"Prologue\n\nIN WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THIS SINGULAR WORK INFORMS THE READER HOW HE\nACQUIRED THE CERTAINTY THAT THE OPERA GHOST REALLY EXISTED\n\nThe Opera ghost really existed.  He was not, as was long believed, a\ncreature of the imagination of the artists, the superstition of the\nmanagers, or a product of the absurd and impressionable brains of the\nyoung ladies of the ballet, their mothers, the box-keepers, the\ncloak-room attendants or the concierge.  Yes, he existed in flesh and\nblood, although he assumed the complete appearance of a real phantom;\nthat is to say, of a spectral shade.\n\nWhen I began to ransack the archives of the National Academy of Music I\nwas at once struck by the surprising coincidences between the phenomena\nascribed to the \"ghost\" and the most extraordinary and fantastic\ntragedy that ever excited the Paris upper classes; and I soon conceived\nthe idea that this tragedy might reasonably be explained by the\nphenomena in question.  The events do not date more than thirty years\nback; and it would not be difficult to find at the present day, in the\nfoyer of the ballet, old men of the highest respectability, men upon\nwhose word one could absolutely rely, who would remember as though they\nhappened yesterday the mysterious and dramatic conditions that attended\nthe kidnapping of Christine Daae, the disappearance of the Vicomte de\nChagny and the death of his elder brother, Count Philippe, whose body\nwas found on the bank of the lake that exists in the lower cellars of\nthe Opera on the Rue-Scribe side.  But none of those witnesses had\nuntil that day thought that there was any reason for connecting the\nmore or less legendary figure of the Opera ghost with that terrible\nstory.\n\nThe truth was slow to enter my mind, puzzled by an inquiry that at\nevery moment was complicated by events which, at first sight, might be\nlooked upon as superhuman; and more than once I was within an ace of\nabandoning a task in which I was exhausting myself in the hopeless\npursuit of a vain image.  At last, I received the proof that my\npresentiments had not deceived me, and I was rewarded for all my\nefforts on the day when I acquired the certainty that the Opera ghost\nwas more than a mere shade.\n\nOn that day, I had spent long hours over THE MEMOIRS OF A MANAGER, the\nlight and frivolous work of the too-skeptical Moncharmin, who, during\nhis term at the Opera, understood nothing of the mysterious behavior of\nthe ghost and who was making all the fun of it that he could at the\nvery moment when he became the first victim of the curious financial\noperation that went on inside the \"magic envelope.\"\n\nI had just left the library in despair, when I met the delightful\nacting-manager of our National Academy, who stood chatting on a landing\nwith a lively and well-groomed little old man, to whom he introduced me\ngaily.  The acting-manager knew all about my investigations and how\neagerly and unsuccessfully I had been trying to discover the\nwhereabouts of the examining magistrate in the famous Chagny case, M.\nFaure.  Nobody knew what had become of him, alive or dead; and here he\nwas back from Canada, where he had spent fifteen years, and the first\nthing he had done, on his return to Paris, was to come to the\nsecretarial offices at the Opera and ask for a free seat.  The little\nold man was M. Faure himself.\n\nWe spent a good part of the evening together and he told me the whole\nChagny case as he had understood it at the time.  He was bound to\nconclude in favor of the madness of the viscount and the accidental\ndeath of the elder brother, for lack of evidence to the contrary; but\nhe was nevertheless persuaded that a terrible tragedy had taken place\nbetween the two brothers in connection with Christine Daae.  He could\nnot tell me what became of Christine or the viscount.  When I mentioned\nthe ghost, he only laughed.  He, too, had been told of the curious\nmanifestations that seemed to point to the existence of an abnormal\nbeing, residing in one of the most mysterious corners of the Opera, and\nhe knew the story of the envelope; but he had never seen anything in it\nworthy of his attention as magistrate in charge of the Chagny case, and\nit was as much as he had done to listen to the evidence of a witness\nwho appeared of his own accord and declared that he had often met the\nghost.  This witness was none other than the man whom all Paris called\nthe \"Persian\" and who was well-known to every subscriber to the Opera.\nThe magistrate took him for a visionary.\n\nI was immensely interested by this story of the Persian.  I wanted, if\nthere were still time, to find this valuable and eccentric witness.  My\nluck began to improve and I discovered him in his little flat in the\nRue de Rivoli, where he had lived ever since and where he died five\nmonths after my visit.  I was at first inclined to be suspicious; but\nwhen the Persian had told me, with child-like candor, all that he knew\nabout the ghost and had handed me the proofs of the ghost's\nexistence--including the strange correspondence of Christine Daae--to\ndo as I pleased with, I was no longer able to doubt.  No, the ghost was\nnot a myth!\n\nI have, I know, been told that this correspondence may have been forged\nfrom first to last by a man whose imagination had certainly been fed on\nthe most seductive tales; but fortunately I discovered some of\nChristine's writing outside the famous bundle of letters and, on a\ncomparison between the two, all my doubts were removed.  I also went\ninto the past history of the Persian and found that he was an upright\nman, incapable of inventing a story that might have defeated the ends\nof justice.\n\nThis, moreover, was the opinion of the more serious people who, at one\ntime or other, were mixed up in the Chagny case, who were friends of\nthe Chagny family, to whom I showed all my documents and set forth all\nmy inferences.  In this connection, I should like to print a few lines\nwhich I received from General D----:\n\nSIR:\n\nI can not urge you too strongly to publish the results of your inquiry.\nI remember perfectly that, a few weeks before the disappearance of that\ngreat singer, Christine Daae, and the tragedy which threw the whole of\nthe Faubourg Saint-Germain into mourning, there was a great deal of\ntalk, in the foyer of the ballet, on the subject of the \"ghost;\" and I\nbelieve that it only ceased to be discussed in consequence of the later\naffair that excited us all so greatly.  But, if it be possible--as,\nafter hearing you, I believe--to explain the tragedy through the ghost,\nthen I beg you sir, to talk to us about the ghost again.\n\nMysterious though the ghost may at first appear, he will always be more\neasily explained than the dismal story in which malevolent people have\ntried to picture two brothers killing each other who had worshiped each\nother all their lives.\n\nBelieve me, etc.\n\nLastly, with my bundle of papers in hand, I once more went over the\nghost's vast domain, the huge building which he had made his kingdom.\nAll that my eyes saw, all that my mind perceived, corroborated the\nPersian's documents precisely; and a wonderful discovery crowned my\nlabors in a very definite fashion.  It will be remembered that, later,\nwhen digging in the substructure of the Opera, before burying the\nphonographic records of the artist's voice, the workmen laid bare a\ncorpse.  Well, I was at once able to prove that this corpse was that of\nthe Opera ghost.  I made the acting-manager put this proof to the test\nwith his own hand; and it is now a matter of supreme indifference to me\nif the papers pretend that the body was that of a victim of the Commune.\n\nThe wretches who were massacred, under the Commune, in the cellars of\nthe Opera, were not buried on this side; I will tell where their\nskeletons can be found in a spot not very far from that immense crypt\nwhich was stocked during the siege with all sorts of provisions.  I\ncame upon this track just when I was looking for the remains of the\nOpera ghost, which I should never have discovered but for the\nunheard-of chance described above.\n\nBut we will return to the corpse and what ought to be done with it.\nFor the present, I must conclude this very necessary introduction by\nthanking M. Mifroid (who was the commissary of police called in for the\nfirst investigations after the disappearance of Christine Daae), M.\nRemy, the late secretary, M. Mercier, the late acting-manager, M.\nGabriel, the late chorus-master, and more particularly Mme. la Baronne\nde Castelot-Barbezac, who was once the \"little Meg\" of the story (and\nwho is not ashamed of it), the most charming star of our admirable\ncorps de ballet, the eldest daughter of the worthy Mme. Giry, now\ndeceased, who had charge of the ghost's private box.  All these were of\nthe greatest assistance to me; and, thanks to them, I shall be able to\nreproduce those hours of sheer love and terror, in their smallest\ndetails, before the reader's eyes.\n\nAnd I should be ungrateful indeed if I omitted, while standing on the\nthreshold of this dreadful and veracious story, to thank the present\nmanagement the Opera, which has so kindly assisted me in all my\ninquiries, and M. Messager in particular, together with M. Gabion, the\nacting-manager, and that most amiable of men, the architect intrusted\nwith the preservation of the building, who did not hesitate to lend me\nthe works of Charles Garnier, although he was almost sure that I would\nnever return them to him.  Lastly, I must pay a public tribute to the\ngenerosity of my friend and former collaborator, M. J. Le Croze, who\nallowed me to dip into his splendid theatrical library and to borrow\nthe rarest editions of books by which he set great store.\n\nGASTON LEROUX.\n\n\n\nChapter I  Is it the Ghost?\n\n\nIt was the evening on which MM. Debienne and Poligny, the managers of\nthe Opera, were giving a last gala performance to mark their\nretirement.  Suddenly the dressing-room of La Sorelli, one of the\nprincipal dancers, was invaded by half-a-dozen young ladies of the\nballet, who had come up from the stage after \"dancing\" Polyeucte.  They\nrushed in amid great confusion, some giving vent to forced and\nunnatural laughter, others to cries of terror.  Sorelli, who wished to\nbe alone for a moment to \"run through\" the speech which she was to make\nto the resigning managers, looked around angrily at the mad and\ntumultuous crowd.  It was little Jammes--the girl with the tip-tilted\nnose, the forget-me-not eyes, the rose-red cheeks and the lily-white\nneck and shoulders--who gave the explanation in a trembling voice:\n\n\"It's the ghost!\"  And she locked the door.\n\nSorelli's dressing-room was fitted up with official, commonplace\nelegance.  A pier-glass, a sofa, a dressing-table and a cupboard or two\nprovided the necessary furniture.  On the walls hung a few engravings,\nrelics of the mother, who had known the glories of the old Opera in the\nRue le Peletier; portraits of Vestris, Gardel, Dupont, Bigottini.  But\nthe room seemed a palace to the brats of the corps de ballet, who were\nlodged in common dressing-rooms where they spent their time singing,\nquarreling, smacking the dressers and hair-dressers and buying one\nanother glasses of cassis, beer, or even rhum, until the call-boy's\nbell rang.\n\nSorelli was very superstitious.  She shuddered when she heard little\nJammes speak of the ghost, called her a \"silly little fool\" and then,\nas she was the first to believe in ghosts in general, and the Opera\nghost in particular, at once asked for details:\n\n\"Have you seen him?\"\n\n\"As plainly as I see you now!\" said little Jammes, whose legs were\ngiving way beneath her, and she dropped with a moan into a chair.\n\nThereupon little Giry--the girl with eyes black as sloes, hair black as\nink, a swarthy complexion and a poor little skin stretched over poor\nlittle bones--little Giry added:\n\n\"If that's the ghost, he's very ugly!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!\" cried the chorus of ballet-girls.\n\nAnd they all began to talk together.  The ghost had appeared to them in\nthe shape of a gentleman in dress-clothes, who had suddenly stood\nbefore them in the passage, without their knowing where he came from.\nHe seemed to have come straight through the wall.\n\n\"Pooh!\" said one of them, who had more or less kept her head.  \"You see\nthe ghost everywhere!\"\n\nAnd it was true.  For several months, there had been nothing discussed\nat the Opera but this ghost in dress-clothes who stalked about the\nbuilding, from top to bottom, like a shadow, who spoke to nobody, to\nwhom nobody dared speak and who vanished as soon as he was seen, no one\nknowing how or where.  As became a real ghost, he made no noise in\nwalking.  People began by laughing and making fun of this specter\ndressed like a man of fashion or an undertaker; but the ghost legend\nsoon swelled to enormous proportions among the corps de ballet.  All\nthe girls pretended to have met this supernatural being more or less\noften.  And those who laughed the loudest were not the most at ease.\nWhen he did not show himself, he betrayed his presence or his passing\nby accident, comic or serious, for which the general superstition held\nhim responsible.  Had any one met with a fall, or suffered a practical\njoke at the hands of one of the other girls, or lost a powderpuff, it\nwas at once the fault of the ghost, of the Opera ghost.\n\nAfter all, who had seen him?  You meet so many men in dress-clothes at\nthe Opera who are not ghosts.  But this dress-suit had a peculiarity of\nits own.  It covered a skeleton.  At least, so the ballet-girls said.\nAnd, of course, it had a death's head.\n\nWas all this serious?  The truth is that the idea of the skeleton came\nfrom the description of the ghost given by Joseph Buquet, the chief\nscene-shifter, who had really seen the ghost.  He had run up against\nthe ghost on the little staircase, by the footlights, which leads to\n\"the cellars.\"  He had seen him for a second--for the ghost had\nfled--and to any one who cared to listen to him he said:\n\n\"He is extraordinarily thin and his dress-coat hangs on a skeleton\nframe.  His eyes are so deep that you can hardly see the fixed pupils.\nYou just see two big black holes, as in a dead man's skull.  His skin,\nwhich is stretched across his bones like a drumhead, is not white, but\na nasty yellow.  His nose is so little worth talking about that you\ncan't see it side-face; and THE ABSENCE of that nose is a horrible\nthing TO LOOK AT.  All the hair he has is three or four long dark locks\non his forehead and behind his ears.\"\n\nThis chief scene-shifter was a serious, sober, steady man, very slow at\nimagining things.  His words were received with interest and amazement;\nand soon there were other people to say that they too had met a man in\ndress-clothes with a death's head on his shoulders.  Sensible men who\nhad wind of the story began by saying that Joseph Buquet had been the\nvictim of a joke played by one of his assistants.  And then, one after\nthe other, there came a series of incidents so curious and so\ninexplicable that the very shrewdest people began to feel uneasy.\n\nFor instance, a fireman is a brave fellow!  He fears nothing, least of\nall fire!  Well, the fireman in question, who had gone to make a round\nof inspection in the cellars and who, it seems, had ventured a little\nfarther than usual, suddenly reappeared on the stage, pale, scared,\ntrembling, with his eyes starting out of his head, and practically\nfainted in the arms of the proud mother of little Jammes.[1]  And why?\nBecause he had seen coming toward him, AT THE LEVEL OF HIS HEAD, BUT\nWITHOUT A BODY ATTACHED TO IT, A HEAD OF FIRE!  And, as I said, a\nfireman is not afraid of fire.\n\nThe fireman's name was Pampin.\n\nThe corps de ballet was flung into consternation.  At first sight, this\nfiery head in no way corresponded with Joseph Buquet's description of\nthe ghost.  But the young ladies soon persuaded themselves that the\nghost had several heads, which he changed about as he pleased.  And, of\ncourse, they at once imagined that they were in the greatest danger.\nOnce a fireman did not hesitate to faint, leaders and front-row and\nback-row girls alike had plenty of excuses for the fright that made\nthem quicken their pace when passing some dark corner or ill-lighted\ncorridor.  Sorelli herself, on the day after the adventure of the\nfireman, placed a horseshoe on the table in front of the\nstage-door-keeper's box, which every one who entered the Opera\notherwise than as a spectator must touch before setting foot on the\nfirst tread of the staircase.  This horse-shoe was not invented by\nme--any more than any other part of this story, alas!--and may still be\nseen on the table in the passage outside the stage-door-keeper's box,\nwhen you enter the Opera through the court known as the Cour de\nl'Administration.\n\nTo return to the evening in question.\n\n\"It's the ghost!\" little Jammes had cried.\n\nAn agonizing silence now reigned in the dressing-room. Nothing was\nheard but the hard breathing of the girls.  At last, Jammes, flinging\nherself upon the farthest corner of the wall, with every mark of real\nterror on her face, whispered:\n\n\"Listen!\"\n\nEverybody seemed to hear a rustling outside the door.  There was no\nsound of footsteps.  It was like light silk sliding over the panel.\nThen it stopped.\n\nSorelli tried to show more pluck than the others.  She went up to the\ndoor and, in a quavering voice, asked:\n\n\"Who's there?\"\n\nBut nobody answered.  Then feeling all eyes upon her, watching her last\nmovement, she made an effort to show courage, and said very loudly:\n\n\"Is there any one behind the door?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, yes!  Of course there is!\" cried that little dried plum of a\nMeg Giry, heroically holding Sorelli back by her gauze skirt.\n\"Whatever you do, don't open the door!  Oh, Lord, don't open the door!\"\n\nBut Sorelli, armed with a dagger that never left her, turned the key\nand drew back the door, while the ballet-girls retreated to the inner\ndressing-room and Meg Giry sighed:\n\n\"Mother!  Mother!\"\n\nSorelli looked into the passage bravely.  It was empty; a gas-flame, in\nits glass prison, cast a red and suspicious light into the surrounding\ndarkness, without succeeding in dispelling it.  And the dancer slammed\nthe door again, with a deep sigh.\n\n\"No,\" she said, \"there is no one there.\"\n\n\"Still, we saw him!\"  Jammes declared, returning with timid little\nsteps to her place beside Sorelli.  \"He must be somewhere prowling\nabout.  I shan't go back to dress.  We had better all go down to the\nfoyer together, at once, for the 'speech,' and we will come up again\ntogether.\"\n\nAnd the child reverently touched the little coral finger-ring which she\nwore as a charm against bad luck, while Sorelli, stealthily, with the\ntip of her pink right thumb-nail, made a St. Andrew's cross on the\nwooden ring which adorned the fourth finger of her left hand.  She said\nto the little ballet-girls:\n\n\"Come, children, pull yourselves together!  I dare say no one has ever\nseen the ghost.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, we saw him--we saw him just now!\" cried the girls.  \"He had\nhis death's head and his dress-coat, just as when he appeared to Joseph\nBuquet!\"\n\n\"And Gabriel saw him too!\" said Jammes.  \"Only yesterday!  Yesterday\nafternoon--in broad day-light----\"\n\n\"Gabriel, the chorus-master?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, didn't you know?\"\n\n\"And he was wearing his dress-clothes, in broad daylight?\"\n\n\"Who?  Gabriel?\"\n\n\"Why, no, the ghost!\"\n\n\"Certainly!  Gabriel told me so himself.  That's what he knew him by.\nGabriel was in the stage-manager's office.  Suddenly the door opened\nand the Persian entered.  You know the Persian has the evil eye----\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!\" answered the little ballet-girls in chorus, warding off\nill-luck by pointing their forefinger and little finger at the absent\nPersian, while their second and third fingers were bent on the palm and\nheld down by the thumb.\n\n\"And you know how superstitious Gabriel is,\" continued Jammes.\n\"However, he is always polite.  When he meets the Persian, he just puts\nhis hand in his pocket and touches his keys.  Well, the moment the\nPersian appeared in the doorway, Gabriel gave one jump from his chair\nto the lock of the cupboard, so as to touch iron!  In doing so, he tore\na whole skirt of his overcoat on a nail.  Hurrying to get out of the\nroom, he banged his forehead against a hat-peg and gave himself a huge\nbump; then, suddenly stepping back, he skinned his arm on the screen,\nnear the piano; he tried to lean on the piano, but the lid fell on his\nhands and crushed his fingers; he rushed out of the office like a\nmadman, slipped on the staircase and came down the whole of the first\nflight on his back.  I was just passing with mother.  We picked him up.\nHe was covered with bruises and his face was all over blood.  We were\nfrightened out of our lives, but, all at once, he began to thank\nProvidence that he had got off so cheaply.  Then he told us what had\nfrightened him.  He had seen the ghost behind the Persian, THE GHOST\nWITH THE DEATH'S HEAD just like Joseph Buquet's description!\"\n\nJammes had told her story ever so quickly, as though the ghost were at\nher heels, and was quite out of breath at the finish.  A silence\nfollowed, while Sorelli polished her nails in great excitement.  It was\nbroken by little Giry, who said:\n\n\"Joseph Buquet would do better to hold his tongue.\"\n\n\"Why should he hold his tongue?\" asked somebody.\n\n\"That's mother's opinion,\" replied Meg, lowering her voice and looking\nall about her as though fearing lest other ears than those present\nmight overhear.\n\n\"And why is it your mother's opinion?\"\n\n\"Hush!  Mother says the ghost doesn't like being talked about.\"\n\n\"And why does your mother say so?\"\n\n\"Because--because--nothing--\"\n\nThis reticence exasperated the curiosity of the young ladies, who\ncrowded round little Giry, begging her to explain herself.  They were\nthere, side by side, leaning forward simultaneously in one movement of\nentreaty and fear, communicating their terror to one another, taking a\nkeen pleasure in feeling their blood freeze in their veins.\n\n\"I swore not to tell!\" gasped Meg.\n\nBut they left her no peace and promised to keep the secret, until Meg,\nburning to say all she knew, began, with her eyes fixed on the door:\n\n\"Well, it's because of the private box.\"\n\n\"What private box?\"\n\n\"The ghost's box!\"\n\n\"Has the ghost a box?  Oh, do tell us, do tell us!\"\n\n\"Not so loud!\" said Meg.  \"It's Box Five, you know, the box on the\ngrand tier, next to the stage-box, on the left.\"\n\n\"Oh, nonsense!\"\n\n\"I tell you it is.  Mother has charge of it.  But you swear you won't\nsay a word?\"\n\n\"Of course, of course.\"\n\n\"Well, that's the ghost's box.  No one has had it for over a month,\nexcept the ghost, and orders have been given at the box-office that it\nmust never be sold.\"\n\n\"And does the ghost really come there?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then somebody does come?\"\n\n\"Why, no!  The ghost comes, but there is nobody there.\"\n\nThe little ballet-girls exchanged glances.  If the ghost came to the\nbox, he must be seen, because he wore a dress-coat and a death's head.\nThis was what they tried to make Meg understand, but she replied:\n\n\"That's just it!  The ghost is not seen.  And he has no dress-coat and\nno head!  All that talk about his death's head and his head of fire is\nnonsense!  There's nothing in it.  You only hear him when he is in the\nbox.  Mother has never seen him, but she has heard him.  Mother knows,\nbecause she gives him his program.\"\n\nSorelli interfered.\n\n\"Giry, child, you're getting at us!\"\n\nThereupon little Giry began to cry.\n\n\"I ought to have held my tongue--if mother ever came to know!  But I\nwas quite right, Joseph Buquet had no business to talk of things that\ndon't concern him--it will bring him bad luck--mother was saying so\nlast night----\"\n\nThere was a sound of hurried and heavy footsteps in the passage and a\nbreathless voice cried:\n\n\"Cecile!  Cecile!  Are you there?\"\n\n\"It's mother's voice,\" said Jammes.  \"What's the matter?\"\n\nShe opened the door.  A respectable lady, built on the lines of a\nPomeranian grenadier, burst into the dressing-room and dropped groaning\ninto a vacant arm-chair. Her eyes rolled madly in her brick-dust\ncolored face.\n\n\"How awful!\" she said.  \"How awful!\"\n\n\"What?  What?\"\n\n\"Joseph Buquet!\"\n\n\"What about him?\"\n\n\"Joseph Buquet is dead!\"\n\nThe room became filled with exclamations, with astonished outcries,\nwith scared requests for explanations.\n\n\"Yes, he was found hanging in the third-floor cellar!\"\n\n\"It's the ghost!\" little Giry blurted, as though in spite of herself;\nbut she at once corrected herself, with her hands pressed to her mouth:\n\"No, no!--I, didn't say it!--I didn't say it!----\"\n\nAll around her, her panic-stricken companions repeated under their\nbreaths:\n\n\"Yes--it must be the ghost!\"\n\nSorelli was very pale.\n\n\"I shall never be able to recite my speech,\" she said.\n\nMa Jammes gave her opinion, while she emptied a glass of liqueur that\nhappened to be standing on a table; the ghost must have something to do\nwith it.\n\nThe truth is that no one ever knew how Joseph Buquet met his death.\nThe verdict at the inquest was \"natural suicide.\"  In his Memoirs of\nManager, M. Moncharmin, one of the joint managers who succeeded MM.\nDebienne and Poligny, describes the incident as follows:\n\n\"A grievous accident spoiled the little party which MM.  Debienne and\nPoligny gave to celebrate their retirement.  I was in the manager's\noffice, when Mercier, the acting-manager, suddenly came darting in.  He\nseemed half mad and told me that the body of a scene-shifter had been\nfound hanging in the third cellar under the stage, between a farm-house\nand a scene from the Roi de Lahore.  I shouted:\n\n\"'Come and cut him down!'\n\n\"By the time I had rushed down the staircase and the Jacob's ladder,\nthe man was no longer hanging from his rope!\"\n\nSo this is an event which M. Moncharmin thinks natural.  A man hangs at\nthe end of a rope; they go to cut him down; the rope has disappeared.\nOh, M. Moncharmin found a very simple explanation!  Listen to him:\n\n\"It was just after the ballet; and leaders and dancing-girls lost no\ntime in taking their precautions against the evil eye.\"\n\nThere you are!  Picture the corps de ballet scuttling down the Jacob's\nladder and dividing the suicide's rope among themselves in less time\nthan it takes to write!  When, on the other hand, I think of the exact\nspot where the body was discovered--the third cellar underneath the\nstage!