Chapter Text
“Monsieur Khan?”
Christine Daae hadn’t expected to see the Persian again, but undoubtedly, it was he who was standing before her door. Well, hers and Raoul’s, if she had to be precise, but she hoped she could be forgiven this tiny slip in her thoughts after everything that happened under the Opera House.
“Mademoiselle Daae,” he answered kindly. “I know you didn’t expect me, but may I come in?”
“Of course.”
She moved aside to let him into a humble home she had been sharing with Raoul for the past week. Daroga stepped in and let her guide him into the small living room, which contained two old sofas, a writing desk, and a dark chest of drawers. The Persian looked to be a little out of place in this room, definitely decorated by a female hand with wallpaper full of pink roses.
“Would you like some coffee or tea, Monsieur?” She sat down on a beige sofa near the window. “Please, sit down.”
Monsieur Khan complied with her wish and lowered himself into the other seat, nearer the small writing desk.
“No, Mademoiselle, but thank you for offering.”
Christine nodded and then, feeling the pressure of silence between them, finally asked a question that hung between them since the moment Daroga stepped into this building.
“Why have you come here?”
“Erik is dying.”
Christine’s eyes widened when she understood what Daroga was saying, but except for this understatement, there was blank silence in her head.
“What?”
“He’s dying,” Mm Khan repeated gently. “He told me so himself when I talked to him last time, five days ago.”
Christine’s breath hitched for a moment. She didn’t know what to think about it, how to feel. The events that occurred a week ago in the fifth cellar of the Opera Populaire seemed to be like a shadow cast on her life. She didn’t think about them; she occupied herself with her present and nearby future, but under her skin, she knew they happened; she still paid their price in the night. She didn’t know if she could ever forget the final conversation with Erik, the way he was so calm and broken at the same time. Christine remembered him talking about his death, but in that moment, it was an abstract idea, not something that could happen so fast.
“Mademoiselle?”
Daroga’s gentle tone brought her back from her thoughts. Christine took a deep breath and tried not to lose her focus.
“Why… Why are you telling me this?”
“I thought you would like to know, given the promise you made to him. I know that you and Monsieur de Chagny plan to make a long trip, and fulfilling it will be only possible if you stay here, near Paris.” He made a pause. “Of course, only if you’re willing to fulfil his last wish. No one would blame you if you didn’t.”
Truly no one?, she thought.
“I would,” she whispered. “It… it wouldn’t be the right thing to do.”
The Persian smiled at her.
“That’s what I thought.”
Christine twisted her hands, trying to come up with the right thing to say.
“How is he now?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t know.”
She blinked.
“How is that possible?” A thought came to her head, and she became still. “Please, don’t tell me he’s left there on his own.”
“He is.” Daroga signed. “I probably know what you think about it. But he personally asked me to let him die at peace, and peace for Erik means being left alone.”
“But it’s not right!” She turned away from him and nervously paced around a simple, decorated living room. “No one should be alone in their last days!”
The man smiled sadly.
“Indeed.”
Christine stopped in front of the window, firstly noticing her pale reflection there, then the outside garden, which was slowly coming back to life after the winter. March sun didn’t give much warmth, but this week was full of light days and calm nights. When she realised that at the same time when she was strolling around the garden in her spring coat, Erik was left alone in the darkness of his underground house, she felt a sting of pain.
“Do you tell me this, to make me go back there?” she asked in a dull voice.
“No, if you don’t want to,” he said immediately. “Just to make you aware. You should know what’s happening around you, Mademoiselle. I don’t believe that leaving you in the dark would be the right thing to do in this situation.”
And what type of person would I be if I ignored this information? Maybe Monsieur Khan thought otherwise, but for Christine, knowing about Erik’s fate meant responsibility, and even if some part of her called herself a lunatic for even thinking about the possibility of return, the other one…
She let out a breath and raised her head. Then she turned to Daroga and gave him a serious stare.
“Thank you for telling me, Monsieur. Please, return to me tomorrow. Then I’ll let you know about my decision.”
The Persian nodded and rose up.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Mademoiselle. I will be back tomorrow.”
Christine saw him to the door, and when the Persian was gone, she leaned against the frame. Her heart started beating faster when it fully came to her what news from Daroga meant. In some dark, twisted way, it seemed that now she had a chance to resist Erik’s wishes without facing any consequences. He didn’t know she learnt about his state, didn’t he? He didn’t ask her to return to him before he was dead. She could just well ignore his… condition… and keep living normally, without bad things happening to her because of not keeping her promise.
