I woke to Julia's arm draped over my chest and Bessie sprawled out across my ankles, pinning me in place. Given the interaction with Dr. Khan and conversation with Phelan regarding my time in Persia, I fought the urge to shoot upright, arms and legs flailing in a moment of sheer panic.

"Rosalie," Julia murmured. She squeezed me tighter and smiled in her sleep. "You will simply adore her."

I kissed her forehead and studied her serene expression, fascinated by the concept of pleasant dreams.

"Your sister?" I whispered.

Julia stirred and her eyes briefly slit open. "My sister?" she questioned.

"Rosalie," I answered.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she gave a deep sigh. "I don't have a sister named Rosalie."

"Who is Rosalie?"

"She was in my dream," Julia said, her voice heavy with sleep. She turned onto her back and reached out, fingers skimming along my jaw. "Are Alex and Lissy awake?"

"No, it is too early for them to be awake. Sleep, my dear," I said, knowing my words were wasted and my wife was sound asleep.

I peeled Bessie off my legs and slid my feet over the edge of the bed. My body felt ledden after a restless night of broken sleep, but I forced myself out of bed in hopes that Phelan was awake and our conversation could continue with more clarity and civility.

Hushed voices from the parlor garnered my attention, as did the strong scent of coffee. I assumed Madeline had discovered my brother asleep and greeted him with a tray of biscuits and her favorite dark roast.

"You're awake," I said as I walked into the room, surprised to discover Alex and Lisette in their pajamas on the settee where my brother had chosen to sleep. "Where is your uncle?"

"He left an hour ago," Madeline answered.

"What do you mean he left?" I questioned. My heart sank with dread.

"For the train station," Alex added. He waved a sheet of paper over his head. "He wrote me a letter in case I wasn't awake before he had to return home."

"He wrote to me as well," Lisette said, displaying her letter in both hands.

"What time does the train leave for Brussels?" I asked, meeting Madeline's eye.

Her eyes shifted from me to the clock behind me. "In six minutes. You didn't know he was leaving?"

I took a deep breath and attempted to harness my emotions for the sake of Alex and Lisette, both of whom peered at me with silent concern.

"I didn't realize I'd overslept," I carefully answered.

Madeline stood and reached into her skirt pocket. "There was a note slid beneath the front door," she said, handing me the envelope.

I wordlessly accepted the post and broke the wax seal on the back. In his impeccable penmanship, Dr. Khan said he had arrived at his office before dawn and administered a half-dose of morphine to Claude, who was awake and 'in a substantial amount of discomfort.'

"Who is it from?" Alex asked.

"The physician who is taking care of Claude," I answered.

"How is the young artist?" Madeline asked.

"Able to accept visitors," I answered.

"May I visit Claude with you?" Alex asked.

"Perhaps tomorrow," I told him. "He is still in need of rest so that he can recover."

"Because a building fell on him," Lisette said under her breath. She folded her arms and slouched in her chair, her chin touching her chest.

"Thankfully not the entire building," I said.

"Fortunate you and your brother weren't killed with your heroics," Madeline said.

"There were others whose actions were far more admirable," I replied. "Fayette being one of them."

"So I heard. Will the young man recover from his injuries?" Madeline asked.

"I certainly hope so."

Madeline offered to entertain the children a while longer while I returned to my bedroom where Julia was still in bed beside both Aria and Bessie.

"How is Claude?" she asked once I told her of my intentions to visit Dr. Khan's office, her voice still heavy with sleep. I couldn't recall a single time she had been in bed past seven in the morning as she was typically asleep before I ever considered retiring for the night and awake many hours before I started my day.

"It seems he is in a bit of pain, though I suppose that's expected considering the circumstances." I paused, noticing how flushed her cheeks were against the pale yellow of the sheets and pillow cases. "Should I send him to see you if time allows?"

Julia rubbed her eyes and stretched. "I'm tired, but not unwell," she answered.

"Are you certain?"

"Positive."

"You look…not yourself."

"I'm fine, I promise."

I studied her a moment longer, then reluctantly nodded. "I won't be long."

Julia motioned me toward her and offered a gentle kiss to my lips. "You visit with Claude for as long as you need," she said, sitting upright. "He will be glad to see a familiar face, I'm sure."

I turned toward the mirror and ran my fingers through my hair piece, combing it into place. "He may be asleep for the duration of my visit," I said, refusing to get my hopes up that Claude would be pleased to see me.`

"Is your brother going with you?"

"He's returned home."

Julia's eyes met mine in the reflection of the mirror. "So soon? He was not even here for twenty-four hours."

I tugged at my sleeves. "Apparently he had other matters in need of his attention."

"I suppose you'll see one another in six weeks time."

I had nothing to say on the matter and shrugged. Quite honestly I wasn't certain if he would accompany me to our grandparents' dairy farm. "I'll be home in time for afternoon tea."

