"Erik! Noooo!" Christine shouted in panic as she watched her lover tumble down the stairs. She ran down them, sobbing, and knelt down beside his broken and crumpled body at the bottom. "Oh, Erik! I told you it was too soon for you to get up!"

"He always was a stubborn boy," Gerard observed as he hurried over.

"What happened? Did Erik fall and kill… uh, I mean, hurt himself?" asked Philippe eagerly.

They nodded.

"Oh, that’s too bad!" he said with mock sympathy. "Let me call the priest, and we can bury him right here on the Chagny grounds."

"Thank you, Philippe. I’m sure Erik would appreciate that very much," replied Gerard gravely. ("Gravely!" Ha!)

Within a few hours, it was done. Erik’s body was neatly ensconced in the Chagny family tomb, and Christine turned to Gerard, sobbing down his shirt-front.

"There, there, my dear," he soothed, putting his arms around her and holding her closer. He stroked her hair, marvelling at its softness – it reminded him so much of his lost Beladova! "Erik wouldn’t want you to cry, sweetheart. You must be strong and brave… like he was."

"That’s true," Christine sobbed, surreptitiously wiping her runny nose on Gerard’s shirt-front. "He was far too brave to stay meekly in bed like the doctor ordered."

"Brave, well… that’s one word for it," Gerard muttered to himself. "I can think of others. But Christine, what are your plans, now that your fiance is dead?"

"I don’t know! I suppose I could go back to the Opera and try being a diva again, but without Erik’s influence who would want to hear me?"

"I’m the manager there again. I’ll hire you, but on one condition."

"What’s that?"

Gerard got an evil glint in his eye. "You must allow me to call you Beladova from time to time… and sometimes, let me do this." He tipped her face up to his and kissed her.

Gerard was an old French guy, and had been in love countless times. Man knew what he was doing when he kissed a woman, and Christine’s hormones went up in flames. She was surprised, but responded eagerly until Gerard backed off and took out his handkerchief.

Wiping his recently-shaven upper lip, he then handed the handkerchief to Christine. "Though next time, sweetheart, it might be better if you blew your nose first."

"Oh, I’m sorry!" Christine said, all contrite. "So… you’ll take me back to the Opera, then? And call me by the name of your lost love, who happens to be my late fiance’s mother, and you’ll kiss me some more?"

Gerard nodded. "If you’ve no objections."

She shook her head and blew her nose loudly. She handed the handkerchief back to Gerard, who didn’t want to touch it, but gallantly put it into his pocket. "Shall we go, then?"

Philippe was more than happy to loan them a horse and wagon, especially since he had arranged for the corps de ballet to ride in the wagon back to his house for the night.

The sun was setting as Christine and Gerard headed westward… which meant it was in both their eyes and made them cranky. They argued all the way back to Paris, and when they got to the Opera, Gerard decided the only way to settle things was with a jolly good shagging. Christine, who was too innocent to know what "shagging" was, agreed. After all, Gerard was an older man; didn’t that mean he knew best?

And when she found out what "shagging" was, suddenly she didn’t feel much like arguing anymore.