Bonjour, mes amis. Je suis très hereuse que vous êtes ici. J'espère que vous aimez le première chapitre de ma première fanfic pour Le Phantôme de l'Opéra. Amusez-vous!

(Hello, my friends! I am very happy that you are here. I hope that you like the first chapter of my first fanfic for The Phantom of the Opera. Have fun!)

Anyways, je ne sais pas any French. Here is my first PotO fanfiction, and it's been in my head for about a few weeks or so. This is mostly ALW and Leroux based, since I've only seen/read those versions (unhappy me!). I hope you enjoy, and I do love reviews, espescially ones that offer suggestions!

insert some theme songs here

The Naze.

---

"Stop coach, please, monsieur."

The coach drew to a halt outside of l'Opéra Populaire, and a footman who had been standing in the back came to open the door and put down the steps. He then offered his hand inside the carriage, and a young girl took the hand and stepped out.

Her dress and hair were dark, and she regarded l'Opéra with a mixture of delight and anxiety. As she rearranged her skirts, a young man, dressed somewhat stylishly, came down to the street as well, marveling in l'Opéra and the beauty of Paris.

"It is very grand, is it not?" the girl said, eyeing her companion. He nodded with obvious awe. After a moment, he turned and fetched two satchels from inside of the carriage, and handed one to the girl. As he reached in for a third, smaller bag, the girl breathed deeply.

The two companions exchanged smiles.

---

Monsieur Lefèvre looked up from his desk, wondering who was bothering him. "Come in."

The door was opened and in walked a young woman with a delighted smile, followed closely by a slightly older man with two bags. The woman, who could better be described as a girl, was greeting him vivaciously before he could stand to greet the two properly.

"Ah, monsieur, it has been far too long! L'Opéra is looking as beautiful as ever, M Lefèvre, and I am so pleased to see you! Why, it has been all of ten years, and you still look just as I remember."

"Excusez-moi, madamoiselle, I am afraid I cannot remember who you could be." M Lefèvre was bemused by this chattering girl, who he guessed to be no more than sixteen.

"Ah, but of course," the girl said, not seeming unhappy or surprised. "Ten years has changed you very little, but I have been much changed, as you see. I am Renée Marie-Laure Clairemont, monsieur. I was here many years ago, when I was very ill. Madame Giry, is she still here? Oh, that is very excellent, monsieur- well, she helped me heal to be as good as new."

"Ah, Madamoiselle Clairemont, how very good to see you again. Indeed, you are very changed, but why, you must be sixteen now, yes?"

"Yes indeed, monsieur, I am sixteen since six months ago. In March."

At this point, Mlle Clairemont's companion cleared his throat slightly.

"Ah! Yes, of course. You are so quiet, Amoury, it's a wonder I don't forget you more often. M Lefèvre, this is my traveling companion M Amoury Christian Trotter."

"A pleasure, M Trotter. Any friend of Mlle Clairemont's is a friend of mine. She quite charmed us all ten years ago, monsieur."

"I am very sure of it, M Lefèvre. She charms all wherever she goes." Amoury Trotter gave a smiling glance at Mlle Clairemont.

"And how old are you, M Trotter?" M Lefèvre looked at Amoury expectantly. Amoury hesitated.

"Amoury is one and twenty, monsieur. He is very shy, but there you go!" Mlle Clairemont-- Renée-- was smiling, and Amoury gave her a look. "Amoury, do not look at me like that, M Lefèvre is not a stranger to me. I would tell any of my acquaintances my age, why are you so very cross with me?"

Amoury merely shrugged in defeat at Renée's happy banter.

"You see, Mlle Clairemont, you charm even your harsh friend Amoury. Now now, M Trotter, don't argue, you are very harsh indeed." But M Lefèvre was smiling, and Amoury knew he was playing for Renée.

But of course, who could not?

---

Renée tapped on the door, then again, louder. Footsteps, and then the door opened.

"Madame Giry!"

"Excuse me, madamoiselle, who might you be?" Madame Giry was in a black dress, some golden embroidery displaying a fondness for Oriental design.

"Madame, I am sure you will remember me. I am Renée Marie-Lau-"

"Renée? Little Renée, from all those years ago?" Madame Giry's eyes widened, and when Renée nodded, she enfolded the girl in her arms.

Stepping back, smiling, Madame Giry looked Renée up and down. "You have grown lovely, Renée. I am very glad to see you."

Renée blushed; Madame Giry had never been easy with compliments. She looked to Amoury, who was behind her. Madame Giry eyed him. "Oh, Madame Giry, this is my traveling companion, Amoury Christian Trotter." They exchanged a nod. "Amoury, why don't you go to the backstage. Here, leave the bags."

Amoury nodded, and Madame Giry gave him instructions. He left, looking back to see Giry and Renée going into the former's room.

Giry shut the door carefully, and Renée sat down on a chair. Mme Giry turned to Renée, smiling. "I am so very happy you have returned, my dear. You brought such happiness to us all when you became better. And you still are well, I see! I am so very happy."

Renée looked down, and when she finally met Mme Giry's gaze, her eyes were glazed with a film of tears. "Oh, madame, I am so very glad to see you as well. But I am not still well."

"But you are so alive! It seems impossible you still are ill."

"It is a gradual process, madame, but I was only truly purged of my curse--" how she spat the word, Mme Giry thought-- "for four years after I left here. When I was eleven, I was marked once again, and twice when I was twelve. In the past month, Mme Giry, I have been hit by it twice in the last three weeks. I had to leave Italy; I was there with my family."

"I am so sorry, my dear. But how did you heal so very quickly, when you were so much younger? Perhaps we can heal you once more, and free you longer from your illness."

Renée shook her head. "Madame, I have never told a soul. And it is a great desire of my savior that I tell none about him."

"Is he the Opera Ghost, Renée?" Mme Giry asked.

Renée was so very shocked that her face turned whiter as whey. "Renée, are you ill? Or am I right?" Mme Giry was insistent. "Renée!"

Renée, in her time in Italy, had learned from a great magician how to faint. So she did.