Chapter Four �Bonjour, Monsieur de Chagney. Comment allez-vous?� Allyriane stepped up behind the tall young man whom she recognized from the day before, smiling brightly to see him waiting for her at the front doors to the school. He smiled at her politely, bowing formally as though it were a subconscious act. �Je suis tr�s bien, merci tellement, Mademoiselle G�nie.� He replied. As they moved inside, it was impossible to miss the jealous or curious glances that several other students crowding the halls sent their way. Not wishing to be rude by speaking another language in front of the other students, Charles switched to speaking English. He wouldn�t wish for someone to think he was speaking about them behind their back. �And how are you this fine morning, Mlle?� �Oh, I�m very well.� She replied with a charming smile. Today she was wearing a dark blue dress of soft velour, with white lace that made the sleeves seem medieval and graceful. The collar was a bit less severe than the evening before, and he had a little peek at the white flesh of her throat for the first time. �I spoke about you to my father and mother last night, telling them how kind you were to me. He sounded very startled to hear the name Chagney.� �Did he?� Charles asked, politely curious. �I don�t see why he would know it. My father keeps mostly to himself, and my mother died when I was four.� �Yes, but we are both from France.� She said quickly. �My father confided in me that your father was a patron of the Paris Opera House when he used to perform there. They met through your mother!� Charles stopped walking and turned to stare down at her. This young woman�s father had known his mother? Even he could hardly remember her sweet face. He wouldn�t remember anything about her if it weren�t for his fathers� behavior. Seeing the mild excitement in her eyes, he forced a smile and tried to make it look sincere. �Through my mother?� He echoed softly, and she nodded with a bit more excitement. �Yes! Papa says that your mother was the Prima Donna there, before she gave birth to you! He was the Principal Tenor, for a short term, at her side!� Charles lowered his gaze from her excited eyes, and slowly stared around the hallway. Other students were still watching them from all different directions. One of the most prominent faces in the crowd that glanced their way belonged to Elan. Her emerald green eyes flashed with jealousy as she watched the two of them speaking together; It was no real secret that Elan had been trying to catch his eye for a few years now. Yet her nose had been far too lofty for his tastes. Although he liked to see women with spirit, she had far too much fire in her that burned out of control. �I . . . my father never speaks of my mother.� He finally told Allyriane softly, looking back down into her face. �I knew that she had been given singing lessons before I was born, and that she was very accomplished in that field. Yet I had no idea she�d had a career.� �She had a fine career, my father told me.� She said brightly. �Isn�t this funny, Charles? Meeting up in Boston without knowing the other existed, when all the while our families were once rather close friends?� �Yes.� He agreed dully. He waited a moment, and then finally managed to shake himself out of his stupor. He gave Allyriane his arm, and started shuffling through the crowded hallways with her. �Where is your first class this morning?� �I have music again.� She said. �It seems my father packed my schedule with music classes. Every free moment I have from academics is filled with music lessons of some sort. I have three today; piano, vocal, and theory. Those are all in the morning. Then, after lunch, I have history, mathematics, and literature.� �You�ll be quite a refined woman when you graduate, Mademoiselle.� He chuckled. �As for lunch, I was wondering if you would join me today. There is a small caf� just down the street where the students here are allowed to dine. Would you join me, and a small group of my friends, for lunch? I�d be happy to introduce you to them.� Allyriane thought about that for a long moment. Her father had told her not to leave the building during the day, unless she were to cross the street and buy something from the food vendor who seemed to constantly be stationed there. She could get a fine and healthy little meal there. Yet would her father object to her leaving the building if she attended with other students? �I�d be delighted to join you for lunch.� She finally decided. �That is, if you would be good enough to join my family and I for supper tomorrow evening?� As they walked down the hallway, Elan and her small group of coquettish friends stared after them. The emerald eyes of the leader flashed angrily, and she tossed her curled hair flippantly. �Just who does that little tomtit think she is?� Elan demanded icily. �How dare she waltz in here and simply pick up the most eligible man we have.� The other girls laughed maliciously. �Look at how she dresses, for Heavens� sake!� �Oh, Elan, you know he�ll come around.� One of her little friends chattered. �Charles has more taste than to actually pursue a little mouse like that!