His words and actions caused terror in her heart, however they never motivated her in any way to comply with his wishes. Pity, sadness, and compassion, which she felt after hearing Erik’s signs, made her do this, not his threats.
When she realised that, she already knew what her decision would be. Now she needed only to talk with her fiancé.
Raoul came home around 5 PM with a bouncing step and a grin on his face.
“I did it!” he said. “There’s a man willing to embalm Philippe. He had a last open spot.”
“Oh,” said Christine, and gave him a small smile. “That’s awesome.”
“It’ll cost a small fortune, but I’m willing to pay it,” said Raoul, loosening the cravat. “Philippe deserves it, after what happened to him down there.”
Christine trembled a little and nodded. The day when they learnt about Comte's death was a sad one, and it brought so much pain to Raoul that he didn’t even try to hide his tears. That evening, she comforted him as best as she could, with her whispers and hugs. It had to work because the next morning, he was full of determination to live in a way that would make his brother proud, and Christine, too, was proud of him.
Raoul must have seen her shaking because the smile vanished from his face.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Lotte. I shouldn’t remind you of… that.”
“It’s alright.” She rubbed her arms. “You said something about ‘small fortune’. I know you want only the best for your brother, Raoul, but… is it wise to spend a lot of money when your sisters will most likely need it in the future?”
“Don’t worry about it, Christine,” he said, casting her a smile. “We won’t need much, and my sisters will manage with what I’ll be leaving them.”
Christine signed but returned the gesture. Raoul took her hand and rubbed it delicately. She hoped someday she would have Raoul’s peace when it came to money, that it wouldn’t worry her. Now she tried to focus on thinking of their happiness in the future.
“You looked worried,” Raoul said, frowning. “What happened? I hope it’s not about Madame Valerius…”
“Oh no, everything is good with her,” she assured him quickly. “Neighbours have been checking on her since last Sunday, and Mama’s fine. It’s… It’s something different.” Christine swallowed, for a moment looking away. “Monsieur Daroga came here.”
Raoul shifted in his seat and gave her a nervous look.
“What for?”
“Erik is dying.”
Silence came between them, and after a moment Christine took her hands from Raoul’s.
“Well,” he said after a while. “We knew it would happen soon.”
She nodded and bit her lip.
“It’s just… hard. He was a part of my life for nearly half a year, Raoul. And to think that soon he’ll be gone…”
Raoul signed and gently smiled again.
“Christine, I know it may sound harsh, but it’ll be for the better.”
It did sound harsh, and Christine felt fear rising in her heart.
“How?”
“You know, he probably had a really hard life. Sometimes… sometimes death can be a mercy. I think it’ll be a case… both for him and for us.”
Christine gasped and moved away.
“How could you say something like that?”
“I didn’t say it to be cruel,” he said quickly. “But… you must have noticed the… events… of that day hurt me too. My dreams… and… the water…”
Christine felt her heart clench when she heard this. Of course, she noticed, and it pained her to hear him waking from his nightmares, later trying to play brave. She could have only imagined what it would be like, being trapped in Erik’s torture chamber. She still got chills when she remembered Raoul and Daroga’s screams, the way the wall behind her became so hot…
The way Erik became so violent and mad.
“And he hurt you, too,” he said angrily. “How could I forget the fear he put in your tender heart? The terror in your voice, when you were bound by him, when he was grabbing you by your hair, when you had to confront him on your own? Oh, Christine, you were so brave to do that… I know we are alive only thanks to you, but I wish you never had to endure any of this.”
“I wish so too,” she whispered. “But please, Raoul, try to understand me. Is it a bad thing that I worry about a man dying alone?”
“Countless men die in this way, Christine. It’s sad, but it’s a part of life.”
“But when it can be helped, wouldn’t it be a good thing to do, to try preventing this kind of fate for somebody?”
Finally, Raoul must have realised what she was thinking about because his eyes widened and he instantly grabbed her hands.
“No, Christine, no. For the love of God, for the sacrifices we made to keep you safe, do not think of it.”
She signed, holding his hands a little tighter.
“But I already do.”
“You know you don’t need to do this,” he said, panicking. “You don’t owe him anything. Keeping the promise of seeing to his corpse would be a different thing, but no one can expect you to go back to him, to care for him, after all the things he did to you.”