--imagine that SOMEBODY must have been interested in seeing that\nthe rope disappeared after it had effected its purpose; and time will\nshow if I am wrong.\n\nThe horrid news soon spread all over the Opera, where Joseph Buquet was\nvery popular.  The dressing-rooms emptied and the ballet-girls,\ncrowding around Sorelli like timid sheep around their shepherdess, made\nfor the foyer through the ill-lit passages and staircases, trotting as\nfast as their little pink legs could carry them.\n\n\n[1] I have the anecdote, which is quite authentic, from M. Pedro\nGailhard himself, the late manager of the Opera.\n\n\n\n\nChapter II  The New Margarita\n\n\nOn the first landing, Sorelli ran against the Comte de Chagny, who was\ncoming up-stairs. The count, who was generally so calm, seemed greatly\nexcited.\n\n\"I was just going to you,\" he said, taking off his hat.  \"Oh, Sorelli,\nwhat an evening!  And Christine Daae:  what a triumph!\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" said Meg Giry.  \"Six months ago, she used to sing like a\nCROCK!  But do let us get by, my dear count,\" continues the brat, with\na saucy curtsey.  \"We are going to inquire after a poor man who was\nfound hanging by the neck.\"\n\nJust then the acting-manager came fussing past and stopped when he\nheard this remark.\n\n\"What!\" he exclaimed roughly.  \"Have you girls heard already?  Well,\nplease forget about it for tonight--and above all don't let M. Debienne\nand M. Poligny hear; it would upset them too much on their last day.\"\n\nThey all went on to the foyer of the ballet, which was already full of\npeople.  The Comte de Chagny was right; no gala performance ever\nequalled this one.  All the great composers of the day had conducted\ntheir own works in turns.  Faure and Krauss had sung; and, on that\nevening, Christine Daae had revealed her true self, for the first time,\nto the astonished and enthusiastic audience.  Gounod had conducted the\nFuneral March of a Marionnette; Reyer, his beautiful overture to\nSiguar; Saint Saens, the Danse Macabre and a Reverie Orientale;\nMassenet, an unpublished Hungarian march; Guiraud, his Carnaval;\nDelibes, the Valse Lente from Sylvia and the Pizzicati from Coppelia.\nMlle. Krauss had sung the bolero in the Vespri Siciliani; and Mlle.\nDenise Bloch the drinking song in Lucrezia Borgia.\n\nBut the real triumph was reserved for Christine Daae, who had begun by\nsinging a few passages from Romeo and Juliet.  It was the first time\nthat the young artist sang in this work of Gounod, which had not been\ntransferred to the Opera and which was revived at the Opera Comique\nafter it had been produced at the old Theatre Lyrique by Mme. Carvalho.\nThose who heard her say that her voice, in these passages, was\nseraphic; but this was nothing to the superhuman notes that she gave\nforth in the prison scene and the final trio in FAUST, which she sang\nin the place of La Carlotta, who was ill.  No one had ever heard or\nseen anything like it.\n\nDaae revealed a new Margarita that night, a Margarita of a splendor, a\nradiance hitherto unsuspected.  The whole house went mad, rising to its\nfeet, shouting, cheering, clapping, while Christine sobbed and fainted\nin the arms of her fellow-singers and had to be carried to her\ndressing-room. A few subscribers, however, protested.  Why had so great\na treasure been kept from them all that time?  Till then, Christine\nDaae had played a good Siebel to Carlotta's rather too splendidly\nmaterial Margarita.  And it had needed Carlotta's incomprehensible and\ninexcusable absence from this gala night for the little Daae, at a\nmoment's warning, to show all that she could do in a part of the\nprogram reserved for the Spanish diva!  Well, what the subscribers\nwanted to know was, why had Debienne and Poligny applied to Daae, when\nCarlotta was taken ill?  Did they know of her hidden genius?  And, if\nthey knew of it, why had they kept it hidden?  And why had she kept it\nhidden?  Oddly enough, she was not known to have a professor of singing\nat that moment.  She had often said she meant to practise alone for the\nfuture.  The whole thing was a mystery.\n\nThe Comte de Chagny, standing up in his box, listened to all this\nfrenzy and took part in it by loudly applauding.  Philippe Georges\nMarie Comte de Chagny was just forty-one years of age.  He was a great\naristocrat and a good-looking man, above middle height and with\nattractive features, in spite of his hard forehead and his rather cold\neyes.  He was exquisitely polite to the women and a little haughty to\nthe men, who did not always forgive him for his successes in society.\nHe had an excellent heart and an irreproachable conscience.  On the\ndeath of old Count Philibert, he became the head of one of the oldest\nand most distinguished families in France, whose arms dated back to the\nfourteenth century.  The Chagnys owned a great deal of property; and,\nwhen the old count, who was a widower, died, it was no easy task for\nPhilippe to accept the management of so large an estate.  His two\nsisters and his brother, Raoul, would not hear of a division and waived\ntheir claim to their shares, leaving themselves entirely in Philippe's\nhands, as though the right of primogeniture had never ceased to exist.\nWhen the two sisters married, on the same day, they received their\nportion from their brother, not as a thing rightfully belonging to\nthem, but as a dowry for which they thanked him.\n\nThe Comtesse de Chagny, nee de Moerogis de La Martyniere, had died in\ngiving birth to Raoul, who was born twenty years after his elder\nbrother.  At the time of the old count's death, Raoul was twelve years\nof age.  Philippe busied himself actively with the youngster's\neducation.  He was admirably assisted in this work first by his sisters\nand afterward by an old aunt, the widow of a naval officer, who lived\nat Brest and gave young Raoul a taste for the sea.  The lad entered the\nBorda training-ship, finished his course with honors and quietly made\nhis trip round the world.  Thanks to powerful influence, he had just\nbeen appointed a member of the official expedition on board the Requin,\nwhich was to be sent to the Arctic Circle in search of the survivors of\nthe D'Artoi's expedition, of whom nothing had been heard for three\nyears.  Meanwhile, he was enjoying a long furlough which would not be\nover for six months; and already the dowagers of the Faubourg\nSaint-Germain were pitying the handsome and apparently delicate\nstripling for the hard work in store for him.\n\nThe shyness of the sailor-lad--I was almost saying his innocence--was\nremarkable.  He seemed to have but just left the women's apron-strings.\nAs a matter of fact, petted as he was by his two sisters and his old\naunt, he had retained from this purely feminine education manners that\nwere almost candid and stamped with a charm that nothing had yet been\nable to sully.  He was a little over twenty-one years of age and looked\neighteen.  He had a small, fair mustache, beautiful blue eyes and a\ncomplexion like a girl's.\n\nPhilippe spoiled Raoul.  To begin with, he was very proud of him and\npleased to foresee a glorious career for his junior in the navy in\nwhich one of their ancestors, the famous Chagny de La Roche, had held\nthe rank of admiral.  He took advantage of the young man's leave of\nabsence to show him Paris, with all its luxurious and artistic\ndelights.  The count considered that, at Raoul's age, it is not good to\nbe too good.  Philippe himself had a character that was very\nwell-balanced in work and pleasure alike; his demeanor was always\nfaultless; and he was incapable of setting his brother a bad example.\nHe took him with him wherever he went.  He even introduced him to the\nfoyer of the ballet.  I know that the count was said to be \"on terms\"\nwith Sorelli.  But it could hardly be reckoned as a crime for this\nnobleman, a bachelor, with plenty of leisure, especially since his\nsisters were settled, to come and spend an hour or two after dinner in\nthe company of a dancer, who, though not so very, very witty, had the\nfinest eyes that ever were seen!  And, besides, there are places where\na true Parisian, when he has the rank of the Comte de Chagny, is bound\nto show himself; and at that time the foyer of the ballet at the Opera\nwas one of those places.\n\nLastly, Philippe would perhaps not have taken his brother behind the\nscenes of the Opera if Raoul had not been the first to ask him,\nrepeatedly renewing his request with a gentle obstinacy which the count\nremembered at a later date.\n\nOn that evening, Philippe, after applauding the Daae, turned to Raoul\nand saw that he was quite pale.\n\n\"Don't you see,\" said Raoul, \"that the woman's fainting?\"\n\n\"You look like fainting yourself,\" said the count.  \"What's the matter?\"\n\nBut Raoul had recovered himself and was standing up.\n\n\"Let's go and see,\" he said, \"she never sang like that before.\"\n\nThe count gave his brother a curious smiling glance and seemed quite\npleased. They were soon at the door leading from the house to the\nstage.  Numbers of subscribers were slowly making their way through.\nRaoul tore his gloves without knowing what he was doing and Philippe\nhad much too kind a heart to laugh at him for his impatience.  But he\nnow understood why Raoul was absent-minded when spoken to and why he\nalways tried to turn every conversation to the subject of the Opera.\n\nThey reached the stage and pushed through the crowd of gentlemen,\nscene-shifters, supers and chorus-girls, Raoul leading the way, feeling\nthat his heart no longer belonged to him, his face set with passion,\nwhile Count Philippe followed him with difficulty and continued to\nsmile.  At the back of the stage, Raoul had to stop before the inrush\nof the little troop of ballet-girls who blocked the passage which he\nwas trying to enter.  More than one chaffing phrase darted from little\nmade-up lips, to which he did not reply; and at last he was able to\npass, and dived into the semi-darkness of a corridor ringing with the\nname of \"Daae!  Daae!\"  The count was surprised to find that Raoul knew\nthe way.  He had never taken him to Christine's himself and came to the\nconclusion that Raoul must have gone there alone while the count stayed\ntalking in the foyer with Sorelli, who often asked him to wait until it\nwas her time to \"go on\" and sometimes handed him the little gaiters in\nwhich she ran down from her dressing-room to preserve the spotlessness\nof her satin dancing-shoes and her flesh-colored tights.  Sorelli had\nan excuse; she had lost her mother.\n\nPostponing his usual visit to Sorelli for a few minutes, the count\nfollowed his brother down the passage that led to Daae's dressing-room\nand saw that it had never been so crammed as on that evening, when the\nwhole house seemed excited by her success and also by her fainting fit.\nFor the girl had not yet come to; and the doctor of the theater had\njust arrived at the moment when Raoul entered at his heels.  Christine,\ntherefore, received the first aid of the one, while opening her eyes in\nthe arms of the other.  The count and many more remained crowding in\nthe doorway.\n\n\"Don't you think, Doctor, that those gentlemen had better clear the\nroom?\" asked Raoul coolly.  \"There's no breathing here.\"\n\n\"You're quite right,\" said the doctor.\n\nAnd he sent every one away, except Raoul and the maid, who looked at\nRaoul with eyes of the most undisguised astonishment.  She had never\nseen him before and yet dared not question him; and the doctor imagined\nthat the young man was only acting as he did because he had the right\nto.  The viscount, therefore, remained in the room watching Christine\nas she slowly returned to life, while even the joint managers, Debienne\nand Poligny, who had come to offer their sympathy and congratulations,\nfound themselves thrust into the passage among the crowd of dandies.\nThe Comte de Chagny, who was one of those standing outside, laughed:\n\n\"Oh, the rogue, the rogue!\"  And he added, under his breath: \"Those\nyoungsters with their school-girl airs!  So he's a Chagny after all!\"\n\nHe turned to go to Sorelli's dressing-room, but met her on the way,\nwith her little troop of trembling ballet-girls, as we have seen.\n\nMeanwhile, Christine Daae uttered a deep sigh, which was answered by a\ngroan.  She turned her head, saw Raoul and started.  She looked at the\ndoctor, on whom she bestowed a smile, then at her maid, then at Raoul\nagain.\n\n\"Monsieur,\" she said, in a voice not much above a whisper, \"who are\nyou?\"\n\n\"Mademoiselle,\" replied the young man, kneeling on one knee and\npressing a fervent kiss on the diva's hand, \"I AM THE LITTLE BOY WHO\nWENT INTO THE SEA TO RESCUE YOUR SCARF.\"\n\nChristine again looked at the doctor and the maid; and all three began\nto laugh.\n\nRaoul turned very red and stood up.\n\n\"Mademoiselle,\" he said, \"since you are pleased not to recognize me, I\nshould like to say something to you in private, something very\nimportant.\"\n\n\"When I am better, do you mind?\"  And her voice shook.  \"You have been\nvery good.\"\n\n\"Yes, you must go,\" said the doctor, with his pleasantest smile.\n\"Leave me to attend to mademoiselle.\"\n\n\"I am not ill now,\" said Christine suddenly, with strange and\nunexpected energy.\n\nShe rose and passed her hand over her eyelids.\n\n\"Thank you, Doctor.  I should like to be alone.  Please go away, all of\nyou.  Leave me.  I feel very restless this evening.\"\n\nThe doctor tried to make a short protest, but, perceiving the girl's\nevident agitation, he thought the best remedy was not to thwart her.\nAnd he went away, saying to Raoul, outside:\n\n\"She is not herself to-night. She is usually so gentle.\"\n\nThen he said good night and Raoul was left alone.  The whole of this\npart of the theater was now deserted.  The farewell ceremony was no\ndoubt taking place in the foyer of the ballet.  Raoul thought that Daae\nmight go to it and he waited in the silent solitude, even hiding in the\nfavoring shadow of a doorway.  He felt a terrible pain at his heart and\nit was of this that he wanted to speak to Daae without delay.\n\nSuddenly the dressing-room door opened and the maid came out by\nherself, carrying bundles.  He stopped her and asked how her mistress\nwas.  The woman laughed and said that she was quite well, but that he\nmust not disturb her, for she wished to be left alone.  And she passed\non.  One idea alone filled Raoul's burning brain:  of course, Daae\nwished to be left alone FOR HIM!  Had he not told her that he wanted to\nspeak to her privately?\n\nHardly breathing, he went up to the dressing-room and, with his ear to\nthe door to catch her reply, prepared to knock.  But his hand dropped.\nHe had heard A MAN'S VOICE in the dressing-room, saying, in a curiously\nmasterful tone:\n\n\"Christine, you must love me!\"\n\nAnd Christine's voice, infinitely sad and trembling, as though\naccompanied by tears, replied:\n\n\"How can you talk like that?  WHEN I SING ONLY FOR YOU!\"\n\nRaoul leaned against the panel to ease his pain.  His heart, which had\nseemed gone for ever, returned to his breast and was throbbing loudly.\nThe whole passage echoed with its beating and Raoul's ears were\ndeafened.  Surely, if his heart continued to make such a noise, they\nwould hear it inside, they would open the door and the young man would\nbe turned away in disgrace.  What a position for a Chagny!  To be\ncaught listening behind a door!  He took his heart in his two hands to\nmake it stop.\n\nThe man's voice spoke again:  \"Are you very tired?\"\n\n\"Oh, to-night I gave you my soul and I am dead!\"  Christine replied.\n\n\"Your soul is a beautiful thing, child,\" replied the grave man's voice,\n\"and I thank you.  No emperor ever received so fair a gift.  THE ANGELS\nWEPT TONIGHT.\"\n\nRaoul heard nothing after that.  Nevertheless, he did not go away, but,\nas though he feared lest he should be caught, he returned to his dark\ncorner, determined to wait for the man to leave the room.  At one and\nthe same time, he had learned what love meant, and hatred.  He knew\nthat he loved.  He wanted to know whom he hated.  To his great\nastonishment, the door opened and Christine Daae appeared, wrapped in\nfurs, with her face hidden in a lace veil, alone.  She closed the door\nbehind her, but Raoul observed that she did not lock it.  She passed\nhim.  He did not even follow her with his eyes, for his eyes were fixed\non the door, which did not open again.\n\nWhen the passage was once more deserted, he crossed it, opened the door\nof the dressing-room, went in and shut the door.  He found himself in\nabsolute darkness.  The gas had been turned out.\n\n\"There is some one here!\" said Raoul, with his back against the closed\ndoor, in a quivering voice.  \"What are you hiding for?\"\n\nAll was darkness and silence.  Raoul heard only the sound of his own\nbreathing.  He quite failed to see that the indiscretion of his conduct\nwas exceeding all bounds.\n\n\"You shan't leave this until I let you!\" he exclaimed.  \"If you don't\nanswer, you are a coward!  But I'll expose you!\"\n\nAnd he struck a match.  The blaze lit up the room.  There was no one in\nthe room!  Raoul, first turning the key in the door, lit the gas-jets.\nHe went into the dressing-closet, opened the cupboards, hunted about,\nfelt the walls with his moist hands.  Nothing!\n\n\"Look here!\" he said, aloud.  \"Am I going mad?\"\n\nHe stood for ten minutes listening to the gas flaring in the silence of\nthe empty room; lover though he was, he did not even think of stealing\na ribbon that would have given him the perfume of the woman he loved.\nHe went out, not knowing what he was doing nor where he was going.  At\na given moment in his wayward progress, an icy draft struck him in the\nface.  He found himself at the bottom of a staircase, down which,\nbehind him, a procession of workmen were carrying a sort of stretcher,\ncovered with a white sheet.\n\n\"Which is the way out, please?\" he asked of one of the men.\n\n\"Straight in front of you, the door is open.  But let us pass.\"\n\nPointing to the stretcher, he asked mechanically:  \"What's that?\"\n\nThe workmen answered:\n\n\"'That' is Joseph Buquet, who was found in the third cellar, hanging\nbetween a farm-house and a scene from the ROI DE LAHORE.\"\n\nHe took off his hat, fell back to make room for the procession and went\nout.\n\n\n\nChapter III The Mysterious Reason\n\n\nDuring this time, the farewell ceremony was taking place.  I have\nalready said that this magnificent function was being given on the\noccasion of the retirement of M. Debienne and M. Poligny, who had\ndetermined to \"die game,\" as we say nowadays.  They had been assisted\nin the realization of their ideal, though melancholy, program by all\nthat counted in the social and artistic world of Paris.  All these\npeople met, after the performance, in the foyer of the ballet, where\nSorelli waited for the arrival of the retiring managers with a glass of\nchampagne in her hand and a little prepared speech at the tip of her\ntongue.  Behind her, the members of the Corps de Ballet, young and old,\ndiscussed the events of the day in whispers or exchanged discreet\nsignals with their friends, a noisy crowd of whom surrounded the\nsupper-tables arranged along the slanting floor.\n\nA few of the dancers had already changed into ordinary dress; but most\nof them wore their skirts of gossamer gauze; and all had thought it the\nright thing to put on a special face for the occasion:  all, that is,\nexcept little Jammes, whose fifteen summers--happy age!--seemed already\nto have forgotten the ghost and the death of Joseph Buquet.  She never\nceased to laugh and chatter, to hop about and play practical jokes,\nuntil Mm. Debienne and Poligny appeared on the steps of the foyer, when\nshe was severely called to order by the impatient Sorelli.\n\nEverybody remarked that the retiring managers looked cheerful, as is\nthe Paris way.  None will ever be a true Parisian who has not learned\nto wear a mask of gaiety over his sorrows and one of sadness, boredom\nor indifference over his inward joy.  You know that one of your friends\nis in trouble; do not try to console him: he will tell you that he is\nalready comforted; but, should he have met with good fortune, be\ncareful how you congratulate him:  he thinks it so natural that he is\nsurprised that you should speak of it.  In Paris, our lives are one\nmasked ball; and the foyer of the ballet is the last place in which two\nmen so \"knowing\" as M. Debienne and M. Poligny would have made the\nmistake of betraying their grief, however genuine it might be.  And\nthey were already smiling rather too broadly upon Sorelli, who had\nbegun to recite her speech, when an exclamation from that little madcap\nof a Jammes broke the smile of the managers so brutally that the\nexpression of distress and dismay that lay beneath it became apparent\nto all eyes:\n\n\"The Opera ghost!\"\n\nJammes yelled these words in a tone of unspeakable terror; and her\nfinger pointed, among the crowd of dandies, to a face so pallid, so\nlugubrious and so ugly, with two such deep black cavities under the\nstraddling eyebrows, that the death's head in question immediately\nscored a huge success.\n\n\"The Opera ghost!  The Opera ghost!\"  Everybody laughed and pushed his\nneighbor and wanted to offer the Opera ghost a drink, but he was gone.\nHe had slipped through the crowd; and the others vainly hunted for him,\nwhile two old gentlemen tried to calm little Jammes and while little\nGiry stood screaming like a peacock.\n\nSorelli was furious; she had not been able to finish her speech; the\nmanagers, had kissed her, thanked her and run away as fast as the ghost\nhimself.  No one was surprised at this, for it was known that they were\nto go through the same ceremony on the floor above, in the foyer of the\nsingers, and that finally they were themselves to receive their\npersonal friends, for the last time, in the great lobby outside the\nmanagers' office, where a regular supper would be served.\n\nHere they found the new managers, M. Armand Moncharmin and M. Firmin\nRichard, whom they hardly knew; nevertheless, they were lavish in\nprotestations of friendship and received a thousand flattering\ncompliments in reply, so that those of the guests who had feared that\nthey had a rather tedious evening in store for them at once put on\nbrighter faces.  The supper was almost gay and a particularly clever\nspeech of the representative of the government, mingling the glories of\nthe past with the successes of the future, caused the greatest\ncordiality to prevail.\n\nThe retiring managers had already handed over to their successors the\ntwo tiny master-keys which opened all the doors--thousands of doors--of\nthe Opera house.  And those little keys, the object of general\ncuriosity, were being passed from hand to hand, when the attention of\nsome of the guests was diverted by their discovery, at the end of the\ntable, of that strange, wan and fantastic face, with the hollow eyes,\nwhich had already appeared in the foyer of the ballet and been greeted\nby little Jammes' exclamation:\n\n\"The Opera ghost!\"\n\nThere sat the ghost, as natural as could be, except that he neither ate\nnor drank.  Those who began by looking at him with a smile ended by\nturning away their heads, for the sight of him at once provoked the\nmost funereal thoughts.  No one repeated the joke of the foyer, no one\nexclaimed:\n\n\"There's the Opera ghost!\"\n\nHe himself did not speak a word and his very neighbors could not have\nstated at what precise moment he had sat down between them; but every\none felt that if the dead did ever come and sit at the table of the\nliving, they could not cut a more ghastly figure.  The friends of\nFirmin Richard and Armand Moncharmin thought that this lean and skinny\nguest was an acquaintance of Debienne's or Poligny's, while Debienne's\nand Poligny's friends believed that the cadaverous individual belonged\nto Firmin Richard and Armand Moncharmin's party.\n\nThe result was that no request was made for an explanation; no\nunpleasant remark; no joke in bad taste, which might have offended this\nvisitor from the tomb.  A few of those present who knew the story of\nthe ghost and the description of him given by the chief\nscene-shifter--they did not know of Joseph Buquet's death--thought, in\ntheir own minds, that the man at the end of the table might easily have\npassed for him; and yet, according to the story, the ghost had no nose\nand the person in question had.  But M. Moncharmin declares, in his\nMemoirs, that the guest's nose was transparent:  \"long, thin and\ntransparent\" are his exact words.  I, for my part, will add that this\nmight very well apply to a false nose.  M. Moncharmin may have taken\nfor transparency what was only shininess.  Everybody knows that\northopaedic science provides beautiful false noses for those who have\nlost their noses naturally or as the result of an operation.\n\nDid the ghost really take a seat at the managers' supper-table that\nnight, uninvited?  And can we be sure that the figure was that of the\nOpera ghost himself?  Who would venture to assert as much?  I mention\nthe incident, not because I wish for a second to make the reader\nbelieve--or even to try to make him believe--that the ghost was capable\nof such a sublime piece of impudence; but because, after all, the thing\nis impossible.\n\nM. Armand Moncharmin, in chapter eleven of his Memoirs, says:\n\n\"When I think of this first evening, I can not separate the secret\nconfided to us by MM. Debienne and Poligny in their office from the\npresence at our supper of that GHOSTLY person whom none of us knew.\"\n\nWhat happened was this:  Mm. Debienne and Poligny, sitting at the\ncenter of the table, had not seen the man with the death's head.\nSuddenly he began to speak.\n\n\"The ballet-girls are right,\" he said.  \"The death of that poor Buquet\nis perhaps not so natural as people think.\"\n\nDebienne and Poligny gave a start.\n\n\"Is Buquet dead?\" they cried.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the man, or the shadow of a man, quietly.  \"He was\nfound, this evening, hanging in the third cellar, between a farm-house\nand a scene from the Roi de Lahore.\"\n\nThe two managers, or rather ex-managers, at once rose and stared\nstrangely at the speaker.  They were more excited than they need have\nbeen, that is to say, more excited than any one need be by the\nannouncement of the suicide of a chief scene-shifter. They looked at\neach other.  They, had both turned whiter than the table-cloth.  At\nlast, Debienne made a sign to Mm. Richard and Moncharmin; Poligny\nmuttered a few words of excuse to the guests; and all four went into\nthe managers' office.  I leave M. Moncharmin to complete the story.  In\nhis Memoirs, he says:\n\n\"Mm. Debienne and Poligny seemed to grow more and more excited, and\nthey appeared to have something very difficult to tell us.  First, they\nasked us if we knew the man, sitting at the end of the table, who had\ntold them of the death of Joseph Buquet; and, when we answered in the\nnegative, they looked still more concerned.  