OoO

Kamil was tending to other patients for a round of house calls, which the young gentleman manning the office alone informed me without so much as lifting his gaze from his book.

Without his expressed permission, I walked into the rear of the building and let myself into the smaller office where Claude was awake and still propped up in the chair, his complexion ashen and expression pinched with what I assumed was an unbearable amount of pain.

He stared at me when I walked into the room and closed the door behind me, his eyelids heavy and gaze distant. I couldn't tell if he was still under the effects of morphine or rattled by the traumatic events of the previous evening, but assumed the latter as his eyes were red and glassy.

"It wasn't a dream," he said, hastily wiping away tears.

I remained standing at a distance from him, clutching a paper bag containing a meal Madeline had made specifically for Claude. "The factory collapse, you mean to say?" I questioned.

He shook his head, then reconsidered and nodded. "You were there," he said. "You were in the building, when they pulled me out. And then you were there after, when I was in the tent awaiting medical care."

I nodded and moved across the room, taking a seat beside Claude in a wooden chair with uneven legs that rocked back and forth once I sat. His hand and thigh were freshly bandaged, the wrap to his leg bearing a small stain of bright red blood.

"I was," I replied.

"And I told you to leave," he said under his breath.

"I don't recall that part," I lied for his sake. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Claude's bottom lip began to quiver and immediately I regretted my question as it clearly upset him. "Empty," he said, his voice high and thin. "And afraid. The dreams I had last night, Monsieur Kire…they were terrible. I could scarcely differentiate between what was real and what was not. Have you ever been exhausted to the point of delirium and yet still unwilling to close your eyes for fear of your dreams being worse than your waking moments?"

I suppressed a shudder. "The medication to control your pain can have that effect where dreams are more intense."

He nodded. "When may I return to my own home?" he asked as he shifted in his seat. "My bed isn't luxurious by any means, but it is better than this chair. Every muscle aches terribly and Dr, Khan was not very forthcoming on how long I would be a ward of his office."

"Dr. Khan said a few days at most," I answered. "But given the amount of stairs to your flat, alternate arrangements would be preferred. He is worried about putting stress upon your healing leg and ankle."

Claude turned his attention to his bandaged leg and traced his finger over the blood stain. "Where would I go, Monsieur?" he questioned without meeting my eye. "I've no funds sufficient for different housing, no employment in which to earn additional income, and no use of my ankle, my hand and my leg. I am absolutely useless."

"Do you recall our conversation last evening?" I asked. "Specifically that I had two offers for you?"

Claude stared blankly at me. "My apologies, but I do not remember much of last night. What I do remember I'd rather forget."

"Before Dr. Khan gave you morphine, I told you that I have no need or desire for monetary repayment, but I am in need of your services if you are up to it."

Claude nodded, but appeared no more relieved.

"Instead of monetary exchanges, I would prefer twelve weeks of both verbal and written lessons in speaking Danish, as we have previously discussed. The first six weeks I would like to dedicate exclusively to speaking so that I may effectively communicate with my grandparents prior to my visit," I explained. "And then once I return I would like to focus on writing as I wish to send and receive letters."

Claude visibly perked up. "As you wish, Monsieur."

"And then, if it is possible," I said, eyeing his good hand. "I would like to commission artwork to be used for the performances I am to conduct."

"Commission?" he echoed.

"Yes, for the program and quite possibly other advertisements at the discretion of the theater."

Claude's lips parted. "I…I hardly think I am worthy of such an assignment. I'm untrained and unknown, Monsieur, a novice who will not do justice representing your beloved music."

"I vehemently disagree as I have already seen the artwork put forth by the theater and requested a submission by an artist of my choosing," I told him. "I would much prefer the unknown artwork of a friend over the recognizable artwork of a stranger."

"How long would I have to submit the art?" Claude warily asked.

"You would have a week to supply your idea, which must meet my approval before going forward to the theater manager."

"The theater manager has the final say?"

"Absolutely not," I sternly said, my voice booming through the small office. "This is my music to conduct and there is no one who will dare go above my head."

Claude leaned back, pressing himself into the pillows at my tone. "Understood."

"But for a brief moment I will allow Monsieur Agard to believe he has the final say," I told him, relaxing my tone. "If I find your work satisfactory to represent my music, you will be paid a commission by the theater as well as a separate compensation from an appreciative composer. Is that understood?"

A smile quirked the edges of Claude's lips. He glanced around the room and then back at me. "This is a most peculiar dream, Monsieur, one that will surely leave me disappointed when I wake. I would pinch myself, but I can't bear the thought of waking to a most dismal reality. After hours of endless terror and misery, I have settled into a scenario I quite enjoy."

"It is not a dream," I assured Claude, amused by his words.

His smile widened, his features more relaxed than they had been in quite some time. At last Claude resembled the young man from the park, the one who had thought I was part of some grand scheme his artist friend had devised.