“I know. Believe me, Raoul, I know. It’s… It’s not an easy decision for me to make, either, if it puts you at ease.”
“Quite the opposite,” he promised. “It gives me proof it’s not a wise thing to do. Please, Christine. Don’t do this, don’t go back there. Let us have our summertime, our happiness, let us leave the dark past behind us and live in peace.”
Some part of her wanted to agree with him, wanted to leave Paris and France behind her, without a worrying thought in her mind, but the rest of her… rest of her thought it might be an occasion for better closure, for finding peace for them all.
“We will have our summertime, Raoul,” she promised him. “Even if not this month, then in the next one, or the one after it. We were parted for so long, and I didn’t even recognise you at first, but look at us now. If we could find each other despite this, will a month or two make such a difference?”
“No, my Lotte,” he said, with strange desperation. “It won’t. But… it won’t happen, right?”
She didn’t say anything to him, just smiled sadly. When Raoul held her this evening in his hug, Christine felt the weight of her decision, which she still hadn’t spoken aloud. It was there, in her heart, but saying it might have hurt Raoul, and she wanted to spare him pain, at least till the visit of the Persian. That’s why she has done her packing only after he left for his room in the evening and why she didn’t mention anything during breakfast.
In this way, they could pretend everything would be like before. But then Daroga came, and Raoul became still and just stared at him.
“Monsieur de Chagny,” the Persian greeted him.
“Please tell me you came here to persuade her of this idea,” he begged. “This is foolishness.”
“It’s not,” said Christine, already with a bag in her hands. “Please, Raoul, don’t make it harder…”
“It’s impossible for this situation to be even worse!” he raised his voice. “Please, Monsieur, help us…”
Daroga gave him an apologetic look and shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Monsieur. I believe it’s Mademoiselle Daae’s choice to make.”
“And I want to go back there.” She stood straight-backed. “Will you keep me company, Monsieur?”
“But of course.”
“Lotte, you still can say no,” Raoul said pleadingly.
Christine laid the suitcase on the ground and hugged him tightly, and he held her too.
“But I’m saying yes,” she whispered. “Don’t consider it the end of our engagement, Raoul, please.”
“I don’t. Of course I don’t,” he sighed. “Goodbye, Lotte.”
“Goodbye, Raoul.”
Last stares, last hand holds, and then she was on the road with the Persian, back to Paris, to the place that held the most important memories of her life. The Opera Populaire.
* * *
The path to Paris was smooth.
After a few hours of travel, Christine and Daroga came to the city. Although the smell was, as always, horrible, she smiled at the sight of the Saine and wide streets of the city of lights.
For a moment, she thought about going first to her old apartment, but she knew that she would be met there only with questions from Madame Valerius and their neighbours. It would be best if she waited to see them for a few more days, especially when she didn’t know what would happen under the Opera House.
Because what if… what if there was no one there?
She shuddered a little at this thought. No, it would be too soon. He told her that sometimes he was kept alive by music alone when he entered his hypnotic state of work. Maybe she’ll find him like that, drumming on the keys of his pipe organ, with music to tell a story of his great anger and hate, welcoming her inside… Or maybe it will be music full of sadness and despair that fills his house in the last moments of her stay? No matter the answer, she was going to learn it in a matter of hours.
“Maybe you would want to have some refreshment first, Mademoiselle?” asked Daroga, when they drove a carriage. “I propose we go firstly to my home, before going to the Opera. I think firstly we should grab some supplies, and then I’ll see you at Rue Scribe.”
“That’s kind of you, Monsieur,” she answered mechanically.
He must have seen that she was in no humour for small talk, and the rest of their ride passed in silence. When they arrived at the right address, the older man helped her with her two suitcases down the steps of a carriage. Then Daroga’s servant, young Darius, had welcomed them inside the flat. Christine thanked him when he took her baggage and asked him for a coffee when drinks were proposed.
When they were sitting in the living room, Christine looked around and admired its cosiness. The walls were decorated with two red and golden rugs, in the corner stood a hand-woven basket with blankets, and on the coffee table there lay a copper dish with fruits inside.
“You have a beautiful home, Monsieur,” Christine praised the man. She didn’t mean it as empty words; yes, the apartment was small and definitely wouldn’t be mistaken for a place deemed as worthy by the higher society, but Christine liked places with soul and history, not with cold, empty rooms.