They took the master-keys\nfrom our hands, stared at them for a moment and advised us to have new\nlocks made, with the greatest secrecy, for the rooms, closets and\npresses that we might wish to have hermetically closed.  They said this\nso funnily that we began to laugh and to ask if there were thieves at\nthe Opera.  They replied that there was something worse, which was the\nGHOST.  We began to laugh again, feeling sure that they were indulging\nin some joke that was intended to crown our little entertainment.\nThen, at their request, we became 'serious,' resolving to humor them\nand to enter into the spirit of the game.  They told us that they never\nwould have spoken to us of the ghost, if they had not received formal\norders from the ghost himself to ask us to be pleasant to him and to\ngrant any request that he might make.  However, in their relief at\nleaving a domain where that tyrannical shade held sway, they had\nhesitated until the last moment to tell us this curious story, which\nour skeptical minds were certainly not prepared to entertain.  But the\nannouncement of the death of Joseph Buquet had served them as a brutal\nreminder that, whenever they had disregarded the ghost's wishes, some\nfantastic or disastrous event had brought them to a sense of their\ndependence.\n\n\"During these unexpected utterances made in a tone of the most secret\nand important confidence, I looked at Richard.  Richard, in his student\ndays, had acquired a great reputation for practical joking, and he\nseemed to relish the dish which was being served up to him in his turn.\nHe did not miss a morsel of it, though the seasoning was a little\ngruesome because of the death of Buquet.  He nodded his head sadly,\nwhile the others spoke, and his features assumed the air of a man who\nbitterly regretted having taken over the Opera, now that he knew that\nthere was a ghost mixed up in the business.  I could think of nothing\nbetter than to give him a servile imitation of this attitude of\ndespair.  However, in spite of all our efforts, we could not, at the\nfinish, help bursting out laughing in the faces of MM. Debienne and\nPoligny, who, seeing us pass straight from the gloomiest state of mind\nto one of the most insolent merriment, acted as though they thought\nthat we had gone mad.\n\n\"The joke became a little tedious; and Richard asked half-seriously and\nhalf in jest:\n\n\"'But, after all, what does this ghost of yours want?'\n\n\"M. Poligny went to his desk and returned with a copy of the\nmemorandum-book. The memorandum-book begins with the well-known words\nsaying that 'the management of the Opera shall give to the performance\nof the National Academy of Music the splendor that becomes the first\nlyric stage in France' and ends with Clause 98, which says that the\nprivilege can be withdrawn if the manager infringes the conditions\nstipulated in the memorandum-book.  This is followed by the conditions,\nwhich are four in number.\n\n\"The copy produced by M. Poligny was written in black ink and exactly\nsimilar to that in our possession, except that, at the end, it\ncontained a paragraph in red ink and in a queer, labored handwriting,\nas though it had been produced by dipping the heads of matches into the\nink, the writing of a child that has never got beyond the down-strokes\nand has not learned to join its letters.  This paragraph ran, word for\nword, as follows:\n\n\"'5. Or if the manager, in any month, delay for more than a fortnight\nthe payment of the allowance which he shall make to the Opera ghost, an\nallowance of twenty thousand francs a month, say two hundred and forty\nthousand francs a year.'\n\n\"M. Poligny pointed with a hesitating finger to this last clause, which\nwe certainly did not expect.\n\n\"'Is this all?  Does he not want anything else?' asked Richard, with\nthe greatest coolness.\n\n\"'Yes, he does,' replied Poligny.\n\n\"And he turned over the pages of the memorandum-book until he came to\nthe clause specifying the days on which certain private boxes were to\nbe reserved for the free use of the president of the republic, the\nministers and so on.  At the end of this clause, a line had been added,\nalso in red ink:\n\n\"'Box Five on the grand tier shall be placed at the disposal of the\nOpera ghost for every performance.'\n\n\"When we saw this, there was nothing else for us to do but to rise from\nour chairs, shake our two predecessors warmly by the hand and\ncongratulate them on thinking of this charming little joke, which\nproved that the old French sense of humor was never likely to become\nextinct.  Richard added that he now understood why MM.  Debienne and\nPoligny were retiring from the management of the National Academy of\nMusic.  Business was impossible with so unreasonable a ghost.\n\n\"'Certainly, two hundred and forty thousand francs are not be picked up\nfor the asking,' said M. Poligny, without moving a muscle of his face.\n'And have you considered what the loss over Box Five meant to us?  We\ndid not sell it once; and not only that, but we had to return the\nsubscription:  why, it's awful!  We really can't work to keep ghosts!\nWe prefer to go away!'\n\n\"'Yes,' echoed M. Debienne, 'we prefer to go away.  Let us go.'\"\n\n\"And he stood up.  Richard said:  'But, after all all, it seems to me\nthat you were much too kind to the ghost.  If I had such a troublesome\nghost as that, I should not hesitate to have him arrested.'\n\n\"'But how?  Where?' they cried, in chorus.  'We have never seen him!'\n\n\"'But when he comes to his box?'\n\n\"'WE HAVE NEVER SEEN HIM IN HIS BOX.'\n\n\"'Then sell it.'\n\n\"'Sell the Opera ghost's box!  Well, gentlemen, try it.'\n\n\"Thereupon we all four left the office.  Richard and I had 'never\nlaughed so much in our lives.'\"\n\n\n\nChapter IV  Box Five\n\n\nArmand Moncharmin wrote such voluminous Memoirs during the fairly long\nperiod of his co-management that we may well ask if he ever found time\nto attend to the affairs of the Opera otherwise than by telling what\nwent on there.  M. Moncharmin did not know a note of music, but he\ncalled the minister of education and fine arts by his Christian name,\nhad dabbled a little in society journalism and enjoyed a considerable\nprivate income.  Lastly, he was a charming fellow and showed that he\nwas not lacking in intelligence, for, as soon as he made up his mind to\nbe a sleeping partner in the Opera, he selected the best possible\nactive manager and went straight to Firmin Richard.\n\nFirmin Richard was a very distinguished composer, who had published a\nnumber of successful pieces of all kinds and who liked nearly every\nform of music and every sort of musician.  Clearly, therefore, it was\nthe duty of every sort of musician to like M. Firmin Richard.  The only\nthings to be said against him were that he was rather masterful in his\nways and endowed with a very hasty temper.\n\nThe first few days which the partners spent at the Opera were given\nover to the delight of finding themselves the head of so magnificent an\nenterprise; and they had forgotten all about that curious, fantastic\nstory of the ghost, when an incident occurred that proved to them that\nthe joke--if joke it were--was not over.  M. Firmin Richard reached his\noffice that morning at eleven o'clock. His secretary, M. Remy, showed\nhim half a dozen letters which he had not opened because they were\nmarked \"private.\" One of the letters had at once attracted Richard's\nattention not only because the envelope was addressed in red ink, but\nbecause he seemed to have seen the writing before.  He soon remembered\nthat it was the red handwriting in which the memorandum-book had been\nso curiously completed.  He recognized the clumsy childish hand.  He\nopened the letter and read:\n\nDEAR MR.  MANAGER:\n\nI am sorry to have to trouble you at a time when you must be so very\nbusy, renewing important engagements, signing fresh ones and generally\ndisplaying your excellent taste.  I know what you have done for\nCarlotta, Sorelli and little Jammes and for a few others whose\nadmirable qualities of talent or genius you have suspected.\n\nOf course, when I use these words, I do not mean to apply them to La\nCarlotta, who sings like a squirt and who ought never to have been\nallowed to leave the Ambassadeurs and the Cafe Jacquin; nor to La\nSorelli, who owes her success mainly to the coach-builders; nor to\nlittle Jammes, who dances like a calf in a field.  And I am not\nspeaking of Christine Daae either, though her genius is certain,\nwhereas your jealousy prevents her from creating any important part.\nWhen all is said, you are free to conduct your little business as you\nthink best, are you not?\n\nAll the same, I should like to take advantage of the fact that you have\nnot yet turned Christine Daae out of doors by hearing her this evening\nin the part of Siebel, as that of Margarita has been forbidden her\nsince her triumph of the other evening; and I will ask you not to\ndispose of my box to-day nor on the FOLLOWING DAYS, for I can not end\nthis letter without telling you how disagreeably surprised I have been\nonce or twice, to hear, on arriving at the Opera, that my box had been\nsold, at the box-office, by your orders.\n\nI did not protest, first, because I dislike scandal, and, second,\nbecause I thought that your predecessors, MM. Debienne and Poligny, who\nwere always charming to me, had neglected, before leaving, to mention\nmy little fads to you.  I have now received a reply from those\ngentlemen to my letter asking for an explanation, and this reply proves\nthat you know all about my Memorandum-Book and, consequently, that you\nare treating me with outrageous contempt.  IF YOU WISH TO LIVE IN\nPEACE, YOU MUST NOT BEGIN BY TAKING AWAY MY PRIVATE BOX.\n\nBelieve me to be, dear Mr. Manager, without prejudice to these little\nobservations,\n\n        Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,\n                                OPERA GHOST.\n\nThe letter was accompanied by a cutting from the agony-column of the\nRevue Theatrale, which ran:\n\nO. G.--There is no excuse for R. and M.  We told them and left your\nmemorandum-book in their hands.  Kind regards.\n\nM. Firmin Richard had hardly finished reading this letter when M.\nArmand Moncharmin entered, carrying one exactly similar.  They looked\nat each other and burst out laughing.\n\n\"They are keeping up the joke,\" said M. Richard, \"but I don't call it\nfunny.\"\n\n\"What does it all mean?\" asked M. Moncharmin.  \"Do they imagine that,\nbecause they have been managers of the Opera, we are going to let them\nhave a box for an indefinite period?\"\n\n\"I am not in the mood to let myself be laughed at long,\" said Firmin\nRichard.\n\n\"It's harmless enough,\" observed Armand Moncharmin.  \"What is it they\nreally want?  A box for to-night?\"\n\nM. Firmin Richard told his secretary to send Box Five on the grand tier\nto Mm. Debienne and Poligny, if it was not sold.  It was not.  It was\nsent off to them.  Debienne lived at the corner of the Rue Scribe and\nthe Boulevard des Capucines; Poligny, in the Rue Auber.  O. Ghost's two\nletters had been posted at the Boulevard des Capucines post-office, as\nMoncharmin remarked after examining the envelopes.\n\n\"You see!\" said Richard.\n\nThey shrugged their shoulders and regretted that two men of that age\nshould amuse themselves with such childish tricks.\n\n\"They might have been civil, for all that!\" said Moncharmin.  \"Did you\nnotice how they treat us with regard to Carlotta, Sorelli and Little\nJammes?\"\n\n\"Why, my dear fellow, these two are mad with jealousy!  To think that\nthey went to the expense of, an advertisement in the Revue Theatrale!\nHave they nothing better to do?\"\n\n\"By the way,\" said Moncharmin, \"they seem to be greatly interested in\nthat little Christine Daae!\"\n\n\"You know as well as I do that she has the reputation of being quite\ngood,\" said Richard.\n\n\"Reputations are easily obtained,\" replied Moncharmin.  \"Haven't I a\nreputation for knowing all about music?  And I don't know one key from\nanother.\"\n\n\"Don't be afraid:  you never had that reputation,\" Richard declared.\n\nThereupon he ordered the artists to be shown in, who, for the last two\nhours, had been walking up and down outside the door behind which fame\nand fortune--or dismissal--awaited them.\n\nThe whole day was spent in discussing, negotiating, signing or\ncancelling contracts; and the two overworked managers went to bed\nearly, without so much as casting a glance at Box Five to see whether\nM. Debienne and M. Poligny were enjoying the performance.\n\nNext morning, the managers received a card of thanks from the ghost:\n\nDEAR, MR.  MANAGER:\n\nThanks.  Charming evening.  Daae exquisite.  Choruses want waking up.\nCarlotta a splendid commonplace instrument.  Will write you soon for\nthe 240,000 francs, or 233,424 fr. 70 c., to be correct.  Mm. Debienne\nand Poligny have sent me the 6,575 fr. 30 c. representing the first ten\ndays of my allowance for the current year; their privileges finished on\nthe evening of the tenth inst.\n\nKind regards.  O. G.\n\nOn the other hand, there was a letter from Mm. Debienne and Poligny:\n\nGENTLEMEN:\n\nWe are much obliged for your kind thought of us, but you will easily\nunderstand that the prospect of again hearing Faust, pleasant though it\nis to ex-managers of the Opera, can not make us forget that we have no\nright to occupy Box Five on the grand tier, which is the exclusive\nproperty of HIM of whom we spoke to you when we went through the\nmemorandum-book with you for the last time.  See Clause 98, final\nparagraph.\n\nAccept, gentlemen, etc.\n\n\"Oh, those fellows are beginning to annoy me!\" shouted Firmin Richard,\nsnatching up the letter.\n\nAnd that evening Box Five was sold.\n\nThe next morning, Mm. Richard and Moncharmin, on reaching their office,\nfound an inspector's report relating to an incident that had happened,\nthe night before, in Box Five.  I give the essential part of the report:\n\nI was obliged to call in a municipal guard twice, this evening, to\nclear Box Five on the grand tier, once at the beginning and once in the\nmiddle of the second act.  The occupants, who arrived as the curtain\nrose on the second act, created a regular scandal by their laughter and\ntheir ridiculous observations.  There were cries of \"Hush!\" all around\nthem and the whole house was beginning to protest, when the box-keeper\ncame to fetch me.  I entered the box and said what I thought necessary.\nThe people did not seem to me to be in their right mind; and they made\nstupid remarks.  I said that, if the noise was repeated, I should be\ncompelled to clear the box.  The moment I left, I heard the laughing\nagain, with fresh protests from the house.  I returned with a municipal\nguard, who turned them out.  They protested, still laughing, saying\nthey would not go unless they had their money back.  At last, they\nbecame quiet and I allowed them to enter the box again.  The laughter\nat once recommenced; and, this time, I had them turned out definitely.\n\n\"Send for the inspector,\" said Richard to his secretary, who had\nalready read the report and marked it with blue pencil.\n\nM. Remy, the secretary, had foreseen the order and called the inspector\nat once.\n\n\"Tell us what happened,\" said Richard bluntly.\n\nThe inspector began to splutter and referred to the report.\n\n\"Well, but what were those people laughing at?\" asked Moncharmin.\n\n\"They must have been dining, sir, and seemed more inclined to lark\nabout than to listen to good music.  The moment they entered the box,\nthey came out again and called the box-keeper, who asked them what they\nwanted.  They said, 'Look in the box:  there's no one there, is there?'\n'No,' said the woman.  'Well,' said they, 'when we went in, we heard a\nvoice saying THAT THE BOX WAS TAKEN!'\"\n\nM. Moncharmin could not help smiling as he looked at M. Richard; but M.\nRichard did not smile.  He himself had done too much in that way in his\ntime not to recognize, in the inspector's story, all the marks of one\nof those practical jokes which begin by amusing and end by enraging the\nvictims.  The inspector, to curry favor with M. Moncharmin, who was\nsmiling, thought it best to give a smile too.  A most unfortunate\nsmile!  M. Richard glared at his subordinate, who thenceforth made it\nhis business to display a face of utter consternation.\n\n\"However, when the people arrived,\" roared Richard, \"there was no one\nin the box, was there?\"\n\n\"Not a soul, sir, not a soul!  Nor in the box on the right, nor in the\nbox on the left: not a soul, sir, I swear!  The box-keeper told it me\noften enough, which proves that it was all a joke.\"\n\n\"Oh, you agree, do you?\" said Richard.  \"You agree!  It's a joke!  And\nyou think it funny, no doubt?\"\n\n\"I think it in very bad taste, sir.\"\n\n\"And what did the box-keeper say?\"\n\n\"Oh, she just said that it was the Opera ghost.  That's all she said!\"\n\nAnd the inspector grinned.  But he soon found that he had made a\nmistake in grinning, for the words had no sooner left his mouth than M.\nRichard, from gloomy, became furious.\n\n\"Send for the box-keeper!\" he shouted.  \"Send for her!  This minute!\nThis minute!  And bring her in to me here!  And turn all those people\nout!\"\n\nThe inspector tried to protest, but Richard closed his mouth with an\nangry order to hold his tongue.  Then, when the wretched man's lips\nseemed shut for ever, the manager commanded him to open them once more.\n\n\"Who is this 'Opera ghost?'\" he snarled.\n\nBut the inspector was by this time incapable of speaking a word.  He\nmanaged to convey, by a despairing gesture, that he knew nothing about\nit, or rather that he did not wish to know.\n\n\"Have you ever seen him, have you seen the Opera ghost?\"\n\nThe inspector, by means of a vigorous shake of the head, denied ever\nhaving seen the ghost in question.\n\n\"Very well!\" said M. Richard coldly.\n\nThe inspector's eyes started out of his head, as though to ask why the\nmanager had uttered that ominous \"Very well!\"\n\n\"Because I'm going to settle the account of any one who has not seen\nhim!\" explained the manager.  \"As he seems to be everywhere, I can't\nhave people telling me that they see him nowhere.  I like people to\nwork for me when I employ them!\"\n\nHaving said this, M. Richard paid no attention to the inspector and\ndiscussed various matters of business with his acting-manager, who had\nentered the room meanwhile.  The inspector thought he could go and was\ngently--oh, so gently!--sidling toward the door, when M. Richard nailed\nthe man to the floor with a thundering:\n\n\"Stay where you are!\"\n\nM. Remy had sent for the box-keeper to the Rue de Provence, close to\nthe Opera, where she was engaged as a porteress.  She soon made her\nappearance.\n\n\"What's your name?\"\n\n\"Mme. Giry.  You know me well enough, sir; I'm the mother of little\nGiry, little Meg, what!\"\n\nThis was said in so rough and solemn a tone that, for a moment, M.\nRichard was impressed.  He looked at Mme. Giry, in her faded shawl, her\nworn shoes, her old taffeta dress and dingy bonnet.  It was quite\nevident from the manager's attitude, that he either did not know or\ncould not remember having met Mme. Giry, nor even little Giry, nor even\n\"little Meg!\"  But Mme. Giry's pride was so great that the celebrated\nbox-keeper imagined that everybody knew her.\n\n\"Never heard of her!\" the manager declared.  \"But that's no reason,\nMme. Giry, why I shouldn't ask you what happened last night to make you\nand the inspector call in a municipal guard.\"\n\n\"I was just wanting to see you, sir, and talk to you about it, so that\nyou mightn't have the same unpleasantness as M. Debienne and M.\nPoligny.  They wouldn't listen to me either, at first.\"\n\n\"I'm not asking you about all that.  I'm asking what happened last\nnight.\"\n\nMme. Giry turned purple with indignation.  Never had she been spoken to\nlike that.  She rose as though to go, gathering up the folds of her\nskirt and waving the feathers of her dingy bonnet with dignity, but,\nchanging her mind, she sat down again and said, in a haughty voice:\n\n\"I'll tell you what happened.  The ghost was annoyed again!\"\n\nThereupon, as M. Richard was on the point of bursting out, M.\nMoncharmin interfered and conducted the interrogatory, whence it\nappeared that Mme. Giry thought it quite natural that a voice should be\nheard to say that a box was taken, when there was nobody in the box.\nShe was unable to explain this phenomenon, which was not new to her,\nexcept by the intervention of the ghost.  Nobody could see the ghost in\nhis box, but everybody could hear him.  She had often heard him; and\nthey could believe her, for she always spoke the truth.  They could ask\nM. Debienne and M. Poligny, and anybody who knew her; and also M.\nIsidore Saack, who had had a leg broken by the ghost!\n\n\"Indeed!\" said Moncharmin, interrupting her.  \"Did the ghost break poor\nIsidore Saack's leg?\"\n\nMme. Giry opened her eyes with astonishment at such ignorance.\nHowever, she consented to enlighten those two poor innocents.  The\nthing had happened in M. Debienne and M. Poligny's time, also in Box\nFive and also during a performance of FAUST.  Mme. Giry coughed,\ncleared her throat--it sounded as though she were preparing to sing the\nwhole of Gounod's score--and began:\n\n\"It was like this, sir.  That night, M. Maniera and his lady, the\njewelers in the Rue Mogador, were sitting in the front of the box, with\ntheir great friend, M. Isidore Saack, sitting behind Mme. Maniera.\nMephistopheles was singing\"--Mme. Giry here burst into song\nherself--\"'Catarina, while you play at sleeping,' and then M. Maniera\nheard a voice in his right ear (his wife was on his left) saying, 'Ha,\nha!  Julie's not playing at sleeping!'  His wife happened to be called\nJulie.  So.  M. Maniera turns to the right to see who was talking to\nhim like that.  Nobody there!  He rubs his ear and asks himself, if\nhe's dreaming.  Then Mephistopheles went on with his serenade...  But,\nperhaps I'm boring you gentlemen?\"\n\n\"No, no, go on.\"\n\n\"You are too good, gentlemen,\" with a smirk.  \"Well, then,\nMephistopheles went on with his serenade\"--Mme. Giry, burst into song\nagain--\"'Saint, unclose thy portals holy and accord the bliss, to a\nmortal bending lowly, of a pardon-kiss.' And then M. Maniera again\nhears the voice in his right ear, saying, this time, 'Ha, ha!  Julie\nwouldn't mind according a kiss to Isidore!'  Then he turns round again,\nbut, this time, to the left; and what do you think he sees?  Isidore,\nwho had taken his lady's hand and was covering it with kisses through\nthe little round place in the glove--like this, gentlemen\"--rapturously\nkissing the bit of palm left bare in the middle of her thread gloves.\n\"Then they had a lively time between them!  Bang!  Bang!  M. Maniera,\nwho was big and strong, like you, M. Richard, gave two blows to M.\nIsidore Saack, who was small and weak like M. Moncharmin, saving his\npresence.  There was a great uproar.  People in the house shouted,\n'That will do!  Stop them!  He'll kill him!'  Then, at last, M. Isidore\nSaack managed to run away.\"\n\n\"Then the ghost had not broken his leg?\" asked M. Moncharmin, a little\nvexed that his figure had made so little impression on Mme. Giry.\n\n\"He did break it for him, sir,\" replied Mme. Giry haughtily.  \"He broke\nit for him on the grand staircase, which he ran down too fast, sir, and\nit will be long before the poor gentleman will be able to go up it\nagain!\"\n\n\"Did the ghost tell you what he said in M. Maniera's right ear?\" asked\nM. Moncharmin, with a gravity which he thought exceedingly humorous.\n\n\"No, sir, it was M. Maniera himself.  So----\"\n\n\"But you have spoken to the ghost, my good lady?\"\n\n\"As I'm speaking to you now, my good sir!\"  Mme. Giry replied.\n\n\"And, when the ghost speaks to you, what does he say?\"\n\n\"Well, he tells me to bring him a footstool!\"\n\nThis time, Richard burst out laughing, as did Moncharmin and Remy, the\nsecretary.  Only the inspector, warned by experience, was careful not\nto laugh, while Mme. Giry ventured to adopt an attitude that was\npositively threatening.\n\n\"Instead of laughing,\" she cried indignantly, \"you'd do better to do as\nM. Poligny did, who found out for himself.\"\n\n\"Found out about what?\" asked Moncharmin, who had never been so much\namused in his life.\n\n\"About the ghost, of course! ... Look here ...\"\n\nShe suddenly calmed herself, feeling that this was a solemn moment in\nher life:\n\n\"LOOK HERE,\" she repeated.  \"They were playing La Juive.  M. Poligny\nthought he would watch the performance from the ghost's box... Well,\nwhen Leopold cries, 'Let us fly!'--you know--and Eleazer stops them and\nsays, 'Whither go ye?' ... well, M. Poligny--I was watching him from\nthe back of the next box, which was empty--M. Poligny got up and walked\nout quite stiffly, like a statue, and before I had time to ask him,\n'Whither go ye?' like Eleazer, he was down the staircase, but without\nbreaking his leg.\n\n\"Still, that doesn't let us know how the Opera ghost came to ask you\nfor a footstool,\" insisted M. Moncharmin.\n\n\"Well, from that evening, no one tried to take the ghost's private box\nfrom him.  The manager gave orders that he was to have it at each\nperformance.  And, whenever he came, he asked me for a footstool.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut!  A ghost asking for a footstool!  Then this ghost of yours\nis a woman?\"\n\n\"No, the ghost is a man.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"He has a man's voice, oh, such a lovely man's voice!  This is what\nhappens:  When he comes to the opera, it's usually in the middle of the\nfirst act.  He gives three little taps on the door of Box Five.  The\nfirst time I heard those three taps, when I knew there was no one in\nthe box, you can think how puzzled I was!  I opened the door, listened,\nlooked; nobody!  And then I heard a voice say, 'Mme. Jules' my poor\nhusband's name was Jules--'a footstool, please.' Saving your presence,\ngentlemen, it made me feel all-overish like.  But the voice went on,\n'Don't be frightened, Mme. Jules, I'm the Opera ghost!'  And the voice\nwas so soft and kind that I hardly felt frightened.  THE VOICE WAS\nSITTING IN THE CORNER CHAIR, ON THE RIGHT, IN THE FRONT ROW.\"\n\n\"Was there any one in the box on the right of Box Five?\" asked\nMoncharmin.\n\n\"No; Box Seven, and Box Three, the one on the left, were both empty.\nThe curtain had only just gone up.\"\n\n\"And what did you do?\"\n\n\"Well, I brought the footstool.  Of course, it wasn't for himself he\nwanted it, but for his lady!  But I never heard her nor saw her.\"\n\n\"Eh?  What?  So now the ghost is married!\"  The eyes of the two\nmanagers traveled from Mme. Giry to the inspector, who, standing behind\nthe box-keeper, was waving his arms to attract their attention.  