"Here we are again – meeting in the chapel," Pere Charles says, sitting down in the pew next to Erik.

"One would think I was a religious sort." Erik laughs lightly. "This room is the most like what I am familiar with at home. Although you may find that difficult to believe."

"The dark and quiet?"

"Mostly. This is also a solitary place," Erik replies. "With the others bedded down, it seemed best to allow the house to go to sleep as well."

"Mlle. Christine is all right?"

"As much as she can be, I suppose. Adele is with her. Having lost her mother at a young age – then more recently, her father, Madame Giry has taken on the role. Her daughter, Meg, is close in age to Christine, so they are a family of sorts to her. I am afraid our relationship has been fraught with a number of shocks for her."

"The death of the Vicomte only being the most recent?"

With a rueful nod, Erik says, "Truth be told, it was his reappearance into her life that brought about the two of us coming together...as a man and a woman."

"Is that so? Do you mind explaining what you mean?"

"I believe I shall write an opera about it someday…but, in brief, thanks to a myth told her by her father and my habit of lurking about the opera house, she thought I was some sort of angel…the Angel of Music to be specific."

"An angel? So, you were not introduced in the normal sense."

"An understatement," Erik chuckles. "No. I was talking to myself about her voice being lovely, but lacking passion. She heard my mutterings through the mirror in her dressing room. Anyway, after a brief conversation as to the miracle, I began tutoring her as the "angel."

"An impressionable young woman – such sincere faith," Pere Charles says. "While she will not admit it, I believe Emilie believes in angels as well – not people who act as angels – of those there are many, but actual spiritual beings."

"I am not certain if her faith is in God or her father or whether at times, she confuses the two, however, yes, she is both young and old – naïve and wise. Quite remarkable and terrifying."

"The Vicomte?"

"She knew him when they were little more than children…had not seen one another for years. Then he appeared at her debut." Erik stands up and stretches. "I must admit the chairs in my house are more comfortable than these pews. Riding today, even after many years of traveling by horseback finds me somewhat uncomfortable without any cushioning beneath me."

"They were not built for comfort."

"Punishment for sinners…even family members?"

"The kneelers are actually more comfortable than the pews, they are padded…the expectation being most prayer is offered on one's knees. Kneel down. Resting one's bottom on the seat keeps some talking to God longer…or so my father…your grandfather explained."

"Was he correct?"

"You tell me…try what I described."

Erik takes the proscribed position, wiggling slightly to adjust his weight. "I do believe you are correct."

"I use the prie-dieu so the temptation of falling prey to my comfort is avoided."

"Why?"

"As a priest, my responsibility to others is greater than mulling over my own sins," he says. "Not that I am sinless – this reunion has shown me how lax I have been – however, my life is as pure and uneventful as I can make it. Most of my prayers are for those in my old parish and the world in general, I do not wish them to be rote or without sincerity."

"That is quite selfless."

"Sometimes I believe it is more selfish. I never connected with other people the way your father did – he was always interested in conversing with everyone he met – finding out about their lives, their hobbies...those sorts of things. In many ways, he was more an example of what a priest should be than I was. I preferred the distance my collar afforded me."

"You do not seem to be that way at all…welcoming all of us."

"The life I chose was lonely – it took me years to realize that. Once I began engaging more with the parishioners, I found praying for them to be much easier and my life more pleasant overall," the priest says, joining Erik on the kneeler, resting back onto the bench. "I have so enjoyed the past two days with the house full of life."

"And talk of death and murders?"

"Fascinating stories, I must say – certainly nothing I would have expected – except from the police officer, M. Khan. Sadly, violence is often necessary when someone is protecting others from harm."

"But?"

"All the talk of death has me more grateful for the life surrounding me."

"Can anyone join this discussion or are the two of you lost in prayer?" Nadir says from the doorway at the back of the room.

"M. Khan, come join us," Pere Charles says, turning to wave the Persian forward.

When Nadir hesitates, Erik tells him, "This is a family chapel...not a church...is that the problem?"

"It is awkward...if you are praying..."

"While I am finding pleasure in the company of my uncle, the idea of a religious conversion in only the few days since you last saw me is farfetched- even for you and your belief in my inner goodness."

"We are just talking, M. Khan," the priest says. "It seems both Erik and I find the darkness and quiet comforting."

"There is some resemblance between this place and your little house," Nadir says, walking down the aisle, taking a seat in the pew behind them. "Not so damp, I might add. Even with all your precautions, one cannot forget we are below ground."

"Is that so? You truly live underground?"

"Between walls, as well. A small point I left out when telling you how I met Christine."

"Indeed? How is that possible?"

"When the opera house was being built, Garnier...also called Charles...gave me permission to build a home for myself...leasing flats in the city was becoming increasingly difficult for me."

"I suspect that was more for your tongue than your face," Nadir says. "Too many wounded from the war walking about Paris."

"Many of them living on the streets because of their injuries. Ugliness is not something people want around them; however, it came to be," Erik retorts. "In any event, I can only speak for my own problems with housing...even with sufficient funds to pay the rent."