“Thank you for your kind words, Mademoiselle.” Daroga smiled. “I know that it’s not much, but that apartment was a nice, safe place to return after some… events… that occurred in this city.
“I can see why.” Feeling the tension rise in her chest, Christine took a deep breath. “I felt the same when I could go back to Mama Valerius after all of the things that were happening during the last few months.”
“You still can go back,” pointed out the Persian.
“Not really. With Mama’s state of mind, I wouldn’t be able to explain the whole… situation… with him. She still believes he’s my Angel of Music, despite my attempts to clarify the story.” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t stand the questions.”
“I think I understand.”
When coffee was brought, they sipped their cups quietly. Christine was glad for the warmth of the drink, for she knew that the coldness of the cellar would not be so welcoming.
What am I even doing?, she asked herself. Why am I doing this? Raoul was harsh in his words to the masses that died in loneliness, but he spoke the truth. I won’t change the word by going there, and it won’t be a pleasant affair…
But then she remembered Erik’s last urgent words, when he asked her for one more promise, when he gave her a ring for one more time.
Return it to me, he said. Return it to me when I’m dead.
I’ll return, she answered, even though her mouth was bound by shock.
I’ll return, she thought, gathering her things from the Persian’s apartment.
Maybe he wasn’t dead yet. Maybe he was. Maybe she’ll come there too soon or too late, but Christine had made her own decision, and she was going to keep her promise.
When the Persian had brought her to the Rue Scribe, Christine looked at the small gate, hidden in plain sight. Pedestrians were starved of warm sun, so most of them avoided the shadowed part of the pavement. Thankfully, no one looked at them strangely when they moved packages inside the wall.
“This one was the last,” gasped Nadir, when he put down the box with medicines on the ground. “I’m sorry that I made you do the heavy lifting, Mademoiselle, but without you, it would take an eternity.”
“Do not fret, Monsieur,” said Christine, quickly catching the breath after the exercise. “Maybe I was spared the effort of manual labour of a worker, but I’m still a woman who governed the household. It’s not as if I didn’t know a handiwork from time to time.”
They both decided to take with themselves only the lightest of the packages for the first time going down; it was a precaution in case they found out Christine’s longer presence wouldn’t be necessary. The thought of such a possibility made her grasp one of the bags harder.
Somehow, the corridors lost their magic when she didn’t move through them with Erik. With him, going down each time after their night stroll through Paris was like going back to hell and paradise of her imprisonment; the walls all around her, without daylight, the darkness strangling her, making her fight for each breath, while at the same time living only through the music which pumped the blood in her heart. When she was leaving Erik, with Raoul at her side, running up and up, for her freedom and for her life, the walls seemed to try to pull her back to the Phantom’s tomb. They failed, and she got away.
With Daroga, though, the corridors were just a path inside the walls. There was nothing supernatural in the shadows, nothing special or scary on their way. They were just walking through them, and Christine knew that in each second she could say that she had changed her mind and that she wanted to go back to the city. She knew it, so she kept going. Going down once more.
When they were outside the door to Erik’s home, Daroga pulled out a key from his pocket and gave it to her.
“Each day I will return to the gate on Rue Scribe, let’s say at 12 PM,” he said. “I’ll wait for you for half an hour. If you won’t meet with me for longer than three days, I’ll come here to get you out.”
“I’ll doubt that this will be necessary, but thank you, Monsieur.”
The Persian gave her a sad smile.
“You’re most welcome, Mademoiselle.”
After these words, he opened the door, and Christine’s heart nearly stopped.
“Oh my God…”
During her visit, Erik’s house was always so tidy, so neat. The floors were swept, and the cupboard doors were closed. Now, the whole living room looked absolutely demolished. Pieces of porcelain and glass were all around, the table was flipped, and the love seat was lying on its side. There was no music either, and the silence reigned in Angel of Music’s home.
When Christine raised her head to look at Daroga, the older man’s jaw was clenched.
“Be mindful of the glass, Mademoiselle,” he said, and without looking back, went deeper inside.
Christine followed him immediately, turning the lights on when she passed them. The brightness made the mess only worse in her eyes, showing how much of this underground palace was ruined.
But the worst view came when they arrived at Erik’s macabre bedroom.
The view of a man lying still in a coffin.
Christine covered her mouth because of the sight and the smell of death. The tears came to her eyes, but despite them, she was the first one to kneel before Erik, not Daroga.
