Unmasqued

From the box in which they were sitting, the Comte and Vicomte de Chagny watched Christine Daae's bowed head as she made her third curtsy. Still the crowd roared and applauded.

"Quite a lovely woman. Very lush," mused Philippe, the comte, settling back in his seat. "It is no wonder the dancer La Sorelli never cared to introduce her to me during our attachment. Miss Daae is her name? I wonder where she came from and how long she has been here. I have never seen her in the dancers' lounge, nor in the singers' lounge. I wonder where she has been hiding."

"Her father died some years ago," replied Raoul, his younger brother. "I do not know how long she has been here at the Opera House. I only learned she was here this week. I have not spoken with her in years."

"So it is no wonder that you insisted that you would attend tonight, without your regular companion of Mademoiselle Le Rochet."

Philippe noticed that Raoul had not taken his eyes from the dark-haired figure below. "I met Miss Daae at the sea near Perros-Guirec some years ago… Do you recall that summer? You were there too, that first day I met her and her father."

"I am sure I would not forget such a lovely form if I had seen it before." No, indeed. He was not accustomed to passing by such lovely womanhood without finding a way to sample it. And an actress, of course, would be simple and easy for the picking… despite the growing strength of the bourgeois, who believed that with the Third Republic and the rise of their class, the actresses had miraculously become modest and moral.

A laughable assumption.

"We were younger then. She was but a girl. I saved her scarf from being blown away by the surf-oh, look at her! She looks as though she might faint!" Raoul stood from his seat as if to rush to her side.

Philippe grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Sit, dear brother. It is not fitting for a Chagny to make a fool of himself over a singer or dancer, even one as beautiful and gifted as she. And see, the others have caught her. She is not about to crumple to the floor in front of an entire opera house without someone else noticing." Indeed, several of the dancers had rushed to her side and caught her as she began to sag. Her face did look pale. Philippe turned and considered Raoul thoughtfully. "You appear quite taken with her."

"I've never met a more lovely, endearing woman. It was an unforgettable summer, and I spent a great deal of time with them. You were too busy with your own affairs to notice. I met her father, a great violinist, who would play for us… and she would sing. Only passably then, but with great promise. She sings more beautifully now than she ever has. Before Monsieur Daae died, he would tell us wonderful stories about the Angel of Music and Little Lotte… tales from Sweden, where they were from. He never came to love it here in France, and often told us stories from their homeland, for which he was strongly homesick." Raoul seemed lost in his memories, a fact that greatly annoyed Philippe, who preferred to live for the moment.

Philippe stood. "Then I would imagine you must hasten to congratulate Miss Daae on her lovely performance. She will be delighted to renew your acquaintance, whilst I make my way to the dancers' lounge, where La Sorelli is waiting to renew mine." A smile played about his lips. This could be quite interesting, Philippe thought.

When at last she came offstage, Christine was surrounded by the girls of the ballet corps, of which she had been a member until just this afternoon. Even if her new role was only temporary, the entire day had been like a dream. The girls squealed and clapped and bore her like a hero in their midst back to her dressing room, for what she had accomplished was in the heart of every one of them as well. Still light-headed from her experience, her fingers trembling and her knees weak, Christine nevertheless felt as though she could be no happier. She'd sung perfectly, clear and true, dressed in the heavy, gorgeous gown that looked as though it belonged to a queen. The applause had been for her, and her alone. The enraptured faces, rows after rows of them, had been in her honor.

It was as if she'd traveled back in time to the moment when as a very young child, she'd seen the beautiful lady… dressed in a glittering golden gown, seeded with pearls and rubies, her honey-colored hair coiffed in whorls and braids and little puffs around her ears, with more jewels and slender golden chains woven throughout… and she, little Christine, gazed up at her in adoration.