When she had recovered her senses, Jacqueline found herself laying on her own bed in the dorm. Perhaps one of the hands had helped carry her there, she couldn't imagine the ballet dancer doing it all herself.

Her face ached and smarted and she got herself up to the water basin to wash it. The cool water was some relief even if it still stung in places. Slowly lifting her head to catch a glimpse in the mirror....how awful she looked. Her heart sunk down into her feet, someone was bound to find out and then she would be sacked. It would be her word against Monsieur Buquet, she would just be some troublesome orphan while he had been here for years. She tosses her meager possessions for something to use, a scarf, a piece of cloth, anything. Finally, she dares to peek over at the other beds, stealing a brown scarf from one of them and wrapping it around her hair and face as the Arabs do.

The knock starts her heart pounding again but there is no one in the corridor when she goes to look. Only the innocent looking basket on the floor. She quickly brings it inside before carefully opening it. Reading the letter as if she couldn't believe it was real. Who could have....

Surely not. But what if it was from the opera ghost? She had started to wonder if she imagined the whole thing.