A/N: It's such a relief to have figured out what was causing my little problem that was delaying new chapters. Now that I'm putting pen to paper first instead of just tapping out the words on the keyboard, I feel more connected to my writing once more.

Anyway, here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

Raoul was still standing by the window, arms crossed rigidly in front of his chest, when the sun began to peek over the horizon. A long night of soul searching had, at last, yielded some answers. He was glad to have an older brother to go to for advice about women.

Women certainly were perplexing creatures!

Yes, he did enjoy taking Mignon out for the evening. The time he spent with her was pleasant enough, but she possessed qualities that made it difficult for him to imagine spending his life with her.

There was something about her voice, he'd finally realised, that grated on him. The nuances and lilt of it were just a little too perfect for his liking.

It was maddening.

If he could get her to not speak so much while they were out and about, he'd be able to tolerate her company - and the envious glances cast their way - until he joined the crew for his journey north.

Once he had satisfied his lust for travel and discovery, then he could think of finding a beautiful lady to be his wife and mother of his children, as was befitting his stance in society.

He just had to make sure she knew her place.

"Good, Suzette!" Erik called out in encouragement as she sparred with Christine.

They'd spent the morning in vigorous mock swordplay using sturdy tree branches that had been lying in the yard.

"Keep your knees limber, Christine," he reminded gently. "Yes! Just like that! Excellent counter!" He was pleasantly surprised at how quickly the two young women had learned to parry and thrust, but he supposed Suzette's years of doing housework had made her strong. He was aware, of course, of how lithe Christine was from her time as a member of the corps de ballet.

Still, he was proud of them both for having picked up the manoeuvres he'd taught them so enthusiastically. He was certain they could learn to defend themselves without weapons just as swiftly.

That same afternoon, back in Paris, Mignon heard a knock at the door of her flat. She half-expected it to be Raoul, but she was relieved to find a courier with a parcel for her.

She scurried back to her kitchen to continue her meagre midday meal. She hoped that whoever had sent her a package and a letter had good news for her.

She could certainly use some good news now.

"Ma cherie Mignon," the letter began affectionately. "I do hope this letter finds you in good health. I only just yesterday heard of an accident someone had along the same route you were taking to get to Paris. No one with whom I've spoken had any idea as to who was involved or how severe the accident was, so I can only pray it wasn't you.

I've not heard from you since before you were scheduled to arrive, so I can only surmise that rehearsal and preparations for the next production are gruelling and hectic and leave with little free time.

In any case, I shall be departing for France in a few days' time. My doctors have, at long last, deemed me healthy enough to withstand such a journey.

I have included a few of your things, which I imagine you'll be happy to see, as well as a bank book for the account I've set up for you.

I trust you'll have everything in order by the time I arrive.

With all love and best hope for the future,

Your mother,

A. H. Kanavinski

Some spark of a memory flashed through her mind as she reread the letter. The insignia at the top of the page seemed comfortingly familiar.

'My mother will be here soon,' she thought with a bemused grin. Mignon was fairly sure she'd not been in any accident en route to Paris.

She had, however, taken a rather nasty spill during rehearsal one day. She couldn't remember much of it - it was all a blur to her - but she'd been told later that a piece of scenery had fallen while it was being set up.

"The Phantom's playing tricks," someone had joked after it had been determined that Mignon was not seriously injured. She had, of course, been instructed by both the doctor and the managers to take several days off to avoid causing herself further harm. After all, they couldn't very well have one of their up-and-coming prima ballerinas taking such risks.

Physically, she had suffered no ill effects beyond the mild headaches that had, she was happy to know, decreased in frequency as well as severity over the past few weeks. She worried about her lack of memory, though, especially with her mother on her way.

Fortunately, one of the items she had sent her was a diary Mignon had apparently kept for some years. There would be time for her to read it later that night, though; she had to get back to Opera Garnier for a costume fitting!