He\ntapped his forehead with a distressful forefinger, to convey his\nopinion that the widow Jules Giry was most certainly mad, a piece of\npantomime which confirmed M. Richard in his determination to get rid of\nan inspector who kept a lunatic in his service.  Meanwhile, the worthy\nlady went on about her ghost, now painting his generosity:\n\n\"At the end of the performance, he always gives me two francs,\nsometimes five, sometimes even ten, when he has been many days without\ncoming.  Only, since people have begun to annoy him again, he gives me\nnothing at all.\n\n\"Excuse me, my good woman,\" said Moncharmin, while Mme. Giry tossed the\nfeathers in her dingy hat at this persistent familiarity, \"excuse me,\nhow does the ghost manage to give you your two francs?\"\n\n\"Why, he leaves them on the little shelf in the box, of course.  I find\nthem with the program, which I always give him.  Some evenings, I find\nflowers in the box, a rose that must have dropped from his lady's\nbodice ... for he brings a lady with him sometimes; one day, they left\na fan behind them.\"\n\n\"Oh, the ghost left a fan, did he?  And what did you do with it?\"\n\n\"Well, I brought it back to the box next night.\"\n\nHere the inspector's voice was raised.\n\n\"You've broken the rules; I shall have to fine you, Mme. Giry.\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue, you fool!\" muttered M. Firmin Richard.\n\n\"You brought back the fan.  And then?\"\n\n\"Well, then, they took it away with them, sir; it was not there at the\nend of the performance; and in its place they left me a box of English\nsweets, which I'm very fond of.  That's one of the ghost's pretty\nthoughts.\"\n\n\"That will do, Mme. Giry.  You can go.\"\n\nWhen Mme. Giry had bowed herself out, with the dignity that never\ndeserted her, the manager told the inspector that they had decided to\ndispense with that old madwoman's services; and, when he had gone in\nhis turn, they instructed the acting-manager to make up the inspector's\naccounts.  Left alone, the managers told each other of the idea which\nthey both had in mind, which was that they should look into that little\nmatter of Box Five themselves.\n\n\n\nChapter V The Enchanted Violin\n\n\nChristine Daae, owing to intrigues to which I will return later, did\nnot immediately continue her triumph at the Opera.  After the famous\ngala night, she sang once at the Duchess de Zurich's; but this was the\nlast occasion on which she was heard in private.  She refused, without\nplausible excuse, to appear at a charity concert to which she had\npromised her assistance.  She acted throughout as though she were no\nlonger the mistress of her own destiny and as though she feared a fresh\ntriumph.\n\nShe knew that the Comte de Chagny, to please his brother, had done his\nbest on her behalf with M. Richard; and she wrote to thank him and also\nto ask him to cease speaking in her favor.  Her reason for this curious\nattitude was never known.  Some pretended that it was due to\noverweening pride; others spoke of her heavenly modesty.  But people on\nthe stage are not so modest as all that; and I think that I shall not\nbe far from the truth if I ascribe her action simply to fear.  Yes, I\nbelieve that Christine Daae was frightened by what had happened to her.\nI have a letter of Christine's (it forms part of the Persian's\ncollection), relating to this period, which suggests a feeling of\nabsolute dismay:\n\n\"I don't know myself when I sing,\" writes the poor child.\n\nShe showed herself nowhere; and the Vicomte de Chagny tried in vain to\nmeet her.  He wrote to her, asking to call upon her, but despaired of\nreceiving a reply when, one morning, she sent him the following note:\n\nMONSIEUR:\n\nI have not forgotten the little boy who went into the sea to rescue my\nscarf.  I feel that I must write to you to-day, when I am going to\nPerros, in fulfilment of a sacred duty.  To-morrow is the anniversary\nof the death of my poor father, whom you knew and who was very fond of\nyou.  He is buried there, with his violin, in the graveyard of the\nlittle church, at the bottom of the slope where we used to play as\nchildren, beside the road where, when we were a little bigger, we said\ngood-by for the last time.\n\nThe Vicomte de Chagny hurriedly consulted a railway guide, dressed as\nquickly as he could, wrote a few lines for his valet to take to his\nbrother and jumped into a cab which brought him to the Gare\nMontparnasse just in time to miss the morning train.  He spent a dismal\nday in town and did not recover his spirits until the evening, when he\nwas seated in his compartment in the Brittany express.  He read\nChristine's note over and over again, smelling its perfume, recalling\nthe sweet pictures of his childhood, and spent the rest of that tedious\nnight journey in feverish dreams that began and ended with Christine\nDaae.  Day was breaking when he alighted at Lannion.  He hurried to the\ndiligence for Perros-Guirec.  He was the only passenger.  He questioned\nthe driver and learned that, on the evening of the previous day, a\nyoung lady who looked like a Parisian had gone to Perros and put up at\nthe inn known as the Setting Sun.\n\nThe nearer he drew to her, the more fondly he remembered the story of\nthe little Swedish singer.  Most of the details are still unknown to\nthe public.\n\nThere was once, in a little market-town not far from Upsala, a peasant\nwho lived there with his family, digging the earth during the week and\nsinging in the choir on Sundays.  This peasant had a little daughter to\nwhom he taught the musical alphabet before she knew how to read.\nDaae's father was a great musician, perhaps without knowing it.  Not a\nfiddler throughout the length and breadth of Scandinavia played as he\ndid.  His reputation was widespread and he was always invited to set\nthe couples dancing at weddings and other festivals.  His wife died\nwhen Christine was entering upon her sixth year.  Then the father, who\ncared only for his daughter and his music, sold his patch of ground and\nwent to Upsala in search of fame and fortune.  He found nothing but\npoverty.\n\nHe returned to the country, wandering from fair to fair, strumming his\nScandinavian melodies, while his child, who never left his side,\nlistened to him in ecstasy or sang to his playing.  One day, at Ljimby\nFair, Professor Valerius heard them and took them to Gothenburg.  He\nmaintained that the father was the first violinist in the world and\nthat the daughter had the making of a great artist.  Her education and\ninstruction were provided for.  She made rapid progress and charmed\neverybody with her prettiness, her grace of manner and her genuine\neagerness to please.\n\nWhen Valerius and his wife went to settle in France, they took Daae and\nChristine with them.  \"Mamma\" Valerius treated Christine as her\ndaughter.  As for Daae, he began to pine away with homesickness.  He\nnever went out of doors in Paris, but lived in a sort of dream which he\nkept up with his violin.  For hours at a time, he remained locked up in\nhis bedroom with his daughter, fiddling and singing, very, very softly.\nSometimes Mamma Valerius would come and listen behind the door, wipe\naway a tear and go down-stairs again on tiptoe, sighing for her\nScandinavian skies.\n\nDaae seemed not to recover his strength until the summer, when the\nwhole family went to stay at Perros-Guirec, in a far-away corner of\nBrittany, where the sea was of the same color as in his own country.\nOften he would play his saddest tunes on the beach and pretend that the\nsea stopped its roaring to listen to them.  And then he induced Mamma\nValerius to indulge a queer whim of his.  At the time of the \"pardons,\"\nor Breton pilgrimages, the village festival and dances, he went off\nwith his fiddle, as in the old days, and was allowed to take his\ndaughter with him for a week.  They gave the smallest hamlets music to\nlast them for a year and slept at night in a barn, refusing a bed at\nthe inn, lying close together on the straw, as when they were so poor\nin Sweden.  At the same time, they were very neatly dressed, made no\ncollection, refused the halfpence offered them; and the people around\ncould not understand the conduct of this rustic fiddler, who tramped\nthe roads with that pretty child who sang like an angel from Heaven.\nThey followed them from village to village.\n\nOne day, a little boy, who was out with his governess, made her take a\nlonger walk than he intended, for he could not tear himself from the\nlittle girl whose pure, sweet voice seemed to bind him to her.  They\ncame to the shore of an inlet which is still called Trestraou, but\nwhich now, I believe, harbors a casino or something of the sort.  At\nthat time, there was nothing but sky and sea and a stretch of golden\nbeach.  Only, there was also a high wind, which blew Christine's scarf\nout to sea.  Christine gave a cry and put out her arms, but the scarf\nwas already far on the waves.  Then she heard a voice say:\n\n\"It's all right, I'll go and fetch your scarf out of the sea.\"\n\nAnd she saw a little boy running fast, in spite of the outcries and the\nindignant protests of a worthy lady in black.  The little boy ran into\nthe sea, dressed as he was, and brought her back her scarf.  Boy and\nscarf were both soaked through.  The lady in black made a great fuss,\nbut Christine laughed merrily and kissed the little boy, who was none\nother than the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, staying at Lannion with his\naunt.\n\nDuring the season, they saw each other and played together almost every\nday.  At the aunt's request, seconded by Professor Valerius, Daae\nconsented to give the young viscount some violin lessons.  In this way,\nRaoul learned to love the same airs that had charmed Christine's\nchildhood.  They also both had the same calm and dreamy little cast of\nmind.  They delighted in stories, in old Breton legends; and their\nfavorite sport was to go and ask for them at the cottage-doors, like\nbeggars:\n\n\"Ma'am ...\" or, \"Kind gentleman ... have you a little story to tell us,\nplease?\"\n\nAnd it seldom happened that they did not have one \"given\" them; for\nnearly every old Breton grandame has, at least once in her life, seen\nthe \"korrigans\" dance by moonlight on the heather.\n\nBut their great treat was, in the twilight, in the great silence of the\nevening, after the sun had set in the sea, when Daae came and sat down\nby them on the roadside and, in a low voice, as though fearing lest he\nshould frighten the ghosts whom he evoked, told them the legends of the\nland of the North.  And, the moment he stopped, the children would ask\nfor more.\n\nThere was one story that began:\n\n\"A king sat in a little boat on one of those deep, still lakes that\nopen like a bright eye in the midst of the Norwegian mountains ...\"\n\nAnd another:\n\n\"Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing.  Her hair was golden\nas the sun's rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes.  She\nwheedled her mother, was kind to her doll, took great care of her frock\nand her little red shoes and her fiddle, but most of all loved, when\nshe went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music.\"\n\nWhile the old man told this story, Raoul looked at Christine's blue\neyes and golden hair; and Christine thought that Lotte was very lucky\nto hear the Angel of Music when she went to sleep.  The Angel of Music\nplayed a part in all Daddy Daae's tales; and he maintained that every\ngreat musician, every great artist received a visit from the Angel at\nleast once in his life.  Sometimes the Angel leans over their cradle,\nas happened to Lotte, and that is how there are little prodigies who\nplay the fiddle at six better than men at fifty, which, you must admit,\nis very wonderful.  Sometimes, the Angel comes much later, because the\nchildren are naughty and won't learn their lessons or practise their\nscales.  And, sometimes, he does not come at all, because the children\nhave a bad heart or a bad conscience.\n\nNo one ever sees the Angel; but he is heard by those who are meant to\nhear him.  He often comes when they least expect him, when they are sad\nand disheartened.  Then their ears suddenly perceive celestial\nharmonies, a divine voice, which they remember all their lives.\nPersons who are visited by the Angel quiver with a thrill unknown to\nthe rest of mankind.  And they can not touch an instrument, or open\ntheir mouths to sing, without producing sounds that put all other human\nsounds to shame.  Then people who do not know that the Angel has\nvisited those persons say that they have genius.\n\nLittle Christine asked her father if he had heard the Angel of Music.\nBut Daddy Daae shook his head sadly; and then his eyes lit up, as he\nsaid:\n\n\"You will hear him one day, my child!  When I am in Heaven, I will send\nhim to you!\"\n\nDaddy was beginning to cough at that time.\n\nThree years later, Raoul and Christine met again at Perros.  Professor\nValerius was dead, but his widow remained in France with Daddy Daae and\nhis daughter, who continued to play the violin and sing, wrapping in\ntheir dream of harmony their kind patroness, who seemed henceforth to\nlive on music alone.  The young man, as he now was, had come to Perros\non the chance of finding them and went straight to the house in which\nthey used to stay.  He first saw the old man; and then Christine\nentered, carrying the tea-tray. She flushed at the sight of Raoul, who\nwent up to her and kissed her.  She asked him a few questions,\nperformed her duties as hostess prettily, took up the tray again and\nleft the room.  Then she ran into the garden and took refuge on a\nbench, a prey to feelings that stirred her young heart for the first\ntime.  Raoul followed her and they talked till the evening, very shyly.\nThey were quite changed, cautious as two diplomatists, and told each\nother things that had nothing to do with their budding sentiments.\nWhen they took leave of each other by the roadside, Raoul, pressing a\nkiss on Christine's trembling hand, said:\n\n\"Mademoiselle, I shall never forget you!\"\n\nAnd he went away regretting his words, for he knew that Christine could\nnot be the wife of the Vicomte de Chagny.\n\nAs for Christine, she tried not to think of him and devoted herself\nwholly to her art.  She made wonderful progress and those who heard her\nprophesied that she would be the greatest singer in the world.\nMeanwhile, the father died; and, suddenly, she seemed to have lost,\nwith him, her voice, her soul and her genius.  She retained just, but\nonly just, enough of this to enter the CONSERVATOIRE, where she did not\ndistinguish herself at all, attending the classes without enthusiasm\nand taking a prize only to please old Mamma Valerius, with whom she\ncontinued to live.\n\nThe first time that Raoul saw Christine at the Opera, he was charmed by\nthe girl's beauty and by the sweet images of the past which it evoked,\nbut was rather surprised at the negative side of her art.  He returned\nto listen to her.  He followed her in the wings.  He waited for her\nbehind a Jacob's ladder.  He tried to attract her attention.  More than\nonce, he walked after her to the door of her box, but she did not see\nhim.  She seemed, for that matter, to see nobody.  She was all\nindifference.  Raoul suffered, for she was very beautiful and he was\nshy and dared not confess his love, even to himself.  And then came the\nlightning-flash of the gala performance: the heavens torn asunder and\nan angel's voice heard upon earth for the delight of mankind and the\nutter capture of his heart.\n\nAnd then ... and then there was that man's voice behind the door--\"You\nmust love me!\"--and no one in the room...\n\nWhy did she laugh when he reminded her of the incident of the scarf?\nWhy did she not recognize him?  And why had she written to him? ...\n\nPerros was reached at last.  Raoul walked into the smoky sitting-room\nof the Setting Sun and at once saw Christine standing before him,\nsmiling and showing no astonishment.\n\n\"So you have come,\" she said.  \"I felt that I should find you here,\nwhen I came back from mass.  Some one told me so, at the church.\"\n\n\"Who?\" asked Raoul, taking her little hand in his.\n\n\"Why, my poor father, who is dead.\"\n\nThere was a silence; and then Raoul asked:\n\n\"Did your father tell you that I love you, Christine, and that I can\nnot live without you?\"\n\nChristine blushed to the eyes and turned away her head.  In a trembling\nvoice, she said:\n\n\"Me?  You are dreaming, my friend!\"\n\nAnd she burst out laughing, to put herself in countenance.\n\n\"Don't laugh, Christine; I am quite serious,\" Raoul answered.\n\nAnd she replied gravely:  \"I did not make you come to tell me such\nthings as that.\"\n\n\"You 'made me come,' Christine; you knew that your letter would not\nleave me indignant and that I should hasten to Perros.  How can you\nhave thought that, if you did not think I loved you?\"\n\n\"I thought you would remember our games here, as children, in which my\nfather so often joined.  I really don't know what I thought...  Perhaps\nI was wrong to write to you ... This anniversary and your sudden\nappearance in my room at the Opera, the other evening, reminded me of\nthe time long past and made me write to you as the little girl that I\nthen was...\"\n\nThere was something in Christine's attitude that seemed to Raoul not\nnatural.  He did not feel any hostility in her; far from it: the\ndistressed affection shining in her eyes told him that.  But why was\nthis affection distressed?  That was what he wished to know and what\nwas irritating him.\n\n\"When you saw me in your dressing-room, was that the first time you\nnoticed me, Christine?\"\n\nShe was incapable of lying.\n\n\"No,\" she said, \"I had seen you several times in your brother's box.\nAnd also on the stage.\"\n\n\"I thought so!\" said Raoul, compressing his lips.  \"But then why, when\nyou saw me in your room, at your feet, reminding you that I had rescued\nyour scarf from the sea, why did you answer as though you did not know\nme and also why did you laugh?\"\n\nThe tone of these questions was so rough that Christine stared at Raoul\nwithout replying.  The young man himself was aghast at the sudden\nquarrel which he had dared to raise at the very moment when he had\nresolved to speak words of gentleness, love and submission to\nChristine.  A husband, a lover with all rights, would talk no\ndifferently to a wife, a mistress who had offended him.  But he had\ngone too far and saw no other way out of the ridiculous position than\nto behave odiously.\n\n\"You don't answer!\" he said angrily and unhappily.  \"Well, I will\nanswer for you.  It was because there was some one in the room who was\nin your way, Christine, some one that you did not wish to know that you\ncould be interested in any one else!\"\n\n\"If any one was in my way, my friend,\" Christine broke in coldly, \"if\nany one was in my way, that evening, it was yourself, since I told you\nto leave the room!\"\n\n\"Yes, so that you might remain with the other!\"\n\n\"What are you saying, monsieur?\" asked the girl excitedly.  \"And to\nwhat other do you refer?\"\n\n\"To the man to whom you said, 'I sing only for you! ... to-night I gave\nyou my soul and I am dead!'\"\n\nChristine seized Raoul's arm and clutched it with a strength which no\none would have suspected in so frail a creature.\n\n\"Then you were listening behind the door?\"\n\n\"Yes, because I love you everything ... And I heard everything ...\"\n\n\"You heard what?\"\n\nAnd the young girl, becoming strangely calm, released Raoul's arm.\n\n\"He said to you, 'Christine, you must love me!'\"\n\nAt these words, a deathly pallor spread over Christine's face, dark\nrings formed round her eyes, she staggered and seemed on the point of\nswooning.  Raoul darted forward, with arms outstretched, but Christine\nhad overcome her passing faintness and said, in a low voice:\n\n\"Go on!  Go on!  Tell me all you heard!\"\n\nAt an utter loss to understand, Raoul answered:  \"I heard him reply,\nwhen you said you had given him your soul, 'Your soul is a beautiful\nthing, child, and I thank you.  No emperor ever received so fair a\ngift.  The angels wept tonight.'\"\n\nChristine carried her hand to her heart, a prey to indescribable\nemotion.  Her eyes stared before her like a madwoman's. Raoul was\nterror-stricken. But suddenly Christine's eyes moistened and two great\ntears trickled, like two pearls, down her ivory cheeks.\n\n\"Christine!\"\n\n\"Raoul!\"\n\nThe young man tried to take her in his arms, but she escaped and fled\nin great disorder.\n\nWhile Christine remained locked in her room, Raoul was at his wit's end\nwhat to do.  He refused to breakfast.  He was terribly concerned and\nbitterly grieved to see the hours, which he had hoped to find so sweet,\nslip past without the presence of the young Swedish girl.  Why did she\nnot come to roam with him through the country where they had so many\nmemories in common?  He heard that she had had a mass said, that\nmorning, for the repose of her father's soul and spent a long time\npraying in the little church and on the fiddler's tomb.  Then, as she\nseemed to have nothing more to do at Perros and, in fact, was doing\nnothing there, why did she not go back to Paris at once?\n\nRaoul walked away, dejectedly, to the graveyard in which the church\nstood and was indeed alone among the tombs, reading the inscriptions;\nbut, when he turned behind the apse, he was suddenly struck by the\ndazzling note of the flowers that straggled over the white ground.\nThey were marvelous red roses that had blossomed in the morning, in the\nsnow, giving a glimpse of life among the dead, for death was all around\nhim.  It also, like the flowers, issued from the ground, which had\nflung back a number of its corpses.  Skeletons and skulls by the\nhundred were heaped against the wall of the church, held in position by\na wire that left the whole gruesome stack visible.  Dead men's bones,\narranged in rows, like bricks, to form the first course upon which the\nwalls of the sacristy had been built.  The door of the sacristy opened\nin the middle of that bony structure, as is often seen in old Breton\nchurches.\n\nRaoul said a prayer for Daae and then, painfully impressed by all those\neternal smiles on the mouths of skulls, he climbed the slope and sat\ndown on the edge of the heath overlooking the sea.  The wind fell with\nthe evening.  Raoul was surrounded by icy darkness, but he did not feel\nthe cold.  It was here, he remembered, that he used to come with little\nChristine to see the Korrigans dance at the rising of the moon.  He had\nnever seen any, though his eyes were good, whereas Christine, who was a\nlittle shortsighted, pretended that she had seen many.  He smiled at\nthe thought and then suddenly gave a start.  A voice behind him said:\n\n\"Do you think the Korrigans will come this evening?\"\n\nIt was Christine.  He tried to speak.  She put her gloved hand on his\nmouth.\n\n\"Listen, Raoul.  I have decided to tell you something serious, very\nserious ... Do you remember the legend of the Angel of Music?\"\n\n\"I do indeed,\" he said.  \"I believe it was here that your father first\ntold it to us.\"\n\n\"And it was here that he said, 'When I am in Heaven, my child, I will\nsend him to you.'  Well, Raoul, my father is in Heaven, and I have been\nvisited by the Angel of Music.\"\n\n\"I have no doubt of it,\" replied the young man gravely, for it seemed\nto him that his friend, in obedience to a pious thought, was connecting\nthe memory of her father with the brilliancy of her last triumph.\n\nChristine appeared astonished at the Vicomte de Chagny's coolness:\n\n\"How do you understand it?\" she asked, bringing her pale face so close\nto his that he might have thought that Christine was going to give him\na kiss; but she only wanted to read his eyes in spite of the dark.\n\n\"I understand,\" he said, \"that no human being can sing as you sang the\nother evening without the intervention of some miracle.  No professor\non earth can teach you such accents as those.  You have heard the Angel\nof Music, Christine.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said solemnly, \"IN MY DRESSING-ROOM. That is where he comes\nto give me my lessons daily.\"\n\n\"In your dressing-room?\" he echoed stupidly.\n\n\"Yes, that is where I have heard him; and I have not been the only one\nto hear him.\"\n\n\"Who else heard him, Christine?\"\n\n\"You, my friend.\"\n\n\"I?  I heard the Angel of Music?\"\n\n\"Yes, the other evening, it was he who was talking when you were\nlistening behind the door.  It was he who said, 'You must love me.' But\nI then thought that I was the only one to hear his voice.  Imagine my\nastonishment when you told me, this morning, that you could hear him\ntoo.\"\n\nRaoul burst out laughing.  The first rays of the moon came and shrouded\nthe two young people in their light.  Christine turned on Raoul with a\nhostile air.  Her eyes, usually so gentle, flashed fire.\n\n\"What are you laughing at?  YOU think you heard a man's voice, I\nsuppose?\"\n\n\"Well! ...\" replied the young man, whose ideas began to grow confused\nin the face of Christine's determined attitude.\n\n\"It's you, Raoul, who say that?  You, an old playfellow of my own!  A\nfriend of my father's! But you have changed since those days.  What are\nyou thinking of?  I am an honest girl, M. le Vicomte de Chagny, and I\ndon't lock myself up in my dressing-room with men's voices.  If you had\nopened the door, you would have seen that there was nobody in the room!\"\n\n\"That's true!  I did open the door, when you were gone, and I found no\none in the room.\"\n\n\"So you see! ... Well?\"\n\nThe viscount summoned up all his courage.\n\n\"Well, Christine, I think that somebody is making game of you.\"\n\nShe gave a cry and ran away.  He ran after her, but, in a tone of\nfierce anger, she called out:  \"Leave me!  Leave me!\" And she\ndisappeared.\n\nRaoul returned to the inn feeling very weary, very low-spirited and\nvery sad.  He was told that Christine had gone to her bedroom saying\nthat she would not be down to dinner.  Raoul dined alone, in a very\ngloomy mood.  Then he went to his room and tried to read, went to bed\nand tried to sleep.  There was no sound in the next room.\n\nThe hours passed slowly.  It was about half-past eleven when he\ndistinctly heard some one moving, with a light, stealthy step, in the\nroom next to his.  Then Christine had not gone to bed!  Without\ntroubling for a reason, Raoul dressed, taking care not to make a sound,\nand waited.  Waited for what?  How could he tell?  But his heart\nthumped in his chest when he heard Christine's door turn slowly on its\nhinges.  Where could she be going, at this hour, when every one was\nfast asleep at Perros?  Softly opening the door, he saw Christine's\nwhite form, in the moonlight, slipping along the passage.  She went\ndown the stairs and he leaned over the baluster above her.  Suddenly he\nheard two voices in rapid conversation.  