He remained silent for a long time after my narrative died out, taking in all that I had said with a pensive expression. After a moment, he rose from his chair and walked to the window, the sunlight gleaming in his thinning blonde hair. "I am a fool," he said after a moment. "She tried to tell me how it was, but I wouldn’t listen…"
"As Christine herself said, you really weren’t in that good of a position to understand," I reminded him. "You knew Erik only as the Phantom; you couldn’t have known the whole of his character."
"No," he replied, his voice bitter with self-reproach. "It was right in front of me all the time, and I willfully closed my eyes…" He sighed. "You were right, Madame; I was jealous of Erik. He and Christine had shared their art together, and I knew that was something I could never touch. I didn’t think him evil because that was all I knew of him, but because I wished him to be so. I could hate him without remorse that way, and I didn’t have to confront the notion that I might be—" He broke off, turning to look at me sadly.
"He let us go, Madame," he continued. "He could have killed me and done whatever he liked to Christine, and no power on this earth could have prevented it. And in the end, when he had everything he desired in his possession, he relinquished it all without question, putting her needs above his. And even then…even then if I had had a pistol with me, I would not have hesitated to put a bullet in his head." His lips twisted with self-loathing. "Who then was the real monster?"
"There was no monster, monsieur. There was only two powerful yet desperate men, a confused and frightened girl...and an old woman with a foolish heart."
"Not foolish," he said with a half-smile. "A great many things, but never foolish." A brief pause. "Do you still hear from her?"
"Christine? She writes on occasion. She’s a principal with a company in Florence—not nearly as prestigious as the Paris Opera, of course, but I think she prefers it that way." I studied him thoughtfully. "Forgive my impertinence, monsieur, but I must ask—"
"Am I happy in my marriage?" I nodded, and he laughed shortly. "Fool I may be, but not so foolish as to marry where I do not love." He paced across the room to the mantle. "By the time Louise came into my life I had accepted the fact that Christine was gone, and that I could neither bring her back nor fill my loss by brooding over what was past. I am satisfied with the course my life has taken and if I have regrets, I have learned to tolerate them." His eyes shone peacefully and I knew he did not lie. "What of Christine—did she ever marry?"
"No. There is a man, however…the rehearsal pianist with her company. A rather quiet and thoughtful fellow, I understand, but one with good sense and sincere passion and devotion to his work."
"Then why-?"
I shrugged. "I can only assume because she is not quite ready to marry. But I think she will be in time…she knew Erik better than any of us; she must realize that he did not wish her to spend her life pining for what had not been."
"Nor do I," he said with quiet passion. At that moment, my maid returned to inform us that Monsieur le Vicomte’s carriage had pulled up to the gate.
I waited on the doorstep as he approached the carriage, conversing with the sweet, gentle-eyed woman who leaned out the window. There was a fond tenderness in his air that reminded me of another nobleman, one with pleasant humor and surprising modesty, who always spoke to me with love and who treated my daughter like an empress. Strange, the turns our lives take…
His dialogue with his wife complete, de Chagny approached me again. "We’ll be having supper at the inn tonight," he said. "If you like, you’re welcome—"
"I appreciate the offer," I interrupted, "but I’m already engaged to dine with Meg and the Baron. I expect them to send the carriage for me in about an hour."
"In that case, I think we must bid each other farewell." He looked over me as if seeing me for the first time. "I would wish you happiness, Madame, but I think you have found it."
I smiled, thinking of long pleasant walks and conversations with the townswomen, of my daughter and my son-in-law, and most of all the promise of a grandchild which swelled beneath Meg’s breast. "I have indeed, monsieur," I said. "And unless I’m much mistaken, you have found it as well."
"I have." He took a few steps down the walk, then paused. "Mme. Giry…what did you see, when you first looked at him?"
I touched my hand to the garnet and onyx bracelet about my wrist. "A man, monsieur," I replied simply. "Nothing more or less than that."
He nodded in understanding, and mounted the carriage. I stood watching as the vehicle sped into the distance, breathing the scent of the roses that climbed over the walls of my home.
