Operatic Tragedy | Mikael

Chapter Four

 Marguerite slept very uncomfortably that night. As soon as she awoke in the morning, she scolded herself for worrying so much over a man she didn't even know. She didn't know who he was, didn't know anything about him. He didn't seem to be bothering anyone, so why should she worry over something so apparently unimportant?

 But she did. She couldn't get this out of her head. There was something about that man. He didn't seem dangerous, but there was a sense of danger about him. At least that was what Marguerite thought it was. Who knew? She could simply have an overactive imagination.

 Except she had never had a imagination like this this before. Marguerite was a very straightforward, no-nonsense sort of person. Yes, she had dreamed that her husband was still with her, and that they had their child still. But never would she imagine something like this. Therefore, it simply had to be real.

 Marguerite didn't really feel like performing that night, and wished she didn't have to. She did have an understudy, but she would never forgive herself if she let herself forgo a performance because she was afraid of running into a man who may or may not be real. She would return to the role of Norma that night and would continue to do so until the end of the show's run, and then onto the next performance. Perhaps the next opera she would be singing in would be Pierre's, if he ever even remembered to completed it.

 Marguerite left her rooms in the afternoon and got a cab to the opera house. There had been no strange incidents whatsoever, much to her relief. Any anxiety she had seemed to have evaporated by time she arrived at the opera house. But when she got out of the carriage and searched for the money to pay the driver, she heard a man's voice say, "Please, allow me, Madame."

 Marguerite looked up, and saw the mysterious man pay the cab driver.

 "Why did you do that?" she asked him after the cab had driven away.

 "I felt I should, given all the trouble I seem to have caused you," he answered.

 Marguerite didn't know whether to listen to anything else he had to say or just walk away from him. He sounded sincere, but there was also something untrustworthy about him.

 "Well, you clearly already know who I am," she said. "But many people do, so that does not concern me. Tell me, who are you?"

 "My name is Mikael. I feel that I am a stranger in Paris still. The last time I was here was...many years ago. I have attending the opera as a way to forget my own troubles."

 She scoffed. "By listening to someone else sing about theirs? I must say, that is a very interesting way of forgetting your troubles."

 "Well, there are worse ways. I'm afraid there are many men who would take to the bottle, but...it seems I chose the opera instead."

 "I think that was a very wise choice, Mr....do you have a last name?"

 "Last-oh. Yes. I apologize. I do not often go by it. My father's name was Erik, which would make my surname Eriksson. I am from Scandinavia," he added quickly when he saw Marguerite's momentary confusion. "It is how surnames are often done, you see."

 "Ah. Well, certainly not Paris, then. Will you be at the opera tonight, Monsieur Eriksson?"

 "I have been there every night for the past few weeks, Madame Roux. I shall return later tonight, for I am enjoying Norma. Good afternoon, Madame."

 She nodded. "Good afternoon, Monsieur Eriksson."

 She turned away from him and walked up the steps of the opera house. When she reached the top, she turned back to see he had disappeared in that mysterious way of his.

 Marguerite now felt a sense of relief after speaking with M. Eriksson. He didn't seem like the usual opera-going type, but he sounded sincere when he said he enjoyed it. There were plenty of people, though, who didn't seem like the opera-going type but did.

 But anyway, she was glad to have solved that mystery. Mikael Eriksson was a bit strange, yes, but wasn't completely out of the ordinary after all. Now she could get on with her performance without any issue, and perhaps she would see M. Eriksson in the crowd this time instead of up in the rafters somewhere.