"I am so sorry for the unkindness you have experienced." While mildly amused by the bickering between the two, the priest is more interested in learning the positives about Erik's life...all this dwelling on the past and his understandable misfortunes finds him both uncomfortable and annoyed. He wishes M. Khan would not press him so. As he has discovered in his lifetime as a priest dealing with hundreds of confessions, Erik seems to relish his nefarious past and holding onto his grudges. "But that does not explain the walls."

"It was my idea to have passages between the walls for maintenance workers to have easier access to the dressing rooms...I simply used the same technique to create a small house at the lowest level...in the fifth cellar."

"You truly are a Saint-Rien," Pere Charles exclaims. "Your father and grandfather would be so proud. This house has several secret passages...well, not exactly secret, but hidden...storage compartments, wine and root cellars. The entries are hidden behind cupboards."

"I found many books about architecture in the library of my mother's house...some drawings as well."

"I am certain Edward created a few private places there as well."

"I was not allowed to explore very much..."

"It would seem those you sought housing from in Paris were not the first to challenge your living situation."

"My creativity was certainly challenged...that and having a thick skin."

"I do not know about a thick skin, but you have learned to return the insults," Nadir says, patting Erik on the back. "Have you not, my friend?"

"A quick mind does help."

"And a sharp tongue," Nadir laughs.

"I still cannot believe you are that tolerant," the older man says.

"Many have suffered for their words, trust me, Pere."

"The killing again?"

"Not necessarily – sometimes a threat is equally effective," Erik says. "But enough of my ways of coping with the world. What brings you lurking about the house in the middle of the night, dear daroga?"

"Same as you, likely...I could not sleep," Nadir says. "Unfamiliar place – felt I needed to know the lay of the house a little better. I happened upon this room quite by chance. Not exactly a secret passage, but the entry is not all that obvious. Your voices are what informed me there was a door somewhere in the paneling."

"The policeman in you taking over, I suspect," says Pere Charles. "I suppose the doorway does appear to be part of the foyer wall. Coming and going as I do...and living here as a child, the idea this was one of my father's secret rooms never occurred to me."

"I also continue to have some concern about Comte Phillippe...especially after reliving the conversation we had with you earlier. I am not certain he believed me."

"Do you think he will come here?" Erik asks.

"I do not know."

"But you came here to tell me all this because you do not trust him?"

"I felt it could not hurt," Nadir says. "I also thought a holiday in the country might be enjoyable."

The tuxedo cat darts into the bedroom and jumps on the bench at the foot of the bed when Christine opens the bathroom door. "Oh, Isis, how good it is to see you," Christine says. "I am so glad you brought her, Madame."

"It seemed a good idea...I do not think she enjoyed the trip, however."

Lifting the cat, she nuzzles the black and white fur. "Mme. Marchand was so kind to set up a box and bed for her."

"Knowing the little miss, she will likely sleep where she chooses." Adele opens her duffel and removes a jar of dried fish and hands it to Christine.

Christine laughs. "True enough...in the meantime, here is a treat to make you forget being confined for so long. Erik is going to be so surprised."

"I know I should have said something when we arrived, but Mme. Marchand suggested putting her with my things in your room and I actually forgot about her."

"Do not say that too loud, she may hear you and there will be hell to pay."

"Christine!"

"I do believe she understands everything we say."

"You really are a little fey...are you not?"

"What do you mean?"

Sitting down on the bench at the foot of the four-poster, Adele says, "You are not entirely of this world – talking cats...you are unlike all the other girls."

Christine's face falls. Turning away, she walks to the tall window and pulls aside the pale pink drapery. The quarter moon offers little light, causing the window to reflect her own image back at her. Dropping the curtain, she faces Adele again. "I do not want to be different. I cannot help what my life has been."

"I did not mean what I said to be an insult. You are special...unique. Sometimes those differences can be a challenge...Erik is a good example of your power – he is quite a different being since you came into his life."

"After all the talk this evening, I am beginning to understand more about him."

"Do they concern you – the stories about his past?"

"Only so much as they concern him and how he still suffers from what happened to him," Christine says with a small smile. "I suppose I must give him that much more love."

"That is most generous of you," Adele says. "I am not certain I could be so forgiving."

"He has not hurt me – so there is nothing to forgive."

"Even Raoul's death?" Adele presses.

Christine frowns and cocks her head at the older woman. "If anyone is to blame for Raoul's death, it would be me...but, in truth he brought his end about on his own. I am sorry he died, but that was his doing...why would you think otherwise?"

"If Erik had not taken you...perhaps you and Raoul..."

Shaking her head at Adele's remark, there was perhaps a moment after he visited her in the dressing room that night when the idea crossed her mind. Goodness knows, she spent many nights thinking about him over the years. The bond she had and has with Erik is stronger than a childhood romance.

"No, my father cautioned me about him...about nobles in general, but he proved to be right about Raoul. I would have been a prisoner." Walking to the armoire, she opens the cabinet to take out the pink satin dress. "Do you suppose this would be appropriate as a wedding dress?"