“Oh my God, Erik…”
His monstrous face was strangely clenched, and his skeleton-like body was twisted in his eternal bed. His usual perfect clothing was stained and wrinkled; his trousers were torn on the knees. His hands were near his heart, grasping some material; Christine needed a long moment to recognise her gloves through tears. Under Erik’s cheek lay her journal, another thing she left him before her departure.
Without fear, for it was replaced by sorrow, she touched his abhorrent, dead face with one hand and his hands with another. She felt tears streaming down her face, yet she couldn’t utter a word. Daroga was speaking to her, but she didn’t listen to him; she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was a man lying before her and the slight pulsing under her fingers…
Wait, pulsing?
Christine widened her eyes. One hand crept under his suit, another touched the fragment of skin showing above a collar of the shirt he wore, and they both felt the movement beneath.
“He’s alive…” she whispered, not believing. “Monsieur… He’s alive!”
Then it was as if reality was grounded again. Daroga moved quickly beside her, touched Erik’s neck, and after a few heartbeats snapped:
“Take him by the legs.”
Christine jumped to do as he said. When she raised Erik by his legs, the Persian did the same with his upper body. Christine could guess that Daroga was carrying more of Erik’s bodyweight than she did, but it still worried her that he was so thin. Together, they moved the unconscious man to the room that once been her bedroom, and Christine saw that nothing was destroyed here. That sight made her heart hurt, but she clenched her teeth and helped lay Erik in a more comfortable position.
“How can I help?” she asked quickly.
“Bring me my bag with medicines, please.” Daroga was working quickly on the buttons of Erik’s clothing. “Then boil some water and bring it here.”
“Alright.”
She ran first for the bag, then to the kitchen. For the next few hours, she looked as Daroga worked, giving Erik drugs she didn’t recognise, sometimes by pouring them down his throat, sometimes by injecting them in his arm. Although she was really terrified, Christine didn’t run or scream. She just stayed beside Erik, sometimes touching his unmoving arm through the shirt’s material. She hadn’t dared yet to touch his skin, though. It felt dead to her when he was a walking man, and she feared her reaction to it when he was so close to being truly dead.
Near 9 PM, Daroga straightened up, and before Christine could ask, she felt Erik’s arm clench, and then he coughed and gasped for air. Christine’s eyes widened, and a strange sound came out of her mouth.
“Dear Allah, it worked,” whispered the Persian.
Christine didn’t say anything for a moment. She just moved her trembling hand to Erik’s practically non-existent lips and lowered them as near as she dared. Even with this barely existing touch, she could feel the coldness of his skin, but at the same time, the warmth of his breath, and that made her cry.
“Oh my God, Monsieur, thank you. Thank you so much.”
Daroga gave her a tired smile.
“It will require a lot of fight, both on our side and his, but he’ll wake up. Now, forgive me, Mademoiselle, I need to catch a breath.”
“Of course, Monsieur. Do you want…”
“No need for anything. Stay with him, if you like.”
Staying alone with him seemed like a terrifying idea, but abandoning him when he was so weak and vulnerable would be even worse, so Christine nodded, not being able to utter a word. When Daroga left them alone, she anxiously changed the way she sat, now leaning against the back of her old bed. The pretty flower room seemed to be slightly disturbing when she woke up here for the first time, and when she couldn’t find a way out. Now, it was unsettling for a different reason – although Erik’s breathing was more regular now, he still lay unconscious and too close to death to her liking. What will we do if he dies here?, she thought, her heart racing. Will we… will we have to carry him back to his coffin? She didn’t know if she could live through this, but for a moment that thought became the most realistic possibility in her head, and made her grasp Erik’s hand.
The touch of his skin wasn’t nearly as repulsive as the first time she touched him, but it still was a horrifying change from Raoul’s soft skin and Daroga’s rough, honest hands. Maybe in different circumstances, Erik’s skin would be soft, but now it was really dry and nearly transparent; she could see so many veins and tendons in his poor, frail hand… His fingers were really thin and long in a way that was creepy, and his nails were blue, probably from the lack of proper circulation. Noticing this made her stomach roll a bit, so with trembling hands, she tried to warm up his cold flesh. Christine didn’t know if she was doing this correctly and hoped that she didn’t cause him any pain when she prodded his dead flesh with her fingers. Then she did the same with his bony wrists. She didn’t dare to touch in this way any other part of his body, though; seeing his chest, with the ribs so visible that she could probably put a finger between them, and his yellow-toned belly, slightly swollen up, made her skin crawl with fear.
