Disclaimer: I do not, of course, own these characters, although I almost feel I know them! But they do belong to me, as they belong to all of us who love them...most especially Erik!

Chapter 4: A Visit from the Persian

Madame Giry sighed yet again, in exasperation. She had known that it would come to this. Christine had inevitably chosen the Vicomte, thus breaking Erik's heart. She toyed nervously with her hairbrush. She knew the time was approaching for ballet rehearsals, but she had remained in her dressing room, in a pensive mood. Her little Meg had burst in but scant moments before, excitedly delivering a mysterious envelope to her. Giry had looked at the beautiful penmanship, and instantly knew it to be Christine's. She tore it open at once. Meg had gasped when she read the message.

"Maman," she had whispered in astonishment, "did she not leave to marry the Vicomte?" Here she sighed in girlish ecstasy, thus confirming her mother's suspicions that her otherwise practical daughter was enamored of the handsome young man.

"She has had a change of heart..." Then she had been suddenly reminded of the ballet rehearsal.

"Go and prepare, Meg," she had said, becoming the strict ballet instructor once more. "You know you have to work on your pas de deux. I will think of what must be done about this."

"Why, Maman," exclaimed her daughter. "You must give him the message, of course!"

Madame Giry smiled at Meg's excitement. "Oui, ma cherie," she answered, greatly amused. "Go get ready now. Tout suite! "

"Yes, Maman," the young girl replied, swiftly exiting the dressing room.

Now Madame Giry was left alone with her thoughts. How would she get this message to him? She dared not traverse the twisted tunnels that led to his mysterious lair. In fact, she had never been there herself, nor had she asked Erik to show her the way. She knew that he could abide no intrusions. Thoughtfully, she flicked the opened envelope with her fingers. Perhaps she would go to Box Five after the rehearsal, hoping he would contact her there, as was his custom. However, she had not heard from him for days. She worried that he had some crazy notion of harming himself...

Looking down at the envelope, she took out the letter, and re-read it.

My Dearest Love:

I should never have left you, even though you yourself sent me away with Raoul. Please believe that I love you. I am returning to you as quickly as I am able. Wait for me at the Opera House. Your Rose will embrace her Nightingale...

Your adoring Christine

Madame Giry tucked the missive into her strait-laced bodice, and rose to leave. Yes, she decided, she would wait for Erik in Box Five. She walked over to the door, lost in thought, remembering her recent encounter with the Parisian police.

"But I tell you, Monsieur le commissaire, I do not know his whereabouts at present. He is a master magician. He knows all the hidden passageways of the Opera House. Indeed, he built most of them himself."

"But surely, Madame," persisted the commissary of police, rather wearily. "you, most of all, would have been privy to his secrets? I find it very difficult to believe that you would not know the route to his hidden lair." As he said this, he pompously adjusted his lorgnette.

"No, Monsieur." She shook her head vehemently. "He trusted no one with such information. I have always contacted him at the opera box I have already told you about."

The commissary sighed. "Very well, Madame," he conceded. "You may leave. I regret that you have not been able to assist us in this matter. Please do not attempt to leave the city. We may need you to come in again for further questioning. Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon to you, too, Monsieur," she pleasantly answered, with a slight nod of her head. She then got up and walked over to the door, which he gallantly opened for her.

Madame Giry continued to walk the corridors, on her way to the rehearsal. As she emerged into one of the passageways leading to the stage, she was surprised to see a man, dressed in outlandish clothes, apparently barring her way.

"May I speak with you, Madame?" he murmured, in an obviously foreign accent.

She was at once aware of his identity. "You must be the Persian Erik has mentioned to me, on more than one occasion!"

He bowed. "Indeed, Madame, at your service. I am here on his behalf, as he is presently unable to come to you himself. I can take you to him, however."

"Well," said Giry thoughtfully, "this is a most interesting turn of events. Is he not here, in the cellars of the Opera House?"

"No, he is not, " replied the daroga. "He is...elsewhere...He requested that I ask you whether you have any messages for him."

"Yes, I do, Monsieur," she replied, "but I am on my way to a ballet rehearsal. If you wish, I can give you the message to take to him directly."

"Is it from Christine?", inquired the daroga.

"Indeed it is. She writes that she will meet him here, at the Opera House." She smiled shyly. "If you would give me a moment, Monsieur..." Turning away from him, she dipped her hand into her bodice, hastily withdrawing the envelope.

The daroga took it, then hesitated. "Please excuse me for questioning you, Madame, but.... did you open this?"

She met his eyes directly. "Christine would have trusted me to do so, Monsieur. She regards me as her mother. After all, she grew up with my Meg."

"Very well, Madame," he replied, satisfied. He bowed again. "I shall speedily take this to Erik, and bring back a reply, if he doesn't return himself."

Madame Giry gave him a rather puzzled look. "Is he well, Monsieur? Has something happened to him?"

Nadir smiled wryly. "No, Madame, he is not well at all. He has been stricken with the oldest illness in the world -- love! He will never recover, I'm afraid. His only cure seems to be Miss Christine Daae. I pray to Allah that she will safely return to him. Good evening to you!"

She replied in kind, and watched him as he strode away. 'Well,' she thought, 'Erik will soon be reunited with her...if he is not taken into custody first..." Her heart constricted as she considered the possibility.

Several slim ballerinas slipped past her, chattering and laughing. When they caught sight of her, they skittered away as fast as they could. Madame Giry was well-known for her strictness. They dared not risk one of her withering glances if they were late to the rehearsal. Ironically, Giry herself would be late now.

She firmly strode after the girls.