That's sort of the same thing I meant, *Meg says ruefully, and, recognizing the signs, pulls out smelling salts from her copious Bag O' Stuff and waves them around under Christine's nose.

Well, they're useful things for a ballerina to have around!*

Sorry, Monsieur, *she explains, for Max's benefit, just as if she hadn't fainted herself two seconds ago,* she's had a rough time of it at home.

*As if she'd known Christine for ages - and, well, doesn't she, really?*