He caught one sentence: \"Don't\nlose the key.\"\n\nIt was the landlady's voice.  The door facing the sea was opened and\nlocked again.  Then all was still.\n\nRaoul ran back to his room and threw back the window.  Christine's\nwhite form stood on the deserted quay.\n\nThe first floor of the Setting Sun was at no great height and a tree\ngrowing against the wall held out its branches to Raoul's impatient\narms and enabled him to climb down unknown to the landlady.  Her\namazement, therefore, was all the greater when, the next morning, the\nyoung man was brought back to her half frozen, more dead than alive,\nand when she learned that he had been found stretched at full length on\nthe steps of the high altar of the little church.  She ran at once to\ntell Christine, who hurried down and, with the help of the landlady,\ndid her best to revive him.  He soon opened his eyes and was not long\nin recovering when he saw his friend's charming face leaning over him.\n\nA few weeks later, when the tragedy at the Opera compelled the\nintervention of the public prosecutor, M. Mifroid, the commissary of\npolice, examined the Vicomte de Chagny touching the events of the night\nat Perros.  I quote the questions and answers as given in the official\nreport pp. 150 et seq.:\n\nQ. \"Did Mlle. Daae not see you come down from your room by the curious\nroad which you selected?\"\n\nR. \"No, monsieur, no, although, when walking behind her, I took no\npains to deaden the sound of my footsteps.  In fact, I was anxious that\nshe should turn round and see me.  I realized that I had no excuse for\nfollowing her and that this way of spying on her was unworthy of me.\nBut she seemed not to hear me and acted exactly as though I were not\nthere.  She quietly left the quay and then suddenly walked quickly up\nthe road.  The church-clock had struck a quarter to twelve and I\nthought that this must have made her hurry, for she began almost to run\nand continued hastening until she came to the church.\"\n\nQ. \"Was the gate open?\"\n\nR. \"Yes, monsieur, and this surprised me, but did not seem to surprise\nMlle. Daae.\"\n\nQ. \"Was there no one in the churchyard?\"\n\nR. \"I did not see any one; and, if there had been, I must have seen\nhim.  The moon was shining on the snow and made the night quite light.\"\n\nQ. \"Was it possible for any one to hide behind the tombstones?\"\n\nR. \"No, monsieur.  They were quite small, poor tombstones, partly\nhidden under the snow, with their crosses just above the level of the\nground.  The only shadows were those of the crosses and ourselves.  The\nchurch stood out quite brightly.  I never saw so clear a night.  It was\nvery fine and very cold and one could see everything.\"\n\nQ. \"Are you at all superstitious?\"\n\nR. \"No, monsieur, I am a practising Catholic,\"\n\nQ. \"In what condition of mind were you?\"\n\nR. \"Very healthy and peaceful, I assure you.  Mlle. Daae's curious\naction in going out at that hour had worried me at first; but, as soon\nas I saw her go to the churchyard, I thought that she meant to fulfil\nsome pious duty on her father's grave and I considered this so natural\nthat I recovered all my calmness.  I was only surprised that she had\nnot heard me walking behind her, for my footsteps were quite audible on\nthe hard snow.  But she must have been taken up with her intentions and\nI resolved not to disturb her.  She knelt down by her father's grave,\nmade the sign of the cross and began to pray.  At that moment, it\nstruck midnight.  At the last stroke, I saw Mlle. Daae life{sic} her\neyes to the sky and stretch out her arms as though in ecstasy.  I was\nwondering what the reason could be, when I myself raised my head and\neverything within me seemed drawn toward the invisible, WHICH WAS\nPLAYING THE MOST PERFECT MUSIC!  Christine and I knew that music; we\nhad heard it as children.  But it had never been executed with such\ndivine art, even by M. Daae.  I remembered all that Christine had told\nme of the Angel of Music.  The air was The Resurrection of Lazarus,\nwhich old M. Daae used to play to us in his hours of melancholy and of\nfaith.  If Christine's Angel had existed, he could not have played\nbetter, that night, on the late musician's violin.  When the music\nstopped, I seemed to hear a noise from the skulls in the heap of bones;\nit was as though they were chuckling and I could not help shuddering.\"\n\nQ. \"Did it not occur to you that the musician might be hiding behind\nthat very heap of bones?\"\n\nR. \"It was the one thought that did occur to me, monsieur, so much so\nthat I omitted to follow Mlle. Daae, when she stood up and walked\nslowly to the gate.  She was so much absorbed just then that I am not\nsurprised that she did not see me.\"\n\nQ. \"Then what happened that you were found in the morning lying\nhalf-dead on the steps of the high altar?\"\n\nR. \"First a skull rolled to my feet ... then another ... then another\n... It was as if I were the mark of that ghastly game of bowls.  And I\nhad an idea that false step must have destroyed the balance of the\nstructure behind which our musician was concealed.  This surmise seemed\nto be confirmed when I saw a shadow suddenly glide along the sacristy\nwall.  I ran up.  The shadow had already pushed open the door and\nentered the church.  But I was quicker than the shadow and caught hold\nof a corner of its cloak.  At that moment, we were just in front of the\nhigh altar; and the moonbeams fell straight upon us through the\nstained-glass windows of the apse.  As I did not let go of the cloak,\nthe shadow turned round; and I saw a terrible death's head, which\ndarted a look at me from a pair of scorching eyes.  I felt as if I were\nface to face with Satan; and, in the presence of this unearthly\napparition, my heart gave way, my courage failed me ... and I remember\nnothing more until I recovered consciousness at the Setting Sun.\"\n\n\n\nChapter VI  A Visit to Box Five\n\n\nWe left M. Firmin Richard and M. Armand Moncharmin at the moment when\nthey were deciding \"to look into that little matter of Box Five.\"\n\nLeaving behind them the broad staircase which leads from the lobby\noutside the managers' offices to the stage and its dependencies, they\ncrossed the stage, went out by the subscribers' door and entered the\nhouse through the first little passage on the left.  Then they made\ntheir way through the front rows of stalls and looked at Box Five on\nthe grand tier, They could not see it well, because it was half in\ndarkness and because great covers were flung over the red velvet of the\nledges of all the boxes.\n\nThey were almost alone in the huge, gloomy house; and a great silence\nsurrounded them.  It was the time when most of the stage-hands go out\nfor a drink.  The staff had left the boards for the moment, leaving a\nscene half set.  A few rays of light, a wan, sinister light, that\nseemed to have been stolen from an expiring luminary, fell through some\nopening or other upon an old tower that raised its pasteboard\nbattlements on the stage; everything, in this deceptive light, adopted\na fantastic shape.  In the orchestra stalls, the drugget covering them\nlooked like an angry sea, whose glaucous waves had been suddenly\nrendered stationary by a secret order from the storm phantom, who, as\neverybody knows, is called Adamastor.  MM. Moncharmin and Richard were\nthe shipwrecked mariners amid this motionless turmoil of a calico sea.\nThey made for the left boxes, plowing their way like sailors who leave\ntheir ship and try to struggle to the shore.  The eight great polished\ncolumns stood up in the dusk like so many huge piles supporting the\nthreatening, crumbling, big-bellied cliffs whose layers were\nrepresented by the circular, parallel, waving lines of the balconies of\nthe grand, first and second tiers of boxes.  At the top, right on top\nof the cliff, lost in M. Lenepveu's copper ceiling, figures grinned and\ngrimaced, laughed and jeered at MM. Richard and Moncharmin's distress.\nAnd yet these figures were usually very serious.  Their names were\nIsis, Amphitrite, Hebe, Pandora, Psyche, Thetis, Pomona, Daphne,\nClytie, Galatea and Arethusa.  Yes, Arethusa herself and Pandora, whom\nwe all know by her box, looked down upon the two new managers of the\nOpera, who ended by clutching at some piece of wreckage and from there\nstared silently at Box Five on the grand tier.\n\nI have said that they were distressed.  At least, I presume so.  M.\nMoncharmin, in any case, admits that he was impressed.  To quote his\nown words, in his Memoirs:\n\n\"This moonshine about the Opera ghost in which, since we first took\nover the duties of MM. Poligny and Debienne, we had been so nicely\nsteeped\"--Moncharmin's style is not always irreproachable--\"had no\ndoubt ended by blinding my imaginative and also my visual faculties.\nIt may be that the exceptional surroundings in which we found\nourselves, in the midst of an incredible silence, impressed us to an\nunusual extent.  It may be that we were the sport of a kind of\nhallucination brought about by the semi-darkness of the theater and the\npartial gloom that filled Box Five.  At any rate, I saw and Richard\nalso saw a shape in the box.  Richard said nothing, nor I either.  But\nwe spontaneously seized each other's hand.  We stood like that for some\nminutes, without moving, with our eyes fixed on the same point; but the\nfigure had disappeared.  Then we went out and, in the lobby,\ncommunicated our impressions to each other and talked about 'the\nshape.'  The misfortune was that my shape was not in the least like\nRichard's. I had seen a thing like a death's head resting on the ledge\nof the box, whereas Richard saw the shape of an old woman who looked\nlike Mme. Giry.  We soon discovered that we had really been the victims\nof an illusion, whereupon, without further delay and laughing like\nmadmen, we ran to Box Five on the grand tier, went inside and found no\nshape of any kind.\"\n\nBox Five is just like all the other grand tier boxes.  There is nothing\nto distinguish it from any of the others.  M. Moncharmin and M.\nRichard, ostensibly highly amused and laughing at each other, moved the\nfurniture of the box, lifted the cloths and the chairs and particularly\nexamined the arm-chair in which \"the man's voice\" used to sit.  But\nthey saw that it was a respectable arm-chair, with no magic about it.\nAltogether, the box was the most ordinary box in the world, with its\nred hangings, its chairs, its carpet and its ledge covered in red\nvelvet.  After, feeling the carpet in the most serious manner possible,\nand discovering nothing more here or anywhere else, they went down to\nthe corresponding box on the pit tier below.  In Box Five on the pit\ntier, which is just inside the first exit from the stalls on the left,\nthey found nothing worth mentioning either.\n\n\"Those people are all making fools of us!\"  Firmin Richard ended by\nexclaiming.  \"It will be FAUST on Saturday:  let us both see the\nperformance from Box Five on the grand tier!\"\n\n\n\nChapter VII  Faust and What Followed\n\n\nOn the Saturday morning, on reaching their office, the joint managers\nfound a letter from O. G. worded in these terms:\n\nMY DEAR MANAGERS:\n\nSo it is to be war between us?\n\nIf you still care for peace, here is my ultimatum.  It consists of the\nfour following conditions:\n\n1.  You must give me back my private box; and I wish it to be at my\nfree disposal from henceforward.\n\n2.  The part of Margarita shall be sung this evening by Christine Daae.\nNever mind about Carlotta; she will be ill.\n\n3.  I absolutely insist upon the good and loyal services of Mme. Giry,\nmy box-keeper, whom you will reinstate in her functions forthwith.\n\n4.  Let me know by a letter handed to Mme. Giry, who will see that it\nreaches me, that you accept, as your predecessors did, the conditions\nin my memorandum-book relating to my monthly allowance.  I will inform\nyou later how you are to pay it to me.\n\nIf you refuse, you will give FAUST to-night in a house with a curse\nupon it.\n\nTake my advice and be warned in time.  O. G.\n\n\"Look here, I'm getting sick of him, sick of him!\" shouted Richard,\nbringing his fists down on his office-table.\n\nJust then, Mercier, the acting-manager, entered.\n\n\"Lachenel would like to see one of you gentlemen,\" he said.  \"He says\nthat his business is urgent and he seems quite upset.\"\n\n\"Who's Lachenel?\" asked Richard.\n\n\"He's your stud-groom.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?  My stud-groom?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" explained Mercier, \"there are several grooms at the Opera\nand M. Lachenel is at the head of them.\"\n\n\"And what does this groom do?\"\n\n\"He has the chief management of the stable.\"\n\n\"What stable?\"\n\n\"Why, yours, sir, the stable of the Opera.\"\n\n\"Is there a stable at the Opera?  Upon my word, I didn't know.  Where\nis it?\"\n\n\"In the cellars, on the Rotunda side.  It's a very important\ndepartment; we have twelve horses.\"\n\n\"Twelve horses!  And what for, in Heaven's name?\"\n\n\"Why, we want trained horses for the processions in the Juive, The\nProfeta and so on; horses 'used to the boards.'  It is the grooms'\nbusiness to teach them.  M. Lachenel is very clever at it.  He used to\nmanage Franconi's stables.\"\n\n\"Very well ... but what does he want?\"\n\n\"I don't know; I never saw him in such a state.\"\n\n\"He can come in.\"\n\nM. Lachenel came in, carrying a riding-whip, with which he struck his\nright boot in an irritable manner.\n\n\"Good morning, M. Lachenel,\" said Richard, somewhat impressed.  \"To\nwhat do we owe the honor of your visit?\"\n\n\"Mr. Manager, I have come to ask you to get rid of the whole stable.\"\n\n\"What, you want to get rid of our horses?\"\n\n\"I'm not talking of the horses, but of the stablemen.\"\n\n\"How many stablemen have you, M. Lachenel?\"\n\n\"Six stablemen!  That's at least two too many.\"\n\n\"These are 'places,'\" Mercier interposed, \"created and forced upon us\nby the under-secretary for fine arts.  They are filled by protegees of\nthe government and, if I may venture to ...\"\n\n\"I don't care a hang for the government!\" roared Richard.  \"We don't\nneed more than four stablemen for twelve horses.\"\n\n\"Eleven,\" said the head riding-master, correcting him.\n\n\"Twelve,\" repeated Richard.\n\n\"Eleven,\" repeated Lachenel.\n\n\"Oh, the acting-manager told me that you had twelve horses!\"\n\n\"I did have twelve, but I have only eleven since Cesar was stolen.\"\n\nAnd M. Lachenel gave himself a great smack on the boot with his whip.\n\n\"Has Cesar been stolen?\" cried the acting-manager. \"Cesar, the white\nhorse in the Profeta?\"\n\n\"There are not two Cesars,\" said the stud-groom dryly.  \"I was ten\nyears at Franconi's and I have seen plenty of horses in my time.  Well,\nthere are not two Cesars.  And he's been stolen.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"I don't know.  Nobody knows.  That's why I have come to ask you to\nsack the whole stable.\"\n\n\"What do your stablemen say?\"\n\n\"All sorts of nonsense.  Some of them accuse the supers.  Others\npretend that it's the acting-manager's doorkeeper ...\"\n\n\"My doorkeeper?  I'll answer for him as I would for myself!\" protested\nMercier.\n\n\"But, after all, M. Lachenel,\" cried Richard, \"you must have some idea.\"\n\n\"Yes, I have,\" M. Lachenel declared.  \"I have an idea and I'll tell you\nwhat it is.  There's no doubt about it in my mind.\" He walked up to the\ntwo managers and whispered.  \"It's the ghost who did the trick!\"\n\nRichard gave a jump.\n\n\"What, you too!  You too!\"\n\n\"How do you mean, I too?  Isn't it natural, after what I saw?\"\n\n\"What did you see?\"\n\n\"I saw, as clearly as I now see you, a black shadow riding a white\nhorse that was as like Cesar as two peas!\"\n\n\"And did you run after them?\"\n\n\"I did and I shouted, but they were too fast for me and disappeared in\nthe darkness of the underground gallery.\"\n\nM. Richard rose.  \"That will do, M. Lachenel.  You can go ...  We will\nlodge a complaint against THE GHOST.\"\n\n\"And sack my stable?\"\n\n\"Oh, of course!  Good morning.\"\n\nM. Lachenel bowed and withdrew.  Richard foamed at the mouth.\n\n\"Settle that idiot's account at once, please.\"\n\n\"He is a friend of the government representative's!\" Mercier ventured\nto say.\n\n\"And he takes his vermouth at Tortoni's with Lagrene, Scholl and\nPertuiset, the lion-hunter,\" added Moncharmin.  \"We shall have the\nwhole press against us!  He'll tell the story of the ghost; and\neverybody will be laughing at our expense!  We may as well be dead as\nridiculous!\"\n\n\"All right, say no more about it.\"\n\nAt that moment the door opened.  It must have been deserted by its\nusual Cerberus, for Mme. Giry entered without ceremony, holding a\nletter in her hand, and said hurriedly:\n\n\"I beg your pardon, excuse me, gentlemen, but I had a letter this\nmorning from the Opera ghost.  He told me to come to you, that you had\nsomething to ...\"\n\nShe did not complete the sentence.  She saw Firmin Richard's face; and\nit was a terrible sight.  He seemed ready to burst.  He said nothing,\nhe could not speak.  But suddenly he acted.  First, his left arm seized\nupon the quaint person of Mme. Giry and made her describe so unexpected\na semicircle that she uttered a despairing cry.  Next, his right foot\nimprinted its sole on the black taffeta of a skirt which certainly had\nnever before undergone a similar outrage in a similar place.  The thing\nhappened so quickly that Mme. Giry, when in the passage, was still\nquite bewildered and seemed not to understand.  But, suddenly, she\nunderstood; and the Opera rang with her indignant yells, her violent\nprotests and threats.\n\nAbout the same time, Carlotta, who had a small house of her own in the\nRue du Faubourg St. Honore, rang for her maid, who brought her letters\nto her bed.  Among them was an anonymous missive, written in red ink,\nin a hesitating, clumsy hand, which ran:\n\nIf you appear to-night, you must be prepared for a great misfortune at\nthe moment when you open your mouth to sing ... a misfortune worse than\ndeath.\n\nThe letter took away Carlotta's appetite for breakfast.  She pushed\nback her chocolate, sat up in bed and thought hard.  It was not the\nfirst letter of the kind which she had received, but she never had one\ncouched in such threatening terms.\n\nShe thought herself, at that time, the victim of a thousand jealous\nattempts and went about saying that she had a secret enemy who had\nsworn to ruin her.  She pretended that a wicked plot was being hatched\nagainst her, a cabal which would come to a head one of those days; but\nshe added that she was not the woman to be intimidated.\n\nThe truth is that, if there was a cabal, it was led by Carlotta herself\nagainst poor Christine, who had no suspicion of it.  Carlotta had never\nforgiven Christine for the triumph which she had achieved when taking\nher place at a moment's notice.  When Carlotta heard of the astounding\nreception bestowed upon her understudy, she was at once cured of an\nincipient attack of bronchitis and a bad fit of sulking against the\nmanagement and lost the slightest inclination to shirk her duties.\nFrom that time, she worked with all her might to \"smother\" her rival,\nenlisting the services of influential friends to persuade the managers\nnot to give Christine an opportunity for a fresh triumph.  Certain\nnewspapers which had begun to extol the talent of Christine now\ninterested themselves only in the fame of Carlotta.  Lastly, in the\ntheater itself, the celebrated, but heartless and soulless diva made\nthe most scandalous remarks about Christine and tried to cause her\nendless minor unpleasantnesses.\n\nWhen Carlotta had finished thinking over the threat contained in the\nstrange letter, she got up.\n\n\"We shall see,\" she said, adding a few oaths in her native Spanish with\na very determined air.\n\nThe first thing she saw, when looking out of her window, was a hearse.\nShe was very superstitious; and the hearse and the letter convinced her\nthat she was running the most serious dangers that evening.  She\ncollected all her supporters, told them that she was threatened at that\nevening's performance with a plot organized by Christine Daae and\ndeclared that they must play a trick upon that chit by filling the\nhouse with her, Carlotta's, admirers.  She had no lack of them, had\nshe?  She relied upon them to hold themselves prepared for any\neventuality and to silence the adversaries, if, as she feared, they\ncreated a disturbance.\n\nM. Richard's private secretary called to ask after the diva's health\nand returned with the assurance that she was perfectly well and that,\n\"were she dying,\" she would sing the part of Margarita that evening.\nThe secretary urged her, in his chief's name, to commit no imprudence,\nto stay at home all day and to be careful of drafts; and Carlotta could\nnot help, after he had gone, comparing this unusual and unexpected\nadvice with the threats contained in the letter.\n\nIt was five o'clock when the post brought a second anonymous letter in\nthe same hand as the first.  It was short and said simply:\n\nYou have a bad cold.  If you are wise, you will see that it is madness\nto try to sing to-night.\n\nCarlotta sneered, shrugged her handsome shoulders and sang two or three\nnotes to reassure herself.\n\nHer friends were faithful to their promise.  They were all at the Opera\nthat night, but looked round in vain for the fierce conspirators whom\nthey were instructed to suppress.  The only unusual thing was the\npresence of M. Richard and M. Moncharmin in Box Five.  Carlotta's\nfriends thought that, perhaps, the managers had wind, on their side, of\nthe proposed disturbance and that they had determined to be in the\nhouse, so as to stop it then and there; but this was unjustifiable\nsupposition, as the reader knows.  M. Richard and M. Moncharmin were\nthinking of nothing but their ghost.\n\n\"Vain!  In vain do I call, through my vigil weary, On creation and its\nLord!  Never reply will break the silence dreary!  No sign!  No single\nword!\"\n\nThe famous baritone, Carolus Fonta, had hardly finished Doctor Faust's\nfirst appeal to the powers of darkness, when M. Firmin Richard, who was\nsitting in the ghost's own chair, the front chair on the right, leaned\nover to his partner and asked him chaffingly:\n\n\"Well, has the ghost whispered a word in your ear yet?\"\n\n\"Wait, don't be in such a hurry,\" replied M. Armand Moncharmin, in the\nsame gay tone.  \"The performance has only begun and you know that the\nghost does not usually come until the middle of the first act.\"\n\nThe first act passed without incident, which did not surprise\nCarlotta's friends, because Margarita does not sing in this act.  As\nfor the managers, they looked at each other, when the curtain fell.\n\n\"That's one!\" said Moncharmin.\n\n\"Yes, the ghost is late,\" said Firmin Richard.\n\n\"It's not a bad house,\" said Moncharmin, \"for 'a house with a curse on\nit.'\"\n\nM. Richard smiled and pointed to a fat, rather vulgar woman, dressed in\nblack, sitting in a stall in the middle of the auditorium with a man in\na broadcloth frock-coat on either side of her.\n\n\"Who on earth are 'those?'\" asked Moncharmin.\n\n\"'Those,' my dear fellow, are my concierge, her husband and her\nbrother.\"\n\n\"Did you give them their tickets?\"\n\n\"I did ... My concierge had never been to the Opera--this is, the first\ntime--and, as she is now going to come every night, I wanted her to\nhave a good seat, before spending her time showing other people to\ntheirs.\"\n\nMoncharmin asked what he meant and Richard answered that he had\npersuaded his concierge, in whom he had the greatest confidence, to\ncome and take Mme. Giry's place.  Yes, he would like to see if, with\nthat woman instead of the old lunatic, Box Five would continue to\nastonish the natives?\n\n\"By the way,\" said Moncharmin, \"you know that Mother Giry is going to\nlodge a complaint against you.\"\n\n\"With whom?  The ghost?\"\n\nThe ghost!  Moncharmin had almost forgotten him.  However, that\nmysterious person did nothing to bring himself to the memory of the\nmanagers; and they were just saying so to each other for the second\ntime, when the door of the box suddenly opened to admit the startled\nstage-manager.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" they both asked, amazed at seeing him there at\nsuch a time.\n\n\"It seems there's a plot got up by Christine Daae's friends against\nCarlotta.  Carlotta's furious.\"\n\n\"What on earth ... ?\" said Richard, knitting his brows.\n\nBut the curtain rose on the kermess scene and Richard made a sign to\nthe stage-manager to go away.  When the two were alone again,\nMoncharmin leaned over to Richard:\n\n\"Then Daae has friends?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes, she has.\"\n\n\"Whom?\"\n\nRichard glanced across at a box on the grand tier containing no one but\ntwo men.\n\n\"The Comte de Chagny?\"\n\n\"Yes, he spoke to me in her favor with such warmth that, if I had not\nknown him to be Sorelli's friend ...\"\n\n\"Really?  Really?\" said Moncharmin.  \"And who is that pale young man\nbeside him?\"\n\n\"That's his brother, the viscount.\"\n\n\"He ought to be in his bed.  He looks ill.\"\n\nThe stage rang with gay song:\n\n            \"Red or white liquor,\n            Coarse or fine!\n            What can it matter,\n            So we have wine?\"\n\nStudents, citizens, soldiers, girls and matrons whirled light-heartedly\nbefore the inn with the figure of Bacchus for a sign.  Siebel made her\nentrance.  Christine Daae looked charming in her boy's clothes; and\nCarlotta's partisans expected to hear her greeted with an ovation which\nwould have enlightened them as to the intentions of her friends.  But\nnothing happened.\n\nOn the other hand, when Margarita crossed the stage and sang the only\ntwo lines allotted her in this second act:\n\n         \"No, my lord, not a lady am I, nor yet a beauty,\n         And do not need an arm to help me on my way,\"\n\nCarlotta was received with enthusiastic applause.  It was so unexpected\nand so uncalled for that those who knew nothing about the rumors looked\nat one another and asked what was happening.  And this act also was\nfinished without incident.\n\nThen everybody said:  \"Of course, it will be during the next act.\"\n\nSome, who seemed to be better informed than the rest, declared that the\n\"row\" would begin with the ballad of the KING OF THULE and rushed to\nthe subscribers' entrance to warn Carlotta.  The managers left the box\nduring the entr'acte to find out more about the cabal of which the\nstage-manager had spoken; but they soon returned to their seats,\nshrugging their shoulders and treating the whole affair as silly.\n\nThe first thing they saw, on entering the box, was a box of English\nsweets on the little shelf of the ledge.  Who had put it there?  They\nasked the box-keepers, but none of them knew.  