� Elan lifted her chin haughtily, and turned to storm off to her closest class. One of her friends watched her walk off curiously, then glanced back down the hallway towards Charles. How odd, she was thinking to herself, that Elan would insult the very same style dress that she herself was wearing. //////////////////////////////----------------////////////////////////////// Erik was a little anxious as he sat down for the first time that day, a newspaper folded under his arm. That night, Charles de Chagney would be in their little home for supper. Allyriane seemed rather excited about the idea � too excited really, considering she�d only met the young man three days ago. Perhaps the handsome face De Chagney had undoubtedly passed on to his son made her swoon, as it had many girls. Then again, perhaps she simply knew deep down that she already loved him, just as Erik had so quickly fallen in love with his mother. Erik�s breath caught in his throat every time he remembered that day, almost twenty years ago. When Allyriane had told him that Charles had been very surprised to hear about his mothers� past, Erik was rather startled. It wasn�t so much that his father had kept the secret from his family that his deceased wife had once been an opera singer. He had simply thought that Raoul would better deal with the grief of losing Christine. It was possible, however, that in their final years together, which Erik had not witnessed, they had become closer than ever before. Perhaps without Erik �in the way� their love had been able to flourish as love was meant to. Looking back on that last year of Christine�s life, Erik was still amazed he hadn�t realized something was wrong. The family had already moved to New York, yet they kept in constant contact with one another. Letters, telegraphs, cards, and gifts were constantly being sent across the ocean. Then, abruptly, the letters simply stopped: the cards for Christmas and New Years, and birthdays, stopped coming in, although Erik and his family still sent letters out to them. Had he not been so buried in his new career, he would have realized something was wrong. He would have written to Raoul and Christine, and demanded to know why they had stopped writing. Then the letter had finally come, the very last letter ever to be sent by the hand of Raoul de Chagney. Erik could remember it�s exact content. �Madame and Monsieur G�nie, Forgive me for not writing sooner. I�ve tried to, yet my tears have been too many whenever I made the attempt. I have a daughter now, who on Christine asked me to name Katherine on the day of her birth. Unfortunately, my wife was already ill, as she had been all through the pregnancy. She gained an infection within hours after the birth, and she has since died. I know that Erik and Christine would good friends, and I offer you my condolences, as I accept those I am sure you are sending me with your hearts. You have always been good people to my family, and I thank you. Yet remembrances of Christine are too much for me to bare. Please do not write me for a while. Your Devoted Friend, Comte Raoul de Chagney� Erik remembered the overwhelming grief he had felt that day. He hadn�t even acknowledged that Raoul had the higher rank of Comte. If he had only known she were ill, perhaps there would have been a chance to save her. He could have gone to New York, and saved her with his knowledge in medicines. No doctor in the world knew as much about the body as he did. He might have saved her. For thirteen years, he had been blaming himself partly for Christine�s death. Isabelle had wept with him after reading the letter, as had their friend Madeline, and her children. The man who had become Madeline�s husband in the four years since Allyriane�s birth had been confused, as he had never met the de Chagney�s, yet he felt deep sympathy for the loss they had all endured. Erik had suffered the most, from the guilt and the sorrow. It had affected him physically, and although he retained all the strengths that had made him the Phantom years before, he had never been quite the same. His steps had been a touch heavier, despite how he tried to control them. For months, he could not bare to hear music of any sort, as it would remind him of the gentle soul that had been taken to Heaven. �Papa?� Opening his eyes, the newspaper laid across his lap, Erik looked up at his daughter in the dimming light of the parlor. Even as the sun, set behind their apartment building, he could see the brilliant shade of yellow of the dress she�d decided to wear for supper. Her hair was pulled back in a tidy yet loose braid, and the design of the dress showed off the length of her throat, and the curve of her bare shoulders. About her throat she wore a sapphire pendant he�d given her on her sixteenth birthday. Groaning, he sat up. �No, Lyre, I don�t think so.� He said quickly, motioning to her dress. �If you don�t pick up those sleeves, you�ll have grooves in your arms for the next month. Now kindly pick them up and put them ON your shoulders, where they belong!� She blushed, and then pouted as she did what he ordered. She wasn�t fool enough to try and argue with him about this. Yet the way she had come out of her room, Erik knew that indeed, she must like this young man coming to dinner very much, if she wished to tease and flirt with him in such a dress. �He isn�t here to chase a skirt, Lyre. He�s here to meet the man who can tell him about his mother.� She giggled, and then hurried into the kitchen to help her mother cook the evening meal. The fine china and crystal that had belonged to her grandmother was set on the modestly sized table in their tiny dining room. Everything smelled so delicious, yet Allyriane knew her mother couldn�t possible carry things to and from the kitchen with the light cast on her arm. Erik shook his head slowly, and then turned to throw the newspaper down into his chair, so that he could read it later on. Just at that moment, there was a knock on the door. The sound of it, although polite and soft, made Erik�s heart jump into his throat, and then stall. It choked off his air supply, even as he moved to answer it. He knew what to expect on the other side of the door. �Monsieur G�nie?