"Monsieur, would it be too much trouble to ask if you could retrieve my pencils and notebook from my flat? I would like to get started as soon as possible."

"I will make certain you are fully stocked by this afternoon. I myself am in need of more ink and paper from Bloom's and will gather an assortment of art supplies."

"I don't need anything new. Please, I don't wish to trouble you or become more of a financial burden."

"My work demands a fresh start, one that I hope leads to additional opportunities for you down the road."

"Will Monsieur Kimmer be providing artwork as well?" Claude asked. "He is your brother, correct? Or did I dream that as well?"

"He is, but he has returned to his home in Brussels and therefore unavailable to lend his artistic talents to the theater."

Claude placed his good hand over his bandaged one and frowned. "That is a pity. I would have liked to thank him for what he did last night and apologize for my behavior. Both of you risked your lives for a handful of strangers and I am certain I did not show my gratitude appropriately."

"I will gladly forgive you on my brother's behalf as long as you continue to heal and accept both of my offers."

"I would be honored to teach you Danish," he said, briefly closing his eyes. "And I would have gladly painted you anything you desired free of charge or other compensation. You have no idea how honored I am."

"Do you wish to rest?" I asked. His hollow cheeks lacked color, which concerned me.

"I feel very light-headed," he murmured. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled, indicating the true reason behind his lack of energy.

"You're hungry," I said.

Claude gave a sheepish grin. "Perhaps a little."

"When did you eat last?"

"Supper at your residence."

"You've gone a day and a half without eating. No wonder you feel light-headed."

"My apologies," Claude offered with his eyes cast down.

"Here, this is from Madame Giry," I said, handing him the paper bag.

Claude unfolded the top and peered inside, smiling immediately as he pulled out a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper, an apple, and a pastry I immediately recognized: a small honey cake, a special treat she had made for my birthday for years. There was no greater gift in my youth than the palm-sized cake I looked forward to receiving yearly.

"Would you like half?" Claude offered politely despite the ravenous look in his eye.

I shook my head, astonished by his willingness to share while he was in need.

"Eat and rest," I said, climbing to my feet. "I shall return this afternoon with supplies and another meal."

At last Claude offered a genuine smile. "Let us hope I find a bit of inspiration to do justice for your work in this very uninspiring room."

OoO

Claude was in much better spirits when I left him to finish his food, and his improved mood lightened my own dismal state. I considered bringing my violin when I saw him next and playing through several of the selections I had for the performances I was to conduct as I wanted a feel for the flow of the music and to see a reaction from someone who was not a member of my household. Charles, Madeline and Julia were far too polite to give an honest opinion and Meg grew irritated hearing the same melody over and over. Claude would be a much different audience than I was accustomed to and I hoped to get a better feel for how a crowd would react in the theater when I conducted.

My stomach fluttered at the realization that the performances were suddenly on the horizon. Once the art was finalized, the show would be advertised and tickets sold and then…then the dream of being in the orchestra pit leading musicians playing my music would come to fruition at last.

I was two streets from my home when I spotted Dr. Khan exiting from a house with an infant wailing inconsolably from somewhere inside the residence.

He looked up as he closed the wrought iron gate several steps from the front door and smiled when he noticed me. "Returning from my office?" he asked.

"I am. Your patient is awake and fed."

Kamil gave an appreciative nod. In the full light of day I noticed how silver his hair had become, the gray streaks prevailing over what had once been a full head of thick jet black hair. "Good. He said he was not hungry this morning, which I assumed was from the morphine, but I intended to bring something back for him when I returned from my rounds. The poor boy looked absolutely famished when I changed the bandage early this morning. I wonder if there is an underlying affliction for his gauntness."

"Nothing more than the inability to keep himself fed."

Kamil frowned. "Quite unfortunate."

"I will return this afternoon with my violin if you would pardon my intrusion."

"By all means, Monsieur Kire, bring your music to my office. Perhaps you will keep my associate's son awake while he sits at the desk in the front."

"Would your schedule allow a visit to my home this afternoon? My wife seemed unwell this morning."

"Yes, yes, of course I will see Madame Kire. May I ask what seems to be the problem?"

"She was…tired." The moment I explained Julia's only symptom, it hardly sounded worthy of a visit from a physician. "Unusually exhausted, I should say."

Dr. Khan's expression faulted momentarily and he looked at me with a mix of confusion and concern. "I will pay a visit before supper. Quite honestly I'd like to see Monsieur Kimmer's injury as well and make certain the wound isn't infected. It didn't appear deep, but I would still like to make certain it heals appropriately and he's not left with much of a…" He stopped in mid-sentence, his cheeks reddening.

"A terrible scar?" I finished on his behalf.

Kamil frowned. "I misspoke, Monsieur."

"Scar or not, Pheln has unfortunately returned to Brussels early this morning."

"Has he?" Kamil lifted a brow and nodded at the street up ahead. "I thought that was your brother over there."