Then they went back to\nthe shelf and, next to the box of sweets, found an opera glass.  They\nlooked at each other.  They had no inclination to laugh.  All that Mme.\nGiry had told them returned to their memory ... and then ... and then\n... they seemed to feel a curious sort of draft around them ... They\nsat down in silence.\n\nThe scene represented Margarita's garden:\n\n            \"Gentle flow'rs in the dew,\n                Be message from me ...\"\n\nAs she sang these first two lines, with her bunch of roses and lilacs\nin her hand, Christine, raising her head, saw the Vicomte de Chagny in\nhis box; and, from that moment, her voice seemed less sure, less\ncrystal-clear than usual.  Something seemed to deaden and dull her\nsinging...\n\n\"What a queer girl she is!\" said one of Carlotta's friends in the\nstalls, almost aloud.  \"The other day she was divine; and to-night\nshe's simply bleating.  She has no experience, no training.\"\n\n            \"Gentle flow'rs, lie ye there\n                And tell her from me ...\"\n\nThe viscount put his head under his hands and wept.  The count, behind\nhim, viciously gnawed his mustache, shrugged his shoulders and frowned.\nFor him, usually so cold and correct, to betray his inner feelings like\nthat, by outward signs, the count must be very angry.  He was.  He had\nseen his brother return from a rapid and mysterious journey in an\nalarming state of health.  The explanation that followed was\nunsatisfactory and the count asked Christine Daae for an appointment.\nShe had the audacity to reply that she could not see either him or his\nbrother...\n\n            \"Would she but deign to hear me\n            And with one smile to cheer me ...\"\n\n\"The little baggage!\" growled the count.\n\nAnd he wondered what she wanted.  What she was hoping for... She was a\nvirtuous girl, she was said to have no friend, no protector of any sort\n...  That angel from the North must be very artful!\n\nRaoul, behind the curtain of his hands that veiled his boyish tears,\nthought only of the letter which he received on his return to Paris,\nwhere Christine, fleeing from Perros like a thief in the night, had\narrived before him:\n\nMY DEAR LITTLE PLAYFELLOW:\n\nYou must have the courage not to see me again, not to speak of me\nagain.  If you love me just a little, do this for me, for me who will\nnever forget you, my dear Raoul.  My life depends upon it.  Your life\ndepends upon it.  YOUR LITTLE CHRISTINE.\n\nThunders of applause.  Carlotta made her entrance.\n\n           \"I wish I could but know who was he\n           That addressed me,\n           If he was noble, or, at least, what his name is ...\"\n\nWhen Margarita had finished singing the ballad of the KING OF THULE,\nshe was loudly cheered and again when she came to the end of the jewel\nsong:\n\n            \"Ah, the joy of past compare\n            These jewels bright to wear! ...\"\n\nThenceforth, certain of herself, certain of her friends in the house,\ncertain of her voice and her success, fearing nothing, Carlotta flung\nherself into her part without restraint of modesty ...  She was no\nlonger Margarita, she was Carmen.  She was applauded all the more; and\nher debut with Faust seemed about to bring her a new success, when\nsuddenly ... a terrible thing happened.\n\nFaust had knelt on one knee:\n\n         \"Let me gaze on the form below me,\n             While from yonder ether blue\n         Look how the star of eve, bright and tender,\n                lingers o'er me,\n             To love thy beauty too!\"\n\nAnd Margarita replied:\n\n         \"Oh, how strange!\n             Like a spell does the evening bind me!\n         And a deep languid charm\n         I feel without alarm\n             With its melody enwind me\n         And all my heart subdue.\"\n\nAt that moment, at that identical moment, the terrible thing\nhappened... Carlotta croaked like a toad:\n\n\"Co-ack!\"\n\nThere was consternation on Carlotta's face and consternation on the\nfaces of all the audience.  The two managers in their box could not\nsuppress an exclamation of horror.  Every one felt that the thing was\nnot natural, that there was witchcraft behind it.  That toad smelt of\nbrimstone.  Poor, wretched, despairing, crushed Carlotta!\n\nThe uproar in the house was indescribable.  If the thing had happened\nto any one but Carlotta, she would have been hooted.  But everybody\nknew how perfect an instrument her voice was; and there was no display\nof anger, but only of horror and dismay, the sort of dismay which men\nwould have felt if they had witnessed the catastrophe that broke the\narms of the Venus de Milo...  And even then they would have seen ...\nand understood ...\n\nBut here that toad was incomprehensible!  So much so that, after some\nseconds spent in asking herself if she had really heard that note, that\nsound, that infernal noise issue from her throat, she tried to persuade\nherself that it was not so, that she was the victim of an illusion, an\nillusion of the ear, and not of an act of treachery on the part of her\nvoice....\n\nMeanwhile, in Box Five, Moncharmin and Richard had turned very pale.\nThis extraordinary and inexplicable incident filled them with a dread\nwhich was the more mysterious inasmuch as for some little while, they\nhad fallen within the direct influence of the ghost.  They had felt his\nbreath.  Moncharmin's hair stood on end.  Richard wiped the\nperspiration from his forehead.  Yes, the ghost was there, around them,\nbehind them, beside them; they felt his presence without seeing him,\nthey heard his breath, close, close, close to them! ... They were sure\nthat there were three people in the box ...  They trembled ...  They\nthought of running away ...  They dared not ...  They dared not make a\nmovement or exchange a word that would have told the ghost that they\nknew that he was there! ... What was going to happen?\n\nThis happened.\n\n\"Co-ack!\" Their joint exclamation of horror was heard all over the\nhouse.  THEY FELT THAT THEY WERE SMARTING UNDER THE GHOST'S ATTACKS.\nLeaning over the ledge of their box, they stared at Carlotta as though\nthey did not recognize her.  That infernal girl must have given the\nsignal for some catastrophe.  Ah, they were waiting for the\ncatastrophe!  The ghost had told them it would come!  The house had a\ncurse upon it!  The two managers gasped and panted under the weight of\nthe catastrophe.  Richard's stifled voice was heard calling to Carlotta:\n\n\"Well, go on!\"\n\nNo, Carlotta did not go on ...  Bravely, heroically, she started afresh\non the fatal line at the end of which the toad had appeared.\n\nAn awful silence succeeded the uproar.  Carlotta's voice alone once\nmore filled the resounding house:\n\n\"I feel without alarm ...\"\n\nThe audience also felt, but not without alarm. ..\n\n        \"I feel without alarm ...\n        I feel without alarm--co-ack!\n        With its melody enwind me--co-ack!\n        And all my heart sub--co-ack!\"\n\nThe toad also had started afresh!\n\nThe house broke into a wild tumult.  The two managers collapsed in\ntheir chairs and dared not even turn round; they had not the strength;\nthe ghost was chuckling behind their backs!  And, at last, they\ndistinctly heard his voice in their right ears, the impossible voice,\nthe mouthless voice, saying:\n\n\"SHE IS SINGING TO-NIGHT TO BRING THE CHANDELIER DOWN!\"\n\nWith one accord, they raised their eyes to the ceiling and uttered a\nterrible cry.  The chandelier, the immense mass of the chandelier was\nslipping down, coming toward them, at the call of that fiendish voice.\nReleased from its hook, it plunged from the ceiling and came smashing\ninto the middle of the stalls, amid a thousand shouts of terror.  A\nwild rush for the doors followed.\n\nThe papers of the day state that there were numbers wounded and one\nkilled.  The chandelier had crashed down upon the head of the wretched\nwoman who had come to the Opera for the first time in her life, the one\nwhom M. Richard had appointed to succeed Mme. Giry, the ghost's\nbox-keeper, in her functions!  She died on the spot and, the next\nmorning, a newspaper appeared with this heading:\n\nTWO HUNDRED KILOS ON THE HEAD OF A CONCIERGE\n\nThat was her sole epitaph!\n\n\n\nChapter VIII  The Mysterious Brougham\n\n\nThat tragic evening was bad for everybody.  Carlotta fell ill.  As for\nChristine Daae, she disappeared after the performance.  A fortnight\nelapsed during which she was seen neither at the Opera nor outside.\n\nRaoul, of course, was the first to be astonished at the prima donna's\nabsence.  He wrote to her at Mme. Valerius' flat and received no reply.\nHis grief increased and he ended by being seriously alarmed at never\nseeing her name on the program.  FAUST was played without her.\n\nOne afternoon he went to the managers' office to ask the reason of\nChristine's disappearance.  He found them both looking extremely\nworried.  Their own friends did not recognize them: they had lost all\ntheir gaiety and spirits.  They were seen crossing the stage with\nhanging heads, care-worn brows, pale cheeks, as though pursued by some\nabominable thought or a prey to some persistent sport of fate.\n\nThe fall of the chandelier had involved them in no little\nresponsibility; but it was difficult to make them speak about it.  The\ninquest had ended in a verdict of accidental death, caused by the wear\nand tear of the chains by which the chandelier was hung from the\nceiling; but it was the duty of both the old and the new managers to\nhave discovered this wear and tear and to have remedied it in time.\nAnd I feel bound to say that MM. Richard and Moncharmin at this time\nappeared so changed, so absent-minded, so mysterious, so\nincomprehensible that many of the subscribers thought that some event\neven more horrible than the fall of the chandelier must have affected\ntheir state of mind.\n\nIn their daily intercourse, they showed themselves very impatient,\nexcept with Mme. Giry, who had been reinstated in her functions.  And\ntheir reception of the Vicomte de Chagny, when he came to ask about\nChristine, was anything but cordial.  They merely told him that she was\ntaking a holiday.  He asked how long the holiday was for, and they\nreplied curtly that it was for an unlimited period, as Mlle. Daae had\nrequested leave of absence for reasons of health.\n\n\"Then she is ill!\" he cried.  \"What is the matter with her?\"\n\n\"We don't know.\"\n\n\"Didn't you send the doctor of the Opera to see her?\"\n\n\"No, she did not ask for him; and, as we trust her, we took her word.\"\n\nRaoul left the building a prey to the gloomiest thoughts.  He resolved,\ncome what might, to go and inquire of Mamma Valerius.  He remembered\nthe strong phrases in Christine's letter, forbidding him to make any\nattempt to see her.  But what he had seen at Perros, what he had heard\nbehind the dressing-room door, his conversation with Christine at the\nedge of the moor made him suspect some machination which, devilish\nthough it might be, was none the less human.  The girl's highly strung\nimagination, her affectionate and credulous mind, the primitive\neducation which had surrounded her childhood with a circle of legends,\nthe constant brooding over her dead father and, above all, the state of\nsublime ecstasy into which music threw her from the moment that this\nart was made manifest to her in certain exceptional conditions, as in\nthe churchyard at Perros; all this seemed to him to constitute a moral\nground only too favorable for the malevolent designs of some mysterious\nand unscrupulous person.  Of whom was Christine Daae the victim?  This\nwas the very reasonable question which Raoul put to himself as he\nhurried off to Mamma Valerius.\n\nHe trembled as he rang at a little flat in the Rue\nNotre-Dame-des-Victoires.  The door was opened by the maid whom he had\nseen coming out of Christine's dressing-room one evening.  He asked if\nhe could speak to Mme. Valerius.  He was told that she was ill in bed\nand was not receiving visitors.\n\n\"Take in my card, please,\" he said.\n\nThe maid soon returned and showed him into a small and scantily\nfurnished drawing-room, in which portraits of Professor Valerius and\nold Daae hung on opposite walls.\n\n\"Madame begs Monsieur le Vicomte to excuse her,\" said the servant.\n\"She can only see him in her bedroom, because she can no longer stand\non her poor legs.\"\n\nFive minutes later, Raoul was ushered into an ill-lit room where he at\nonce recognized the good, kind face of Christine's benefactress in the\nsemi-darkness of an alcove.  Mamma Valerius' hair was now quite white,\nbut her eyes had grown no older; never, on the contrary, had their\nexpression been so bright, so pure, so child-like.\n\n\"M. de Chagny!\" she cried gaily, putting out both her hands to her\nvisitor.  \"Ah, it's Heaven that sends you here! ... We can talk of HER.\"\n\nThis last sentence sounded very gloomily in the young man's ears.  He\nat once asked:\n\n\"Madame ... where is Christine?\"\n\nAnd the old lady replied calmly:\n\n\"She is with her good genius!\"\n\n\"What good genius?\" exclaimed poor Raoul.\n\n\"Why, the Angel of Music!\"\n\nThe viscount dropped into a chair.  Really?  Christine was with the\nAngel of Music?  And there lay Mamma Valerius in bed, smiling to him\nand putting her finger to her lips, to warn him to be silent!  And she\nadded:\n\n\"You must not tell anybody!\"\n\n\"You can rely on me,\" said Raoul.\n\nHe hardly knew what he was saying, for his ideas about Christine,\nalready greatly confused, were becoming more and more entangled; and it\nseemed as if everything was beginning to turn around him, around the\nroom, around that extraordinary good lady with the white hair and\nforget-me-not eyes.\n\n\"I know!  I know I can!\" she said, with a happy laugh.  \"But why don't\nyou come near me, as you used to do when you were a little boy?  Give\nme your hands, as when you brought me the story of little Lotte, which\nDaddy Daae had told you.  I am very fond of you, M. Raoul, you know.\nAnd so is Christine too!\"\n\n\"She is fond of me!\" sighed the young man.  He found a difficulty in\ncollecting his thoughts and bringing them to bear on Mamma Valerius'\n\"good genius,\" on the Angel of Music of whom Christine had spoken to\nhim so strangely, on the death's head which he had seen in a sort of\nnightmare on the high altar at Perros and also on the Opera ghost,\nwhose fame had come to his ears one evening when he was standing behind\nthe scenes, within hearing of a group of scene-shifters who were\nrepeating the ghastly description which the hanged man, Joseph Buquet,\nhad given of the ghost before his mysterious death.\n\nHe asked in a low voice:  \"What makes you think that Christine is fond\nof me, madame?\"\n\n\"She used to speak of you every day.\"\n\n\"Really? ... And what did she tell you?\"\n\n\"She told me that you had made her a proposal!\"\n\nAnd the good old lady began laughing wholeheartedly.  Raoul sprang from\nhis chair, flushing to the temples, suffering agonies.\n\n\"What's this?  Where are you going?  Sit down again at once, will you?\n... Do you think I will let you go like that? ... If you're angry with\nme for laughing, I beg your pardon... After all, what has happened\nisn't your fault... Didn't you know? ... Did you think that Christine\nwas free? ...\"\n\n\"Is Christine engaged to be married?\" the wretched Raoul asked, in a\nchoking voice.\n\n\"Why no!  Why no! ... You know as well as I do that Christine couldn't\nmarry, even if she wanted to!\"\n\n\"But I don't know anything about it! ... And why can't Christine marry?\"\n\n\"Because of the Angel of Music, of course! ...\"\n\n\"I don't follow ...\"\n\n\"Yes, he forbids her to! ...\"\n\n\"He forbids her! ... The Angel of Music forbids her to marry!\"\n\n\"Oh, he forbids her ... without forbidding her.  It's like this: he\ntells her that, if she got married, she would never hear him again.\nThat's all! ... And that he would go away for ever! ... So, you\nunderstand, she can't let the Angel of Music go.  It's quite natural.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" echoed Raoul submissively, \"it's quite natural.\"\n\n\"Besides, I thought Christine had told you all that, when she met you\nat Perros, where she went with her good genius.\"\n\n\"Oh, she went to Perros with her good genius, did she?\"\n\n\"That is to say, he arranged to meet her down there, in Perros\nchurchyard, at Daae's grave.  He promised to play her The Resurrection\nof Lazarus on her father's violin!\"\n\nRaoul de Chagny rose and, with a very authoritative air, pronounced\nthese peremptory words:\n\n\"Madame, you will have the goodness to tell me where that genius lives.\"\n\nThe old lady did not seem surprised at this indiscreet command.  She\nraised her eyes and said:\n\n\"In Heaven!\"\n\nSuch simplicity baffled him.  He did not know what to say in the\npresence of this candid and perfect faith in a genius who came down\nnightly from Heaven to haunt the dressing-rooms at the Opera.\n\nHe now realized the possible state of mind of a girl brought up between\na superstitious fiddler and a visionary old lady and he shuddered when\nhe thought of the consequences of it all.\n\n\"Is Christine still a good girl?\" he asked suddenly, in spite of\nhimself.\n\n\"I swear it, as I hope to be saved!\" exclaimed the old woman, who, this\ntime, seemed to be incensed.  \"And, if you doubt it, sir, I don't know\nwhat you are here for!\"\n\nRaoul tore at his gloves.\n\n\"How long has she known this 'genius?'\"\n\n\"About three months ...  Yes, it's quite three months since he began to\ngive her lessons.\"\n\nThe viscount threw up his arms with a gesture of despair.\n\n\"The genius gives her lessons! ... And where, pray?\"\n\n\"Now that she has gone away with him, I can't say; but, up to a\nfortnight ago, it was in Christine's dressing-room. It would be\nimpossible in this little flat.  The whole house would hear them.\nWhereas, at the Opera, at eight o'clock in the morning, there is no one\nabout, do you see!\"\n\n\"Yes, I see!  I see!\" cried the viscount.\n\nAnd he hurriedly took leave of Mme. Valerius, who asked herself if the\nyoung nobleman was not a little off his head.\n\nHe walked home to his brother's house in a pitiful state.  He could\nhave struck himself, banged his head against the walls!  To think that\nhe had believed in her innocence, in her purity!  The Angel of Music!\nHe knew him now!  He saw him!  It was beyond a doubt some unspeakable\ntenor, a good-looking jackanapes, who mouthed and simpered as he sang!\nHe thought himself as absurd and as wretched as could be.  Oh, what a\nmiserable, little, insignificant, silly young man was M. le Vicomte de\nChagny! thought Raoul, furiously.  And she, what a bold and damnable\nsly creature!\n\nHis brother was waiting for him and Raoul fell into his arms, like a\nchild.  The count consoled him, without asking for explanations; and\nRaoul would certainly have long hesitated before telling him the story\nof the Angel of Music.  His brother suggested taking him out to dinner.\nOvercome as he was with despair, Raoul would probably have refused any\ninvitation that evening, if the count had not, as an inducement, told\nhim that the lady of his thoughts had been seen, the night before, in\ncompany of the other sex in the Bois.  At first, the viscount refused\nto believe; but he received such exact details that he ceased\nprotesting.  She had been seen, it appeared, driving in a brougham,\nwith the window down.  She seemed to be slowly taking in the icy night\nair.  There was a glorious moon shining.  She was recognized beyond a\ndoubt.  As for her companion, only his shadowy outline was\ndistinguished leaning back in the dark.  The carriage was going at a\nwalking pace in a lonely drive behind the grand stand at Longchamp.\n\nRaoul dressed in frantic haste, prepared to forget his distress by\nflinging himself, as people say, into \"the vortex of pleasure.\" Alas,\nhe was a very sorry guest and, leaving his brother early, found\nhimself, by ten o'clock in the evening, in a cab, behind the Longchamp\nrace-course.\n\nIt was bitterly cold.  The road seemed deserted and very bright under\nthe moonlight.  He told the driver to wait for him patiently at the\ncorner of a near turning and, hiding himself as well as he could, stood\nstamping his feet to keep warm.  He had been indulging in this healthy\nexercise for half an hour or so, when a carriage turned the corner of\nthe road and came quietly in his direction, at a walking pace.\n\nAs it approached, he saw that a woman was leaning her head from the\nwindow.  And, suddenly, the moon shed a pale gleam over her features.\n\n\"Christine!\"\n\nThe sacred name of his love had sprung from his heart and his lips.  He\ncould not keep it back... He would have given anything to withdraw it,\nfor that name, proclaimed in the stillness of the night, had acted as\nthough it were the preconcerted signal for a furious rush on the part\nof the whole turn-out, which dashed past him before he could put into\nexecution his plan of leaping at the horses' heads.  The carriage\nwindow had been closed and the girl's face had disappeared.  And the\nbrougham, behind which he was now running, was no more than a black\nspot on the white road.\n\nHe called out again:  \"Christine!\"\n\nNo reply.  And he stopped in the midst of the silence.\n\nWith a lack-luster eye, he stared down that cold, desolate road and\ninto the pale, dead night.  Nothing was colder than his heart, nothing\nhalf so dead:  he had loved an angel and now he despised a woman!\n\nRaoul, how that little fairy of the North has trifled with you!  Was it\nreally, was it really necessary to have so fresh and young a face, a\nforehead so shy and always ready to cover itself with the pink blush of\nmodesty in order to pass in the lonely night, in a carriage and pair,\naccompanied by a mysterious lover?  Surely there should be some limit\nto hypocrisy and lying! ...\n\nShe had passed without answering his cry ...  And he was thinking of\ndying; and he was twenty years old! ...\n\nHis valet found him in the morning sitting on his bed.  He had not\nundressed and the servant feared, at the sight of his face, that some\ndisaster had occurred.  Raoul snatched his letters from the man's\nhands.  He had recognized Christine's paper and hand-writing. She said:\n\nDEAR:\n\nGo to the masked ball at the Opera on the night after to-morrow.  At\ntwelve o'clock, be in the little room behind the chimney-place of the\nbig crush-room. Stand near the door that leads to the Rotunda.  Don't\nmention this appointment to any one on earth.  Wear a white domino and\nbe carefully masked.  As you love me, do not let yourself be\nrecognized.  CHRISTINE.\n\n\n\nChapter IX  At the Masked Ball\n\n\nThe envelope was covered with mud and unstamped.  It bore the words \"To\nbe handed to M. le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny,\" with the address in\npencil.  It must have been flung out in the hope that a passer-by would\npick up the note and deliver it, which was what happened.  The note had\nbeen picked up on the pavement of the Place de l'Opera.\n\nRaoul read it over again with fevered eyes.  No more was needed to\nrevive his hope.  The somber picture which he had for a moment imagined\nof a Christine forgetting her duty to herself made way for his original\nconception of an unfortunate, innocent child, the victim of imprudence\nand exaggerated sensibility.  To what extent, at this time, was she\nreally a victim?  Whose prisoner was she?  Into what whirlpool had she\nbeen dragged?  He asked himself these questions with a cruel anguish;\nbut even this pain seemed endurable beside the frenzy into which he was\nthrown at the thought of a lying and deceitful Christine.  What had\nhappened?  What influence had she undergone?  What monster had carried\nher off and by what means? ...\n\nBy what means indeed but that of music?  He knew Christine's story.\nAfter her father's death, she acquired a distaste of everything in\nlife, including her art.  She went through the CONSERVATOIRE like a\npoor soulless singing-machine.  And, suddenly, she awoke as though\nthrough the intervention of a god.  The Angel of Music appeared upon\nthe scene!  She sang Margarita in FAUST and triumphed! ...\n\nThe Angel of Music! ... For three months the Angel of Music had been\ngiving Christine lessons ...  Ah, he was a punctual singing-master! ...\nAnd now he was taking her for drives in the Bois! ...\n\nRaoul's fingers clutched at his flesh, above his jealous heart.  In his\ninexperience, he now asked himself with terror what game the girl was\nplaying?  Up to what point could an opera-singer make a fool of a\ngood-natured young man, quite new to love?  O misery! ...\n\nThus did Raoul's thoughts fly from one extreme to the other.  He no\nlonger knew whether to pity Christine or to curse her; and he pitied\nand cursed her turn and turn about.  At all events, he bought a white\ndomino.\n\nThe hour of the appointment came at last.  With his face in a mask\ntrimmed with long, thick lace, looking like a pierrot in his white\nwrap, the viscount thought himself very ridiculous.  Men of the world\ndo not go to the Opera ball in fancy-dress! It was absurd.  One\nthought, however, consoled the viscount:  he would certainly never be\nrecognized!\n\nThis ball was an exceptional affair, given some time before Shrovetide,\nin honor of the anniversary of the birth of a famous draftsman; and it\nwas expected to be much gayer, noisier, more Bohemian than the ordinary\nmasked ball.  Numbers of artists had arranged to go, accompanied by a\nwhole cohort of models and pupils, who, by midnight, began to create a\ntremendous din.  Raoul climbed the grand staircase at five minutes to\ntwelve, did not linger to look at the motley dresses displayed all the\nway up the marble steps, one of the richest settings in the world,\nallowed no facetious mask to draw him into a war of wits, replied to no\njests and shook off the bold familiarity of a number of couples who had\nalready become a trifle too gay.  Crossing the big crush-room and\nescaping from a mad whirl of dancers in which he was caught for a\nmoment, he at last entered the room mentioned in Christine's letter.\nHe found it crammed; for this small space was the point where all those\nwho were going to supper in the Rotunda crossed those who were\nreturning from taking a glass of champagne.  The fun, here, waxed fast\nand furious.\n\nRaoul leaned against a door-post and waited.  He did not wait long.  A\nblack domino passed and gave a quick squeeze to the tips of his\nfingers.  He understood that it was she and followed her:\n\n\"Is that you, Christine?\" he asked, between his teeth.\n\nThe black domino turned round promptly and raised her finger to her\nlips, no doubt to warn him not to mention her name again.  Raoul\ncontinued to follow her in silence.\n\nHe was afraid of losing her, after meeting her again in such strange\ncircumstances.  His grudge against her was gone.  