The worst thing, though, was his scars. There were so many of them, some on top of each other, and dear Lord in heaven, has she just seen that one of them was opened? Christine didn’t even know it was possible.
Poor Erik, she thought, forcefully swallowing the bulge in her throat.
She still wasn’t aware of how much time had passed. Her hands worked on Erik’s palms, and she felt that his skin had gotten somewhat warmer. Her eyes wandered from his fingers to his chest to his face, looking for signs of life. She saw he was breathing and once he opened his mouth. When Christine saw it, she took a washcloth that she prepared earlier, when Daroga was working on him, and watered Erik’s lips a bit.
“Soon you’ll drink your favourite Russian tea,” she whispered. “I’ll ask Monsieur Khan to teach me how to use the samovar, then I’ll make it for you whenever you’d like.”
Talking to him and not getting an answer was hard, but she tried to console herself with the thought that maybe he heard her, that he knew she was close. That maybe her voice would be able to bring him back.
The Persian returned after a while, and Christine moved aside to let him do what he thought was necessary. The man proposed that she could rest in the living room, but she declined and sat on the love seat instead. It was comfortable enough, and she had already slept on it once when she first came to Erik’s home. She still remembers how scared she was then, but so much has changed since that day…
“I’m afraid I’ll need to return above today, Mademoiselle,” said Daroga, after they shared a small lunch on the second day. “I didn’t inform Darius that my stay will be prolonged, and the poor man will surely be worried if I don’t return home this evening.”
“It’s alright, Monsieur.” Christine smiled, although the news troubled her a bit. She didn’t want to come out as a weak girl, though, so she kept her fears to herself.
“Then let me show you my medicine bag,” said the Persian, when he got up. “I wanted to give Erik the next dose before I took my leave, but maybe it’s for the better if you try to do it yourself.”
The news stressed her out a bit, for Christine had practically zero experience with such things – she was far too young to nurse her father alone when he lay dying, and she was under Professor and Mama Valerius’ care. However, she didn’t want to step back; she was an adult woman, and she was ready to do as much as she could to help Erik.
Back in her bedroom, Daroga showed Christine how to use the syringe and what types of medicine he was giving Erik. She recognised some drugs commonly used in France, such as laudanum, but Nadir had also many other specifics, probably from his own culture. Fortunately, every bottle had a description, and the Persian took his time to explain to her which substance she should use in which situation.
“It’s very unlikely, but since it’s Erik, we should assume that it is possible for him to start regaining his consciousness this night.” Saying this, Daroga pointed to a little bag bound with a brown rope. “If so, you can open it and move it close to his nose cavity. Due to a lack of a real nose, he has a hard time smelling things, so you’ll need to put it really close for it to work. I should also tell you that if it works, it won’t be immediately, though. Sometimes it can take as long as an hour to wake a person while using these salts.”
Christine nodded and bit her lip. It was a lot of information to take in, but thankfully Nadir wrote most of it down, and after an hour of the lesson, she was quite sure she could manage to take care of Erik till the next day.
Under Daroga’s watchful gaze, she gave Erik a shot of his medicine. Piercing his frail skin with a needle almost made her dizzy, but she clenched her teeth. After she patted the spot with a piece of paper, Nadir nodded and took a step back.
“I think I said everything important. I wish you good luck, Mademoiselle. I think you’ll do alright.”
When the Persian moved to the door, Christine got up and spoke.
“Wait, Monsieur. What if…” She twisted her hands nervously. “What if I see that something is really wrong with him? What if during the night, he’ll get significantly worse?”
The Persian grew quiet for a moment, and Christine knew he understood the true meaning of her words.
What if he’ll be even closer to death than now?
“Then I’m afraid the choice will be yours, Mademoiselle,” he answered finally. “You know that I live close, but still, with you crossing the labyrinth of these corridors and going to Rue de Rivoli, and then coming back with me, it could take even an hour. If you think he can last as long as that, then come. If not…”
Christine felt some tears coming to her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She nodded and let out a sigh. Did everything have to come to her choices?
“I understand.”
Daroga gave her last sad smile.
“Have faith, Mademoiselle.”
With these words, he disappeared from her sight, and Christine was left alone.