� He had been right. Charles de Chagney was a very close replica of the Comte. His hair was the same honey-goldenrod as Christine�s had been. His eyes were a brown that Erik had never even known existed. They were somewhat like his own, although Erik�s eyes were more orange. They could say the same thing about both of their eyes, however � sap. Charles� eyes looked more like the liquid sap of trees, while Erik�s was the later, harder form of amber. The cut of his face was Raoul�s, undeniably recognizable to Erik who had memorized the face of his one-time enemy so many years ago. His build, however hidden by his clothes, Erik could recognize as softer and a tiny bit more feminine. His mothers bone structure had been passed onto this young man. Only Erik could tell with the man fully dressed in front of him. �I am Erik G�nie.� He finally murmured, catching his breath, and backing out of the doorway once Charles� gaze became confused. He looked the man over, and saw he had a bottle of champagne under his arm, and held three roses in his hand � two red ones, and one white. His gloved digits reached out to be polite, and Erik quickly shook his offered hand. �You . . . you must be Charles.� �Yes Sir.� He replied with a smile, relieved to know he was at the correct apartment. Glancing down, he quickly picked the bottle of bubbly out from under his arm. �This is for tonight, Sir. I hope you don�t mind that I had my father send me some. I don�t like the stuff myself, but I thought perhaps . . .� �How very considerate of you.� Erik replied simply, taking the bottle and letting him into the apartment, and leading him towards the kitchen. �How is it your father managed to send you a bottle of champagne with only a days notice?� �The telephone, of course.� Charles chuckled. �My father invested some money in one of those crazy machines. Works remarkably well. Luckily our school has one as well. I was allowed to phone him last night, and ask him to send some on the night train.� �I see.� Erik didn�t make any sign that he�d heard of the telephone, although a man of his . . . wisdom . . . knew more than only a little about the telephone. Who didn�t know about it, this day in age? Even if it wasn�t remarkably common for people to have them, everyone knew that they existed. Leading Charles to the kitchen, he poked his head through the door to see if his wife and daughter looked presentable. There was his daughter, right along side Isabelle, her dress once again off the shoulder. With a disapproving frown, he looked back towards his guest. �Pardon me for just one moment.� He entreated, and then hurried into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Walking up behind Allyriane, he grabbed her by the top of her sleeves, and yanked them back up into place. Allyriane gave a short squeal of surprise, and then turned to gape at him. He shook his head at her angrily, and her face became flushed. �I wasn�t going to keep them down!� She protested to his silent accusation. �It�s bloody hot in here, Papa!� Sighing, he shook his head, and waved away the subject. �Your friend Charles is here.� He announced. �Come out and greet your guest.� He looked up to Isabelle, who had turned at her daughters squeal, and offered her his arm. After quickly removing a flour and spice covered apron, she took his offer, and moved out into the parlor area with him. Both of the ladies stopped to look at the man with polite stares of admiration, and Isabelle�s eyes widened a bit as she recognized the face just as easily as Erik had. �Mademoiselle Allyriane . . .� Charles stared at Isabelle in open admiration before mentally reminding himself of his manners. Bowing quickly, he offered her the two red roses he held in one hand. �You look lovely, as usual.� �Monsieur Charles, you are too kind.� She replied in her most charming voice. Erik could not help but roll his eyes. Their words sounded just as sarcastic as they did polite. Perhaps his daughter was only teasing him for his old-fashioned demeanor. She had no reason to. She had been raised with the same mannerisms and beliefs. �This is my wife, Isabelle.� He finally said, interrupting the eye contact the two adolescents had kept with one another. Turning quickly, Charles bowed to Isabelle as well, offering her the white rose he had left in his hand. She took the rose with a gracious smile, and turned to take it into the kitchen. �Oh, how lovely. Lyre, why don�t we bring these into the kitchen and put them in some water?� Her tone was obvious, and Allyriane followed reluctantly. Only when the two women were once again out of sight did Charles seem to come totally into reality once more. �Monsieur, I was given the impression that you could tell me about my mother . . .� Well, Erik found himself thinking. The young man certainly did know how to come right to the point. It was a skill his father had often lacked in the past, unless he was making himself look like an utter fool. The mention of Christine brought his thoughts back to the day he�d received the letter, and he looked down at his feet temporarily. �Later, Charles.� He promised softly. �Perhaps after supper, we can talk of her. For now, let us enjoy an aperitif, and then we will enjoy the company of the beautiful ladies just in the other room.� �If I am allowed to say, Monsieur, I agree that your family is quite stunning.� Charles admitted quickly. �I can see where your daughter gained her beauty.� Erik chuckled. The lad was trying his hardest to be polite. Perhaps this evening would not be so dreadful after all. Talking about Christine to this lad would be hard. Asking about his little sister may prove even harder. Yet on the whole, this evening could prove quite enjoyable. The young man was obviously brighter than his father had been at that age, and much more sensible. He was also far less self-centered, which Erik found he enjoyed a great deal. They wouldn�t need to have a battle of vanity or possession. |