He no longer doubted\nthat she had \"nothing to reproach herself with,\" however peculiar and\ninexplicable her conduct might seem.  He was ready to make any display\nof clemency, forgiveness or cowardice.  He was in love.  And, no doubt,\nhe would soon receive a very natural explanation of her curious absence.\n\nThe black domino turned back from time to time to see if the white\ndomino was still following.\n\nAs Raoul once more passed through the great crush-room, this time in\nthe wake of his guide, he could not help noticing a group crowding\nround a person whose disguise, eccentric air and gruesome appearance\nwere causing a sensation.  It was a man dressed all in scarlet, with a\nhuge hat and feathers on the top of a wonderful death's head.  From his\nshoulders hung an immense red-velvet cloak, which trailed along the\nfloor like a king's train; and on this cloak was embroidered, in gold\nletters, which every one read and repeated aloud, \"Don't touch me!  I\nam Red Death stalking abroad!\"\n\nThen one, greatly daring, did try to touch him ... but a skeleton hand\nshot out of a crimson sleeve and violently seized the rash one's wrist;\nand he, feeling the clutch of the knucklebones, the furious grasp of\nDeath, uttered a cry of pain and terror.  When Red Death released him\nat last, he ran away like a very madman, pursued by the jeers of the\nbystanders.\n\nIt was at this moment that Raoul passed in front of the funereal\nmasquerader, who had just happened to turn in his direction.  And he\nnearly exclaimed:\n\n\"The death's head of Perros-Guirec!\"\n\nHe had recognized him! ... He wanted to dart forward, forgetting\nChristine; but the black domino, who also seemed a prey to some strange\nexcitement, caught him by the arm and dragged him from the crush-room,\nfar from the mad crowd through which Red Death was stalking...\n\nThe black domino kept on turning back and, apparently, on two occasions\nsaw something that startled her, for she hurried her pace and Raoul's\nas though they were being pursued.\n\nThey went up two floors.  Here, the stairs and corridors were almost\ndeserted.  The black domino opened the door of a private box and\nbeckoned to the white domino to follow her.  Then Christine, whom he\nrecognized by the sound of her voice, closed the door behind them and\nwarned him, in a whisper, to remain at the back of the box and on no\naccount to show himself.  Raoul took off his mask.  Christine kept hers\non.  And, when Raoul was about to ask her to remove it, he was\nsurprised to see her put her ear to the partition and listen eagerly\nfor a sound outside.  Then she opened the door ajar, looked out into\nthe corridor and, in a low voice, said:\n\n\"He must have gone up higher.\"  Suddenly she exclaimed:  \"He is coming\ndown again!\"\n\nShe tried to close the door, but Raoul prevented her; for he had seen,\non the top step of the staircase that led to the floor above, A RED\nFOOT, followed by another ... and slowly, majestically, the whole\nscarlet dress of Red Death met his eyes.  And he once more saw the\ndeath's head of Perros-Guirec.\n\n\"It's he!\" he exclaimed.  \"This time, he shall not escape me! ...\"\n\nBut Christian{sic} had slammed the door at the moment when Raoul was on\nthe point of rushing out.  He tried to push her aside.\n\n\"Whom do you mean by 'he'?\" she asked, in a changed voice.  \"Who shall\nnot escape you?\"\n\nRaoul tried to overcome the girl's resistance by force, but she\nrepelled him with a strength which he would not have suspected in her.\nHe understood, or thought he understood, and at once lost his temper.\n\n\"Who?\" he repeated angrily.  \"Why, he, the man who hides behind that\nhideous mask of death! ... The evil genius of the churchyard at Perros!\n... Red Death! ... In a word, madam, your friend ...  your Angel of\nMusic! ... But I shall snatch off his mask, as I shall snatch off my\nown; and, this time, we shall look each other in the face, he and I,\nwith no veil and no lies between us; and I shall know whom you love and\nwho loves you!\"\n\nHe burst into a mad laugh, while Christine gave a disconsolate moan\nbehind her velvet mask.  With a tragic gesture, she flung out her two\narms, which fixed a barrier of white flesh against the door.\n\n\"In the name of our love, Raoul, you shall not pass! ...\"\n\nHe stopped.  What had she said? ... In the name of their love? ...\nNever before had she confessed that she loved him.  And yet she had had\nopportunities enough ...  Pooh, her only object was to gain a few\nseconds! ... She wished to give the Red Death time to escape ...  And,\nin accents of childish hatred, he said:\n\n\"You lie, madam, for you do not love me and you have never loved me!\nWhat a poor fellow I must be to let you mock and flout me as you have\ndone!  Why did you give me every reason for hope, at Perros ...  for\nhonest hope, madam, for I am an honest man and I believed you to be an\nhonest woman, when your only intention was to deceive me!  Alas, you\nhave deceived us all!  You have taken a shameful advantage of the\ncandid affection of your benefactress herself, who continues to believe\nin your sincerity while you go about the Opera ball with Red Death! ...\nI despise you! ...\"\n\nAnd he burst into tears.  She allowed him to insult her.  She thought\nof but one thing, to keep him from leaving the box.\n\n\"You will beg my pardon, one day, for all those ugly words, Raoul, and\nwhen you do I shall forgive you!\"\n\nHe shook his head.  \"No, no, you have driven me mad!  When I think that\nI had only one object in life:  to give my name to an opera wench!\"\n\n\"Raoul! ... How can you?\"\n\n\"I shall die of shame!\"\n\n\"No, dear, live!\" said Christine's grave and changed voice.  \"And ...\ngood-by. Good-by, Raoul ...\"\n\nThe boy stepped forward, staggering as he went.  He risked one more\nsarcasm:\n\n\"Oh, you must let me come and applaud you from time to time!\"\n\n\"I shall never sing again, Raoul! ...\"\n\n\"Really?\" he replied, still more satirically.  \"So he is taking you off\nthe stage:  I congratulate you! ... But we shall meet in the Bois, one\nof these evenings!\"\n\n\"Not in the Bois nor anywhere, Raoul:  you shall not see me again ...\"\n\n\"May one ask at least to what darkness you are returning? ... For what\nhell are you leaving, mysterious lady ... or for what paradise?\"\n\n\"I came to tell you, dear, but I can't tell you now ... you would not\nbelieve me!  You have lost faith in me, Raoul; it is finished!\"\n\nShe spoke in such a despairing voice that the lad began to feel remorse\nfor his cruelty.\n\n\"But look here!\" he cried.  \"Can't you tell me what all this means!\n...  You are free, there is no one to interfere with you...  You go\nabout Paris ...  You put on a domino to come to the ball...  Why do you\nnot go home? ... What have you been doing this past fortnight? ... What\nis this tale about the Angel of Music, which you have been telling\nMamma Valerius?  Some one may have taken you in, played upon your\ninnocence.  I was a witness of it myself, at Perros ... but you know\nwhat to believe now!  You seem to me quite sensible, Christine.  You\nknow what you are doing ...  And meanwhile Mamma Valerius lies waiting\nfor you at home and appealing to your 'good genius!' ... Explain\nyourself, Christine, I beg of you!  Any one might have been deceived as\nI was.  What is this farce?\"\n\nChristine simply took off her mask and said:  \"Dear, it is a tragedy!\"\n\nRaoul now saw her face and could not restrain an exclamation of\nsurprise and terror.  The fresh complexion of former days was gone.  A\nmortal pallor covered those features, which he had known so charming\nand so gentle, and sorrow had furrowed them with pitiless lines and\ntraced dark and unspeakably sad shadows under her eyes.\n\n\"My dearest!  My dearest!\" he moaned, holding out his arms.  \"You\npromised to forgive me ...\"\n\n\"Perhaps! ... Some day, perhaps!\" she said, resuming her mask; and she\nwent away, forbidding him, with a gesture, to follow her.\n\nHe tried to disobey her; but she turned round and repeated her gesture\nof farewell with such authority that he dared not move a step.\n\nHe watched her till she was out of sight.  Then he also went down among\nthe crowd, hardly knowing what he was doing, with throbbing temples and\nan aching heart; and, as he crossed the dancing-floor, he asked if\nanybody had seen Red Death.  Yes, every one had seen Red Death; but\nRaoul could not find him; and, at two o'clock in the morning, he turned\ndown the passage, behind the scenes, that led to Christine Daae's\ndressing-room.\n\nHis footsteps took him to that room where he had first known suffering.\nHe tapped at the door.  There was no answer.  He entered, as he had\nentered when he looked everywhere for \"the man's voice.\" The room was\nempty.  A gas-jet was burning, turned down low.  He saw some\nwriting-paper on a little desk.  He thought of writing to Christine,\nbut he heard steps in the passage.  He had only time to hide in the\ninner room, which was separated from the dressing-room by a curtain.\n\nChristine entered, took off her mask with a weary movement and flung it\non the table.  She sighed and let her pretty head fall into her two\nhands.  What was she thinking of?  Of Raoul?  No, for Raoul heard her\nmurmur:  \"Poor Erik!\"\n\nAt first, he thought he must be mistaken.  To begin with, he was\npersuaded that, if any one was to be pitied, it was he, Raoul.  It\nwould have been quite natural if she had said, \"Poor Raoul,\" after what\nhad happened between them.  But, shaking her head, she repeated:  \"Poor\nErik!\"\n\nWhat had this Erik to do with Christine's sighs and why was she pitying\nErik when Raoul was so unhappy?\n\nChristine began to write, deliberately, calmly and so placidly that\nRaoul, who was still trembling from the effects of the tragedy that\nseparated them, was painfully impressed.\n\n\"What coolness!\" he said to himself.\n\nShe wrote on, filling two, three, four sheets.  Suddenly, she raised\nher head and hid the sheets in her bodice ... She seemed to be\nlistening ...  Raoul also listened ...  Whence came that strange sound,\nthat distant rhythm? ... A faint singing seemed to issue from the walls\n... yes, it was as though the walls themselves were singing! ... The\nsong became plainer ... the words were now distinguishable ... he heard\na voice, a very beautiful, very soft, very captivating voice ... but,\nfor all its softness, it remained a male voice ... The voice came\nnearer and nearer ... it came through the wall ... it approached ...\nand now the voice was IN THE ROOM, in front of Christine.  Christine\nrose and addressed the voice, as though speaking to some one:\n\n\"Here I am, Erik,\" she said.  \"I am ready.  But you are late.\"\n\nRaoul, peeping from behind the curtain, could not believe his eyes,\nwhich showed him nothing.  Christine's face lit up.  A smile of\nhappiness appeared upon her bloodless lips, a smile like that of sick\npeople when they receive the first hope of recovery.\n\nThe voice without a body went on singing; and certainly Raoul had never\nin his life heard anything more absolutely and heroically sweet, more\ngloriously insidious, more delicate, more powerful, in short, more\nirresistibly triumphant.  He listened to it in a fever and he now began\nto understand how Christine Daae was able to appear one evening, before\nthe stupefied audience, with accents of a beauty hitherto unknown, of a\nsuperhuman exaltation, while doubtless still under the influence of the\nmysterious and invisible master.\n\nThe voice was singing the Wedding-night Song from Romeo and Juliet.\nRaoul saw Christine stretch out her arms to the voice as she had done,\nin Perros churchyard, to the invisible violin playing The Resurrection\nof Lazarus.  And nothing could describe the passion with which the\nvoice sang:\n\n\"Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!\"\n\nThe strains went through Raoul's heart.  Struggling against the charm\nthat seemed to deprive him of all his will and all his energy and of\nalmost all his lucidity at the moment when he needed them most, he\nsucceeded in drawing back the curtain that hid him and he walked to\nwhere Christine stood.  She herself was moving to the back of the room,\nthe whole wall of which was occupied by a great mirror that reflected\nher image, but not his, for he was just behind her and entirely covered\nby her.\n\n\"Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!\"\n\nChristine walked toward her image in the glass and the image came\ntoward her.  The two Christines--the real one and the reflection--ended\nby touching; and Raoul put out his arms to clasp the two in one\nembrace.  But, by a sort of dazzling miracle that sent him staggering,\nRaoul was suddenly flung back, while an icy blast swept over his face;\nhe saw, not two, but four, eight, twenty Christines spinning round him,\nlaughing at him and fleeing so swiftly that he could not touch one of\nthem.  At last, everything stood still again; and he saw himself in the\nglass.  But Christine had disappeared.\n\nHe rushed up to the glass.  He struck at the walls.  Nobody!  And\nmeanwhile the room still echoed with a distant passionate singing:\n\n\"Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!\"\n\nWhich way, which way had Christine gone? ... Which way would she\nreturn? ...\n\nWould she return?  Alas, had she not declared to him that everything\nwas finished?  And was the voice not repeating:\n\n\"Fate links thee to me for ever and a day!\"\n\nTo me?  To whom?\n\nThen, worn out, beaten, empty-brained, he sat down on the chair which\nChristine had just left.  Like her, he let his head fall into his\nhands.  When he raised it, the tears were streaming down his young\ncheeks, real, heavy tears like those which jealous children shed, tears\nthat wept for a sorrow which was in no way fanciful, but which is\ncommon to all the lovers on earth and which he expressed aloud:\n\n\"Who is this Erik?\" he said.\n\n\n\nChapter X  Forget the Name of the Man's Voice\n\n\nThe day after Christine had vanished before his eyes in a sort of\ndazzlement that still made him doubt the evidence of his senses, M. le\nVicomte de Chagny called to inquire at Mamma Valerius'.  He came upon a\ncharming picture.  Christine herself was seated by the bedside of the\nold lady, who was sitting up against the pillows, knitting.  The pink\nand white had returned to the young girl's cheeks.  The dark rings\nround her eyes had disappeared.  Raoul no longer recognized the tragic\nface of the day before.  If the veil of melancholy over those adorable\nfeatures had not still appeared to the young man as the last trace of\nthe weird drama in whose toils that mysterious child was struggling, he\ncould have believed that Christine was not its heroine at all.\n\nShe rose, without showing any emotion, and offered him her hand.  But\nRaoul's stupefaction was so great that he stood there dumfounded,\nwithout a gesture, without a word.\n\n\"Well, M. de Chagny,\" exclaimed Mamma Valerius, \"don't you know our\nChristine?  Her good genius has sent her back to us!\"\n\n\"Mamma!\" the girl broke in promptly, while a deep blush mantled to her\neyes.  \"I thought, mamma, that there was to be no more question of\nthat! ... You know there is no such thing as the Angel of Music!\"\n\n\"But, child, he gave you lessons for three months!\"\n\n\"Mamma, I have promised to explain everything to you one of these days;\nand I hope to do so but you have promised me, until that day, to be\nsilent and to ask me no more questions whatever!\"\n\n\"Provided that you promised never to leave me again!  But have you\npromised that, Christine?\"\n\n\"Mamma, all this can not interest M. de Chagny.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, mademoiselle,\" said the young man, in a voice which\nhe tried to make firm and brave, but which still trembled, \"anything\nthat concerns you interests me to an extent which perhaps you will one\nday understand.  I do not deny that my surprise equals my pleasure at\nfinding you with your adopted mother and that, after what happened\nbetween us yesterday, after what you said and what I was able to guess,\nI hardly expected to see you here so soon.  I should be the first to\ndelight at your return, if you were not so bent on preserving a secrecy\nthat may be fatal to you ... and I have been your friend too long not\nto be alarmed, with Mme. Valerius, at a disastrous adventure which will\nremain dangerous so long as we have not unraveled its threads and of\nwhich you will certainly end by being the victim, Christine.\"\n\nAt these words, Mamma Valerius tossed about in her bed.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" she cried.  \"Is Christine in danger?\"\n\n\"Yes, madame,\" said Raoul courageously, notwithstanding the signs which\nChristine made to him.\n\n\"My God!\" exclaimed the good, simple old woman, gasping for breath.\n\"You must tell me everything, Christine!  Why did you try to reassure\nme?  And what danger is it, M. de Chagny?\"\n\n\"An impostor is abusing her good faith.\"\n\n\"Is the Angel of Music an impostor?\"\n\n\"She told you herself that there is no Angel of Music.\"\n\n\"But then what is it, in Heaven's name?  You will be the death of me!\"\n\n\"There is a terrible mystery around us, madame, around you, around\nChristine, a mystery much more to be feared than any number of ghosts\nor genii!\"\n\nMamma Valerius turned a terrified face to Christine, who had already\nrun to her adopted mother and was holding her in her arms.\n\n\"Don't believe him, mummy, don't believe him,\" she repeated.\n\n\"Then tell me that you will never leave me again,\" implored the widow.\n\nChristine was silent and Raoul resumed.\n\n\"That is what you must promise, Christine.  It is the only thing that\ncan reassure your mother and me.  We will undertake not to ask you a\nsingle question about the past, if you promise us to remain under our\nprotection in future.\"\n\n\"That is an undertaking which I have not asked of you and a promise\nwhich I refuse to make you!\" said the young girl haughtily.  \"I am\nmistress of my own actions, M. de Chagny: you have no right to control\nthem, and I will beg you to desist henceforth.  As to what I have done\nduring the last fortnight, there is only one man in the world who has\nthe right to demand an account of me: my husband!  Well, I have no\nhusband and I never mean to marry!\"\n\nShe threw out her hands to emphasize her words and Raoul turned pale,\nnot only because of the words which he had heard, but because he had\ncaught sight of a plain gold ring on Christine's finger.\n\n\"You have no husband and yet you wear a wedding-ring.\"\n\nHe tried to seize her hand, but she swiftly drew it back.\n\n\"That's a present!\" she said, blushing once more and vainly striving to\nhide her embarrassment.\n\n\"Christine!  As you have no husband, that ring can only have been given\nby one who hopes to make you his wife!  Why deceive us further?  Why\ntorture me still more?  That ring is a promise; and that promise has\nbeen accepted!\"\n\n\"That's what I said!\" exclaimed the old lady.\n\n\"And what did she answer, madame?\"\n\n\"What I chose,\" said Christine, driven to exasperation.  \"Don't you\nthink, monsieur, that this cross-examination has lasted long enough?\nAs far as I am concerned ...\"\n\nRaoul was afraid to let her finish her speech.  He interrupted her:\n\n\"I beg your pardon for speaking as I did, mademoiselle.  You know the\ngood intentions that make me meddle, just now, in matters which, you no\ndoubt think, have nothing to do with me.  But allow me to tell you what\nI have seen--and I have seen more than you suspect, Christine--or what\nI thought I saw, for, to tell you the truth, I have sometimes been\ninclined to doubt the evidence of my eyes.\"\n\n\"Well, what did you see, sir, or think you saw?\"\n\n\"I saw your ecstasy AT THE SOUND OF THE VOICE, Christine:  the voice\nthat came from the wall or the next room to yours ... yes, YOUR\nECSTASY!  And that is what makes me alarmed on your behalf.  You are\nunder a very dangerous spell.  And yet it seems that you are aware of\nthe imposture, because you say to-day THAT THERE IS NO ANGEL OF MUSIC!\nIn that case, Christine, why did you follow him that time?  Why did you\nstand up, with radiant features, as though you were really hearing\nangels? ... Ah, it is a very dangerous voice, Christine, for I myself,\nwhen I heard it, was so much fascinated by it that you vanished before\nmy eyes without my seeing which way you passed!  Christine, Christine,\nin the name of Heaven, in the name of your father who is in Heaven now\nand who loved you so dearly and who loved me too, Christine, tell us,\ntell your benefactress and me, to whom does that voice belong?  If you\ndo, we will save you in spite of yourself.  Come, Christine, the name\nof the man!  The name of the man who had the audacity to put a ring on\nyour finger!\"\n\n\"M. de Chagny,\" the girl declared coldly, \"you shall never know!\"\n\nThereupon, seeing the hostility with which her ward had addressed the\nviscount, Mamma Valerius suddenly took Christine's part.\n\n\"And, if she does love that man, Monsieur le Vicomte, even then it is\nno business of yours!\"\n\n\"Alas, madame,\" Raoul humbly replied, unable to restrain his tears,\n\"alas, I believe that Christine really does love him! ... But it is not\nonly that which drives me to despair; for what I am not certain of,\nmadame, is that the man whom Christine loves is worthy of her love!\"\n\n\"It is for me to be the judge of that, monsieur!\" said Christine,\nlooking Raoul angrily in the face.\n\n\"When a man,\" continued Raoul, \"adopts such romantic methods to entice\na young girl's affections. ..\"\n\n\"The man must be either a villain, or the girl a fool:  is that it?\"\n\n\"Christine!\"\n\n\"Raoul, why do you condemn a man whom you have never seen, whom no one\nknows and about whom you yourself know nothing?\"\n\n\"Yes, Christine ...  Yes ...  I at least know the name that you thought\nto keep from me for ever ...  The name of your Angel of Music,\nmademoiselle, is Erik!\"\n\nChristine at once betrayed herself.  She turned as white as a sheet and\nstammered:  \"Who told you?\"\n\n\"You yourself!\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n\"By pitying him the other night, the night of the masked ball.  When\nyou went to your dressing-room, did you not say, 'Poor Erik?' Well,\nChristine, there was a poor Raoul who overheard you.\"\n\n\"This is the second time that you have listened behind the door, M. de\nChagny!\"\n\n\"I was not behind the door ... I was in the dressing-room, in the inner\nroom, mademoiselle.\"\n\n\"Oh, unhappy man!\" moaned the girl, showing every sign of unspeakable\nterror.  \"Unhappy man!  Do you want to be killed?\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\nRaoul uttered this \"perhaps\" with so much love and despair in his voice\nthat Christine could not keep back a sob.  She took his hands and\nlooked at him with all the pure affection of which she was capable:\n\n\"Raoul,\" she said, \"forget THE MAN'S VOICE and do not even remember its\nname... You must never try to fathom the mystery of THE MAN'S VOICE.\"\n\n\"Is the mystery so very terrible?\"\n\n\"There is no more awful mystery on this earth.  Swear to me that you\nwill make no attempt to find out,\" she insisted.  \"Swear to me that you\nwill never come to my dressing-room, unless I send for you.\"\n\n\"Then you promise to send for me sometimes, Christine?\"\n\n\"I promise.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"To-morrow.\"\n\n\"Then I swear to do as you ask.\"\n\nHe kissed her hands and went away, cursing Erik and resolving to be\npatient.\n\n\n\nChapter XI  Above the Trap-Doors\n\n\nThe next day, he saw her at the Opera.  She was still wearing the plain\ngold ring.  She was gentle and kind to him.  She talked to him of the\nplans which he was forming, of his future, of his career.\n\nHe told her that the date of the Polar expedition had been put forward\nand that he would leave France in three weeks, or a month at latest.\nShe suggested, almost gaily, that he must look upon the voyage with\ndelight, as a stage toward his coming fame.  And when he replied that\nfame without love was no attraction in his eyes, she treated him as a\nchild whose sorrows were only short-lived.\n\n\"How can you speak so lightly of such serious things?\" he asked.\n\"Perhaps we shall never see each other again!  I may die during that\nexpedition.\"\n\n\"Or I,\" she said simply.\n\nShe no longer smiled or jested.  She seemed to be thinking of some new\nthing that had entered her mind for the first time.  Her eyes were all\naglow with it.\n\n\"What are you thinking of, Christine?\"\n\n\"I am thinking that we shall not see each other again ...\"\n\n\"And does that make you so radiant?\"\n\n\"And that, in a month, we shall have to say good-by for ever!\"\n\n\"Unless, Christine, we pledge our faith and wait for each other for\never.\"\n\nShe put her hand on his mouth.\n\n\"Hush, Raoul! ... You know there is no question of that ...  And we\nshall never be married:  that is understood!\"\n\nShe seemed suddenly almost unable to contain an overpowering gaiety.\nShe clapped her hands with childish glee.  Raoul stared at her in\namazement.\n\n\"But ... but,\" she continued, holding out her two hands to Raoul, or\nrather giving them to him, as though she had suddenly resolved to make\nhim a present of them, \"but if we can not be married, we can ... we can\nbe engaged!  Nobody will know but ourselves, Raoul.  There have been\nplenty of secret marriages:  why not a secret engagement? ... We are\nengaged, dear, for a month!  In a month, you will go away, and I can be\nhappy at the thought of that month all my life long!\"\n\nShe was enchanted with her inspiration.  Then she became serious again.\n\n\"This,\" she said, \"IS A HAPPINESS THAT WILL HARM NO ONE.\"\n\nRaoul jumped at the idea.  He bowed to Christine and said:\n\n\"Mademoiselle, I have the honor to ask for your hand.\"\n\n\"Why, you have both of them already, my dear betrothed! ...  Oh, Raoul,\nhow happy we shall be! ... We must play at being engaged all day long.\"\n\nIt was the prettiest game in the world and they enjoyed it like the\nchildren that they were.  Oh, the wonderful speeches they made to each\nother and the eternal vows they exchanged!  They played at hearts as\nother children might play at ball; only, as it was really their two\nhearts that they flung to and fro, they had to be very, very handy to\ncatch them, each time, without hurting them.\n\nOne day, about a week after the game began, Raoul's heart was badly\nhurt and he stopped playing and uttered these wild words:\n\n\"I shan't go to the North Pole!\"\n\nChristine, who, in her innocence, had not dreamed of such a\npossibility, suddenly discovered the danger of the game and reproached\nherself bitterly.  She did not say a word in reply to Raoul's remark\nand went straight home.\n\nThis happened in the afternoon, in the singer's dressing-room, where\nthey met every day and where they amused themselves by dining on three\nbiscuits, two glasses of port and a bunch of violets.  