The Quest - *Phantom of the Opera* (a fantasy romance)

Chapter IX

Unexpected Visitors

IX

"You must eat so that you can regain your strength."

Madame Giry tried to persuade Meg to abandon her stubborn resolve, but no amount of coaxing would sway her daughter. For days, ever since she'd learned of her infirmity, Meg displayed an indifference that alarmed her mother. She wouldn't eat, she wouldn't speak. She only stared ahead and did nothing. It was as though she willed herself to die.

Torn between pulling Meg into a fearful embrace and giving rein to her mother's heart, or forcing broth down her throat to fight Meg's vexing obstinacy, Madame did neither. She withdrew the spoon from near her daughter's clamped lips and set it in the bowl. Gentle persistence had achieved nothing. Neither did mild threats. To one who had, by all appearances, given up hope, intimidation proved useless. Still, Madame nurtured a flicker of conviction, weak as it was. Meg had not perished, and while Madame continued to breathe, she would do all within her power to resurrect her daughter's will to live.

"By now the Maestro and Christine should be nearing Spain." Madame relied on Meg's close bond with Christine to light a spark of interest. "It is thanks to you they escaped."

Not a flicker of expression changed Meg's countenance. Her face remained blank.

"Would that we could also escape what is happening in this city. I do not like it, chère. The revolution has the workers ecstatic and there is talk of great reforms. Yet I sense something is amiss, something ... dark."

Still no response.

Madame withheld a hopeless sigh and set the bowl on a nearby table, continuing her one-sided conversation. "I hear the Vicomte still haunts Paris for word of the Maestro's whereabouts. I cannot imagine that he will be successful. I was very careful whom to tell of our plans—" As Madame said the last, her attention drifted to Meg, and her news halted in abrupt surprise.

Meg still stared straight ahead, but her eyes had narrowed, the corners of her mouth pulled down in an angry frown.

So! Mention of the Vicomte birthed a reaction. Before Madame could think beyond that astounding discovery, a brisk knock sounded at the door.

Once she opened it, she worked to hide her irritation.

"Vicomte, this is indeed a surprise." She spoke the words in jest. She had known he would not surrender his cause so quickly and expected his presence long before this, but now felt weary and unarmed, having had no sleep the previous night.

"Madame Giry." He inclined his head in grave acknowledgement. "I told you I would return."

The timing of his visit was unusual, to say the least, since she'd just been speaking of him. Or ... perhaps it was ideal. She narrowed her eyes in studied reflection. Had fate been the force to encourage this visit and providence arranged it for her benefit?

She opened the door to him, bound by protocol rather than a desire to spar with words. The moment he entered, he initiated his attack. "Have you given any thought to our previous meeting?"

"Regarding my daughter?" Madame asked brightly, knowing full well that wasn't what he meant. "How kind of you to come and inquire after her health, Vicomte."

Thrown off balance by his lack of decorum, his face achieved a pale hue of red. Perhaps she wasn't as unarmed as she thought. She almost felt sorry for him.

"Er, how is Miss Giry?"

"As well as can be expected." Before he could recover, she broached her next words as if she'd just thought of the idea. "I should think a visit from you would be welcome."