I have not found the right woman amongst the nobility. They are too... flighty and preoccupied with themselves. I could not live with someone like that." He thought he detected a relieved glint in her eye, but it could have been a trick of the light.

A knock came from the door, and Christine rose to answer it. An older woman dressed all in black stood. "Christine, it is getting late, and Meg wishes to speak with you about—" Then she saw Raoul and curtsied. "Forgive me, lord vicomte, but Christine needs to rest. If you will excuse us."

Raoul stood, aware that the woman was politely telling him to leave. "May I see you later tonight?" he asked Christine.

Christine had a strangely panicked expression on her face. She exchanged a quick look with the older woman. "The... opera has very strict curfews, Raoul. Perhaps we could meet tomorrow?"

"All right." Raoul was dissatisfied, but he had the promise of meeting her again.

As he left the dressing room after the woman, he heard Christine whisper, "Things have changed, Raoul."

Things have indeed changed, Christine. For better or worse, I cannot say.

Raoul returned an hour later, not sure of the reason. Maybe he subconsciously wanted to persuade Christine to speak with him. Perhaps he wanted to reassure himself that he had not dreamed of their meeting.

He raised his hand to knock on the old door when he heard voices. One was Christine's clear tone, but the other was unknown to him.

"You performed superbly, Christine," the unfamiliar male voice was saying.

"Thank you, Angel," Christine replied.

"I do wonder why you were speaking with that boy, the vicomte."

Raoul froze.

Christine sounded defensive. "We were childhood friends in Perros-Guirec, and we talked. That's all."

"You should not have spoken to him, Christine." The "angel" seemed angry.

"Why not? We are friends. Surely there is no harm in talking."

The Angel changed the subject, taking on a hypnotizing, enthralling tone. "Visit me."

When Christine did not reply, the Angel's voice grew angry again. "I am the Angel of Music, am I not? This is what your father wished for you on his deathbed.

"Come to me, my beautiful angel. Look in the mirror. I am waiting for you." The sound of Christine walking across the small room came faintly through the door.

Raoul banged on the door and tried to turn the handle but could not. "Christine!"

Christine's footsteps stopped, as if she was hesitating. "Hurry!" the Angel urged her. The handle finally turned, and Raoul threw open the door.

The room was empty.