Disclaimer: Nothing, nothing, not ONE iota...there, I feel so much...WORSE! Anyhow, on with the story!

Chapter 14: The Lover's Approach

Christine

I held on to the bars for as long as I could...I exerted all my strength, which, naturally, could never compare with a man's. Shutting my eyes tightly, I moaned as I felt my increasingly sweaty hands slowly lose their grip on the cold iron...

I fell.

I knew I was falling inside the gates, onto Dupres property... Images flashed rapidly in front of my closed eyes, images of Erik's face...I knew it would be a very bad fall. I would probably break some bones, perhaps sustain a concussion...

Then, as I have read in so many adventure tales, everything turned black all around me...

"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!"

Someone seemed to be screaming at me. The voice was coming from so far away...Then I felt a gentle slap agaisnt my right cheek. Then there was another...Who could possibly be attempting to wake me? I was feeling so very comfortable, lying on something soft and yielding...

"Miss Millefleur! Answer me!"

At last, I managed to open my eyes. They remained out of focus, however, and I frowned. There was something white in front of me, and then I saw a hand lift, in order to slap my cheek again. Instinctively, I brought my own hand up, quick as lightning, and stopped it, grasping it by the wrist.

"Ah, at last! Miss Millefleur, can you hear me?"

My eyes swiftly moved to find the owner of the sharp, male voice. I frowned again, and was finally able to focus. He was a stranger. He was sitting next to me, on what was apparently a bed, and holding something white in one hand. I could now see that it was a piece cloth, which he had apparently been using to wipe the sweat from my brow. It was his other hand that had been slapping my cheek. I attempted to stir, and couldn't. I stared at the man, who continued to look at me intently, his face twisted into an anxious expression. He was middle-aged, sporting a beard and mustache. A pair of spectacles was perched on the tip of his nose.

"Can you hear me, Mademoiselle?" he repeated, when he saw that I still did not answer.

"Yes..." I finally mumbled.

"Do not attempt to move. You have had a fall, which could have been much worse, save for Monsieur Gaspard here."

I moved my eyes over to the bearded man's left, and beheld the coachman, whose face was as pale as the bleached stones on a sun-drenched beach. Ah, I mused briefly, memories of the Swedish coastline of my childhood...Then I turned my attention back to the stranger.

"Who...Where...?" I got no further, as I was too dazed to speak.

"Please do not exert yourself, Miss," the unknown man continued. I supposed him to be a physician. This assumption later proved to be correct. "You are in one of the guest rooms at the Baroness's chateau, and you will be well taken care of. Thankfully, you seem to have no broken bones."

"So why...?" I managed to squeak.

"You lost consciousness, Miss Millefleur." The man was certainly able to anticipate my thoughts!

I was totally mortified. Would I never stop fainting at crucial moments of my life?

"You have a slight concussion, I believe, from my cursory examination of your person," he continued. "You should be fine by tomorrow, but should remain abed for a day or so."

I frowned again, and looked at the coachman, then back at the doctor. He patted my arm reassuringly.

"You need not fear for Monsieur Gaspard," he said gently, smiling. "He is quite all right. If not for him, you would most certainly have broken a few ribs, perhaps even a leg." He sighed. "Whatever possessed you to do such a thing, I'm sure I do not know!"

I looked up at him in alarm. I had suddenly realized that he was calling me by the false name I had originally given Dupres! I did my best to try to sit up.

"Tut, tut!" said the doctor. "Did I not tell you that you were to remain still? Indeed, you are most stubborn, Mademoiselle!"

"But..." I stammered, "my name is not...I am not this person..."

"Yes, I understand," he chided gently. "You are in shock, and so are completely disoriented. Now you really must obey my instructions, and simply try to rest. Do not worry about anything. Monsieur Dupres will see to your welfare, I am quite sure. Of course, you will have some bruises, but nothing truly serious. Monsieur Gaspard has some few bruises as well. After all, he cushioned your fall! He, too, will be getting some rest. Now, if you please, Mademoiselle, you must drink this. It will enable you to relax, but you should not sleep as yet. Monsieur Dupres will be at your side, making sure that you do not fall asleep. It would be most dangerous for you to do so at this point."

I wanted to scream at this, but restrained myself. Besides, I did not have the energy. So I simply looked up at the doctor with a wan smile. Carefully placing one hand underneath my neck, he raised my head slighty, placing a glass to my lips. I obediently drank the potion, which had a slightly bitter taste.

"Thank you, doctor," I murmured as he laid my head back on the pillow.

"You are most welcome," he replied, smiling, as he rose.

His position on the bed was taken by a most unwelcome visitor. I quickly turned my eyes away.

The bed sagged slightly as he sat down, and he sighed, softly.

"How are you feeling, Mademoiselle?" he inquired, so softly that I dared to flick my gaze to his face.

I nodded silently, surprised to see no sign of anger on his countenance. In fact, his expression betrayed concern...I could not help feeling alarmed by this. Was he truly willing to overlook the fact that I had kicked him where I remembered kicking him? More disturbing, why had he given the doctor my false name? Why was he hiding my identity?

Erik

I hastily dismounted, having noticed that the coach tracks had grown somewhat faint in the hard-packed earth. Kneeling beside them, I ran a hand over them, which I then brought up to my nose. Smiling with a satisfied expression, I came to the conclusion that the tracks were quite fresh, and that I would soon find the whereabouts of the coach.

I approached the stallion once more, spoke softly to him, and took up the reins. With one smooth movement, I was on his back once more, and gently spurred him on.

We had not gone very far, when I noticed that, although the road went on in a straight line, there seemed to be new track marks to the side of it. Frowning, I dismounted yet again, and examined them. Yes, I mused as I straightened, the coach had certainly taken this direction, veering off the main road, which I knew led to Paris. I felt some alarm, although I attempted to remain calm. There was foul play involved. She would naturally have gone on to Paris, I was sure of it. I cursed inwardly as I remembered that I did not have my trusty Punjab lasso with me. I would have to procure a weapon of some kind somewhere, perhaps at the very destination I was heading for.

Feeling certain that I was on the trail of the coach on which my beloved was traveling, I spurred my equine friend into a gallop. We went on thus for several miles, as I reckoned it. The countryside now sweeping past had the mark of civilization upon it. We passed fields that showed signs of recent tilling, and here and there, cottages were to be seen, with tidily-kept flower beds, while smoke rose cheerily up into the atmosphere from their stocky chimneys.

At length, we topped a rise in the land, and I pulled the stallion to a stop. He was breathing hard again, his flanks heaving. I patted his neck affectionately, and he tossed his head, impatient to dash down the slope that lay before us. He was not as winded as I had thought at first, but I still kept him in check as I surveyed the landscape ahead.

It was then that I saw it in the distance, rising up majestically from the fragrant earth. It was a grand chateau, entirely surrounded, it seemed, by a stone wall, with massive iron gates in front. I wondered what member of the nobility it could possibly belong to, fervently hoping that the owner was not Raoul de Chagny. As my mind brought up this name, I trembled with anger. Was it that blasted boy, then, who now had my beautiful Christine? I gnashed my teeth at the thought. The stallion felt the change in my mood, and moved uneasily. I patted his neck again, soothing him with my voice. At the same time, I strove to purge my mind of the presence of my hated rival. The notion now seemed a ridiculous one. Christine had run from him, after all, straight into my arms. Why would she return to him? On the other hand, perhaps he had abducted her...

Bah! More ridiculous notions! Raoul would never have the nerve to carry off such a plan!

Throwing my thoughts aside, I allowed the stallion his head even as I dug my heels into his flanks. We galloped down the slope, on toward the chateau...