In the evening,\nshe did not sing; and he did not receive his usual letter, though they\nhad arranged to write to each other daily during that month.  The next\nmorning, he ran off to Mamma Valerius, who told him that Christine had\ngone away for two days.  She had left at five o'clock the day before.\n\nRaoul was distracted.  He hated Mamma Valerius for giving him such news\nas that with such stupefying calmness.  He tried to sound her, but the\nold lady obviously knew nothing.\n\nChristine returned on the following day.  She returned in triumph.  She\nrenewed her extraordinary success of the gala performance.  Since the\nadventure of the \"toad,\" Carlotta had not been able to appear on the\nstage.  The terror of a fresh \"co-ack\" filled her heart and deprived\nher of all her power of singing; and the theater that had witnessed her\nincomprehensible disgrace had become odious to her.  She contrived to\ncancel her contract.  Daae was offered the vacant place for the time.\nShe received thunders of applause in the Juive.\n\nThe viscount, who, of course, was present, was the only one to suffer\non hearing the thousand echoes of this fresh triumph; for Christine\nstill wore her plain gold ring.  A distant voice whispered in the young\nman's ear:\n\n\"She is wearing the ring again to-night; and you did not give it to\nher.  She gave her soul again tonight and did not give it to you...  If\nshe will not tell you what she has been doing the past two days ... you\nmust go and ask Erik!\"\n\nHe ran behind the scenes and placed himself in her way.  She saw him\nfor her eyes were looking for him.  She said:\n\n\"Quick!  Quick! ... Come!\"\n\nAnd she dragged him to her dressing-room.\n\nRaoul at once threw himself on his knees before her.  He swore to her\nthat he would go and he entreated her never again to withhold a single\nhour of the ideal happiness which she had promised him.  She let her\ntears flow.  They kissed like a despairing brother and sister who have\nbeen smitten with a common loss and who meet to mourn a dead parent.\n\nSuddenly, she snatched herself from the young man's soft and timid\nembrace, seemed to listen to something, and, with a quick gesture,\npointed to the door.  When he was on the threshold, she said, in so low\na voice that the viscount guessed rather than heard her words:\n\n\"To-morrow, my dear betrothed!  And be happy, Raoul:  I sang for you\nto-night!\"\n\nHe returned the next day.  But those two days of absence had broken the\ncharm of their delightful make-believe. They looked at each other, in\nthe dressing-room, with their sad eyes, without exchanging a word.\nRaoul had to restrain himself not to cry out:\n\n\"I am jealous!  I am jealous!  I am jealous!\"\n\nBut she heard him all the same.  Then she said:\n\n\"Come for a walk, dear.  The air will do you good.\"\n\nRaoul thought that she would propose a stroll in the country, far from\nthat building which he detested as a prison whose jailer he could feel\nwalking within the walls ... the jailer Erik ...  But she took him to\nthe stage and made him sit on the wooden curb of a well, in the\ndoubtful peace and coolness of a first scene set for the evening's\nperformance.\n\nOn another day, she wandered with him, hand in, hand, along the\ndeserted paths of a garden whose creepers had been cut out by a\ndecorator's skilful hands.  It was as though the real sky, the real\nflowers, the real earth were forbidden her for all time and she\ncondemned to breathe no other air than that of the theater.  An\noccasional fireman passed, watching over their melancholy idyll from\nafar.  And she would drag him up above the clouds, in the magnificent\ndisorder of the grid, where she loved to make him giddy by running in\nfront of him along the frail bridges, among the thousands of ropes\nfastened to the pulleys, the windlasses, the rollers, in the midst of a\nregular forest of yards and masts.  If he hesitated, she said, with an\nadorable pout of her lips:\n\n\"You, a sailor!\"\n\nAnd then they returned to terra firma, that is to say, to some passage\nthat led them to the little girls' dancing-school, where brats between\nsix and ten were practising their steps, in the hope of becoming great\ndancers one day, \"covered with diamonds ...\" Meanwhile, Christine gave\nthem sweets instead.\n\nShe took him to the wardrobe and property-rooms, took him all over her\nempire, which was artificial, but immense, covering seventeen stories\nfrom the ground-floor to the roof and inhabited by an army of subjects.\nShe moved among them like a popular queen, encouraging them in their\nlabors, sitting down in the workshops, giving words of advice to the\nworkmen whose hands hesitated to cut into the rich stuffs that were to\nclothe heroes.  There were inhabitants of that country who practised\nevery trade.  There were cobblers, there were goldsmiths.  All had\nlearned to know her and to love her, for she always interested herself\nin all their troubles and all their little hobbies.\n\nShe knew unsuspected corners that were secretly occupied by little old\ncouples.  She knocked at their door and introduced Raoul to them as a\nPrince Charming who had asked for her hand; and the two of them,\nsitting on some worm-eaten \"property,\" would listen to the legends of\nthe Opera, even as, in their childhood, they had listened to the old\nBreton tales.  Those old people remembered nothing outside the Opera.\nThey had lived there for years without number.  Past managements had\nforgotten them; palace revolutions had taken no notice of them; the\nhistory of France had run its course unknown to them; and nobody\nrecollected their existence.\n\nThe precious days sped in this way; and Raoul and Christine, by\naffecting excessive interest in outside matters, strove awkwardly to\nhide from each other the one thought of their hearts.  One fact was\ncertain, that Christine, who until then had shown herself the stronger\nof the two, became suddenly inexpressibly nervous.  When on their\nexpeditions, she would start running without reason or else suddenly\nstop; and her hand, turning ice-cold in a moment, would hold the young\nman back.  Sometimes her eyes seemed to pursue imaginary shadows.  She\ncried, \"This way,\" and \"This way,\" and \"This way,\" laughing a\nbreathless laugh that often ended in tears.  Then Raoul tried to speak,\nto question her, in spite of his promises.  But, even before he had\nworded his question, she answered feverishly:\n\n\"Nothing ... I swear it is nothing.\"\n\nOnce, when they were passing before an open trapdoor on the stage,\nRaoul stopped over the dark cavity.\n\n\"You have shown me over the upper part of your empire, Christine, but\nthere are strange stories told of the lower part.  Shall we go down?\"\n\nShe caught him in her arms, as though she feared to see him disappear\ndown the black hole, and, in a trembling voice, whispered:\n\n\"Never! ... I will not have you go there! ... Besides, it's not mine\n... EVERYTHING THAT IS UNDERGROUND BELONGS TO HIM!\"\n\nRaoul looked her in the eyes and said roughly:\n\n\"So he lives down there, does he?\"\n\n\"I never said so ...  Who told you a thing like that?  Come away!  I\nsometimes wonder if you are quite sane, Raoul ...  You always take\nthings in such an impossible way ...  Come along!  Come!\"\n\nAnd she literally dragged him away, for he was obstinate and wanted to\nremain by the trap-door; that hole attracted him.\n\nSuddenly, the trap-door was closed and so quickly that they did not\neven see the hand that worked it; and they remained quite dazed.\n\n\"Perhaps HE was there,\" Raoul said, at last.\n\nShe shrugged her shoulders, but did not seem easy.\n\n\"No, no, it was the 'trap-door-shutters.' They must do something, you\nknow ...  They open and shut the trap-doors without any particular\nreason ...  It's like the 'door-shutters:' they must spend their time\nsomehow.\"\n\n\"But suppose it were HE, Christine?\"\n\n\"No, no!  He has shut himself up, he is working.\"\n\n\"Oh, really!  He's working, is he?\"\n\n\"Yes, he can't open and shut the trap-doors and work at the same time.\"\nShe shivered.\n\n\"What is he working at?\"\n\n\"Oh, something terrible! ... But it's all the better for us... When\nhe's working at that, he sees nothing; he does not eat, drink, or\nbreathe for days and nights at a time ... he becomes a living dead man\nand has no time to amuse himself with the trap-doors.\" She shivered\nagain.  She was still holding him in her arms.  Then she sighed and\nsaid, in her turn:\n\n\"Suppose it were HE!\"\n\n\"Are you afraid of him?\"\n\n\"No, no, of course not,\" she said.\n\nFor all that, on the next day and the following days, Christine was\ncareful to avoid the trap-doors. Her agitation only increased as the\nhours passed.  At last, one afternoon, she arrived very late, with her\nface so desperately pale and her eyes so desperately red, that Raoul\nresolved to go to all lengths, including that which he foreshadowed\nwhen he blurted out that he would not go on the North Pole expedition\nunless she first told him the secret of the man's voice.\n\n\"Hush!  Hush, in Heaven's name! Suppose HE heard you, you unfortunate\nRaoul!\"\n\nAnd Christine's eyes stared wildly at everything around her.\n\n\"I will remove you from his power, Christine, I swear it.  And you\nshall not think of him any more.\"\n\n\"Is it possible?\"\n\nShe allowed herself this doubt, which was an encouragernent, while\ndragging the young man up to the topmost floor of the theater, far,\nvery far from the trap-doors.\n\n\"I shall hide you in some unknown corner of the world, where HE can not\ncome to look for you.  You will be safe; and then I shall go away ...\nas you have sworn never to marry.\"\n\nChristine seized Raoul's hands and squeezed them with incredible\nrapture.  But, suddenly becoming alarmed again, she turned away her\nhead.\n\n\"Higher!\" was all she said.  \"Higher still!\"\n\nAnd she dragged him up toward the summit.\n\nHe had a difficulty in following her.  They were soon under the very\nroof, in the maze of timber-work. They slipped through the buttresses,\nthe rafters, the joists; they ran from beam to beam as they might have\nrun from tree to tree in a forest.\n\nAnd, despite the care which she took to look behind her at every\nmoment, she failed to see a shadow which followed her like her own\nshadow, which stopped when she stopped, which started again when she\ndid and which made no more noise than a well-conducted shadow should.\nAs for Raoul, he saw nothing either; for, when he had Christine in\nfront of him, nothing interested him that happened behind.\n\n\n\nChapter XII  Apollo's Lyre\n\n\nOn this way, they reached the roof.  Christine tripped over it as\nlightly as a swallow.  Their eyes swept the empty space between the\nthree domes and the triangular pediment.  She breathed freely over\nParis, the whole valley of which was seen at work below.  She called\nRaoul to come quite close to her and they walked side by side along the\nzinc streets, in the leaden avenues; they looked at their twin shapes\nin the huge tanks, full of stagnant water, where, in the hot weather,\nthe little boys of the ballet, a score or so, learn to swim and dive.\n\nThe shadow had followed behind them clinging to their steps; and the\ntwo children little suspected its presence when they at last sat down,\ntrustingly, under the mighty protection of Apollo, who, with a great\nbronze gesture, lifted his huge lyre to the heart of a crimson sky.\n\nIt was a gorgeous spring evening.  Clouds, which had just received\ntheir gossamer robe of gold and purple from the setting sun, drifted\nslowly by; and Christine said to Raoul:\n\n\"Soon we shall go farther and faster than the clouds, to the end of the\nworld, and then you will leave me, Raoul.  But, if, when the moment\ncomes for you to take me away, I refuse to go with you--well you must\ncarry me off by force!\"\n\n\"Are you afraid that you will change your mind, Christine?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said, shaking her head in an odd fashion.  \"He is a\ndemon!\"  And she shivered and nestled in his arms with a moan.  \"I am\nafraid now of going back to live with him ... in the ground!\"\n\n\"What compels you to go back, Christine?\"\n\n\"If I do not go back to him, terrible misfortunes may happen! ...  But\nI can't do it, I can't do it! ... I know one ought to be sorry for\npeople who live underground ...  But he is too horrible!  And yet the\ntime is at hand; I have only a day left; and, if I do not go, he will\ncome and fetch me with his voice.  And he will drag me with him,\nunderground, and go on his knees before me, with his death's head.  And\nhe will tell me that he loves me!  And he will cry!  Oh, those tears,\nRaoul, those tears in the two black eye-sockets of the death's head!  I\ncan not see those tears flow again!\"\n\nShe wrung her hands in anguish, while Raoul pressed her to his heart.\n\n\"No, no, you shall never again hear him tell you that he loves you!\nYou shall not see his tears!  Let us fly, Christine, let us fly at\nonce!\"\n\nAnd he tried to drag her away, then and there.  But she stopped him.\n\n\"No, no,\" she said, shaking her head sadly.  \"Not now! ... It would be\ntoo cruel ... let him hear me sing to-morrow evening ... and then we\nwill go away.  You must come and fetch me in my dressing-room at\nmidnight exactly.  He will then be waiting for me in the dining-room by\nthe lake ... we shall be free and you shall take me away ...  You must\npromise me that, Raoul, even if I refuse; for I feel that, if I go back\nthis time, I shall perhaps never return.\"\n\nAnd she gave a sigh to which it seemed to her that another sigh, behind\nher, replied.\n\n\"Didn't you hear?\"\n\nHer teeth chattered.\n\n\"No,\" said Raoul, \"I heard nothing.\"\n\n\"It is too terrible,\" she confessed, \"to be always trembling like this!\n... And yet we run no danger here; we are at home, in the sky, in the\nopen air, in the light.  The sun is flaming; and night-birds can not\nbear to look at the sun.  I have never seen him by daylight ... it must\nbe awful! ... Oh, the first time I saw him! ... I thought that he was\ngoing to die.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Raoul, really frightened at the aspect which this strange\nconfidence was taking.\n\n\"BECAUSE I HAD SEEN HIM!\"\n\nThis time, Raoul and Christine turned round at the same time:\n\n\"There is some one in pain,\" said Raoul.  \"Perhaps some one has been\nhurt.  Did you hear?\"\n\n\"I can't say,\" Christine confessed.  \"Even when he is not there, my\nears are full of his sighs.  Still, if you heard ...\"\n\nThey stood up and looked around them.  They were quite alone on the\nimmense lead roof.  They sat down again and Raoul said:\n\n\"Tell me how you saw him first.\"\n\n\"I had heard him for three months without seeing him.  The first time I\nheard it, I thought, as you did, that that adorable voice was singing\nin another room.  I went out and looked everywhere; but, as you know,\nRaoul, my dressing-room is very much by itself; and I could not find\nthe voice outside my room, whereas it went on steadily inside.  And it\nnot only sang, but it spoke to me and answered my questions, like a\nreal man's voice, with this difference, that it was as beautiful as the\nvoice of an angel.  I had never got the Angel of Music whom my poor\nfather had promised to send me as soon as he was dead.  I really think\nthat Mamma Valerius was a little bit to blame.  I told her about it;\nand she at once said, 'It must be the Angel; at any rate, you can do no\nharm by asking him.'  I did so; and the man's voice replied that, yes,\nit was the Angel's voice, the voice which I was expecting and which my\nfather had promised me.  From that time onward, the voice and I became\ngreat friends.  It asked leave to give me lessons every day.  I agreed\nand never failed to keep the appointment which it gave me in my\ndressing-room. You have no idea, though you have heard the voice, of\nwhat those lessons were like.\"\n\n\"No, I have no idea,\" said Raoul.  \"What was your accompaniment?\"\n\n\"We were accompanied by a music which I do not know:  it was behind the\nwall and wonderfully accurate.  The voice seemed to understand mine\nexactly, to know precisely where my father had left off teaching me.\nIn a few weeks' time, I hardly knew myself when I sang.  I was even\nfrightened.  I seemed to dread a sort of witchcraft behind it; but\nMamma Valerius reassured me.  She said that she knew I was much too\nsimple a girl to give the devil a hold on me ...  My progress, by the\nvoice's own order, was kept a secret between the voice, Mamma Valerius\nand myself.  It was a curious thing, but, outside the dressing-room, I\nsang with my ordinary, every-day voice and nobody noticed anything.  I\ndid all that the voice asked.  It said, 'Wait and see:  we shall\nastonish Paris!' And I waited and lived on in a sort of ecstatic dream.\nIt was then that I saw you for the first time one evening, in the\nhouse.  I was so glad that I never thought of concealing my delight\nwhen I reached my dressing-room.  Unfortunately, the voice was there\nbefore me and soon noticed, by my air, that something had happened.  It\nasked what was the matter and I saw no reason for keeping our story\nsecret or concealing the place which you filled in my heart.  Then the\nvoice was silent.  I called to it, but it did not reply; I begged and\nentreated, but in vain.  I was terrified lest it had gone for good.  I\nwish to Heaven it had, dear!  ... That night, I went home in a\ndesperate condition.  I told Mamma Valerius, who said, 'Why, of course,\nthe voice is jealous!'  And that, dear, first revealed to me that I\nloved you.\"\n\nChristine stopped and laid her head on Raoul's shoulder.  They sat like\nthat for a moment, in silence, and they did not see, did not perceive\nthe movement, at a few steps from them, of the creeping shadow of two\ngreat black wings, a shadow that came along the roof so near, so near\nthem that it could have stifled them by closing over them.\n\n\"The next day,\" Christine continued, with a sigh, \"I went back to my\ndressing-room in a very pensive frame of mind.  The voice was there,\nspoke to me with great sadness and told me plainly that, if I must\nbestow my heart on earth, there was nothing for the voice to do but to\ngo back to Heaven.  And it said this with such an accent of HUMAN\nsorrow that I ought then and there to have suspected and begun to\nbelieve that I was the victim of my deluded senses.  But my faith in\nthe voice, with which the memory of my father was so closely\nintermingled, remained undisturbed.  I feared nothing so much as that I\nmight never hear it again; I had thought about my love for you and\nrealized all the useless danger of it; and I did not even know if you\nremembered me.  Whatever happened, your position in society forbade me\nto contemplate the possibility of ever marrying you; and I swore to the\nvoice that you were no more than a brother to me nor ever would be and\nthat my heart was incapable of any earthly love.  And that, dear, was\nwhy I refused to recognize or see you when I met you on the stage or in\nthe passages.  Meanwhile, the hours during which the voice taught me\nwere spent in a divine frenzy, until, at last, the voice said to me,\n'You can now, Christine Daae, give to men a little of the music of\nHeaven.' I don't know how it was that Carlotta did not come to the\ntheater that night nor why I was called upon to sing in her stead; but\nI sang with a rapture I had never known before and I felt for a moment\nas if my soul were leaving my body!\"\n\n\"Oh, Christine,\" said Raoul, \"my heart quivered that night at every\naccent of your voice.  I saw the tears stream down your cheeks and I\nwept with you.  How could you sing, sing like that while crying?\"\n\n\"I felt myself fainting,\" said Christine, \"I closed my eyes.  When I\nopened them, you were by my side.  But the voice was there also, Raoul!\nI was afraid for your sake and again I would not recognize you and\nbegan to laugh when you reminded me that you had picked up my scarf in\nthe sea! ... Alas, there is no deceiving the voice! ... The voice\nrecognized you and the voice was jealous! ... It said that, if I did\nnot love you, I would not avoid you, but treat you like any other old\nfriend.  It made me scene upon scene.  At last, I said to the voice,\n'That will do!  I am going to Perros to-morrow, to pray on my father's\ngrave, and I shall ask M. Raoul de Chagny to go with me.'  'Do as you\nplease,' replied the voice, 'but I shall be at Perros too, for I am\nwherever you are, Christine; and, if you are still worthy of me, if you\nhave not lied to me, I will play you The Resurrection of Lazarus, on\nthe stroke of midnight, on your father's tomb and on your father's\nviolin.'  That, dear, was how I came to write you the letter that\nbrought you to Perros.  How could I have been so beguiled?  How was it,\nwhen I saw the personal, the selfish point of view of the voice, that I\ndid not suspect some impostor?  Alas, I was no longer mistress of\nmyself:  I had become his thing!\"\n\n\"But, after all,\" cried Raoul, \"you soon came to know the truth!  Why\ndid you not at once rid yourself of that abominable nightmare?\"\n\n\"Know the truth, Raoul?  Rid myself of that nightmare?  But, my poor\nboy, I was not caught in the nightmare until the day when I learned the\ntruth! ... Pity me, Raoul, pity me! ... You remember the terrible\nevening when Carlotta thought that she had been turned into a toad on\nthe stage and when the house was suddenly plunged in darkness through\nthe chandelier crashing to the floor?  There were killed and wounded\nthat night and the whole theater rang with terrified screams.  My first\nthought was for you and the voice.  I was at once easy, where you were\nconcerned, for I had seen you in your brother's box and I knew that you\nwere not in danger.  But the voice had told me that it would be at the\nperformance and I was really afraid for it, just as if it had been an\nordinary person who was capable of dying.  I thought to myself, 'The\nchandelier may have come down upon the voice.'  I was then on the stage\nand was nearly running into the house, to look for the voice among the\nkilled and wounded, when I thought that, if the voice was safe, it\nwould be sure to be in my dressing-room and I rushed to my room.  The\nvoice was not there.  I locked my door and, with tears in my eyes,\nbesought it, if it were still alive, to manifest itself to me.  The\nvoice did not reply, but suddenly I heard a long, beautiful wail which\nI knew well.  It is the plaint of Lazarus when, at the sound of the\nRedeemer's voice, he begins to open his eyes and see the light of day.\nIt was the music which you and I, Raoul, heard at Perros.  And then the\nvoice began to sing the leading phrase, 'Come!  And believe in me!\nWhoso believes in me shall live!  Walk!  Whoso hath believed in me\nshall never die! ...'  I can not tell you the effect which that music\nhad upon me.  It seemed to command me, personally, to come, to stand up\nand come to it.  It retreated and I followed.  'Come! And believe in\nme!'  I believed in it, I came ...  I came and--this was the\nextraordinary thing--my dressing-room, as I moved, seemed to lengthen\nout ... to lengthen out ...  Evidently, it must have been an effect of\nmirrors ... for I had the mirror in front of me ...  And, suddenly, I\nwas outside the room without knowing how!\"\n\n\"What!  Without knowing how?  Christine, Christine, you must really\nstop dreaming!\"\n\n\"I was not dreaming, dear, I was outside my room without knowing how.\nYou, who saw me disappear from my room one evening, may be able to\nexplain it; but I can not.  I can only tell you that, suddenly, there\nwas no mirror before me and no dressing-room.  I was in a dark passage,\nI was frightened and I cried out.  It was quite dark, but for a faint\nred glimmer at a distant corner of the wall.  I tried out.  My voice\nwas the only sound, for the singing and the violin had stopped.  And,\nsuddenly, a hand was laid on mine ... or rather a stone-cold, bony\nthing that seized my wrist and did not let go.  I cried out again.  An\narm took me round the waist and supported me.  I struggled for a little\nwhile and then gave up the attempt.  I was dragged toward the little\nred light and then I saw that I was in the hands of a man wrapped in a\nlarge cloak and wearing a mask that hid his whole face.  I made one\nlast effort; my limbs stiffened, my mouth opened to scream, but a hand\nclosed it, a hand which I felt on my lips, on my skin ... a hand that\nsmelt of death.  Then I fainted away.\n\n\"When I opened my eyes, we were still surrounded by darkness.  A\nlantern, standing on the ground, showed a bubbling well.  The water\nsplashing from the well disappeared, almost at once, under the floor on\nwhich I was lying, with my head on the knee of the man in the black\ncloak and the black mask.  He was bathing my temples and his hands\nsmelt of death.  I tried to push them away and asked, 'Who are you?\nWhere is the voice?'  His only answer was a sigh.  Suddenly, a hot\nbreath passed over my face and I perceived a white shape, beside the\nman's black shape, in the darkness.  The black shape lifted me on to\nthe white shape, a glad neighing greeted my astounded ears and I\nmurmured, 'Cesar!' The animal quivered.  Raoul, I was lying half back\non a saddle and I had recognized the white horse out of the PROFETA,\nwhich I had so often fed with sugar and sweets.  I remembered that, one\nevening, there was a rumor in the theater that the horse had\ndisappeared and that it had been stolen by the Opera ghost.  I believed\nin the voice, but had never believed in the ghost.  Now, however, I\nbegan to wonder, with a shiver, whether I was the ghost's prisoner.  I\ncalled upon the voice to help me, for I should never have imagined that\nthe voice and the ghost were one.  You have heard about the Opera\nghost, have you not, Raoul?\"\n\n\"Yes, but tell me what happened when you were on the white horse of the\nProfeta?\"\n\n\"I made no movement and let myself go.  The black shape held me up, and\nI made no effort to escape.  A curious feeling of peacefulness came\nover me and I thought that I must be under the influence of some\ncordial.  I had the full command of my senses; and my eyes became used\nto the darkness, which was lit, here and there, by fitful gleams.  I\ncalculated that we were in a narrow circular gallery, probably running\nall round the Opera, which is immense, underground.  I had once been\ndown into those cellars, but had stopped at the third floor, though\nthere were two lower still, large enough to hold a town.  But the\nfigures of which I caught sight had made me run away.  There are demons\ndown there, quite black, standing in front of boilers, and they wield\nshovels and pitchforks and poke up fires and stir up flames and, if you\ncome too near them, they frighten you by suddenly opening the red\nmouths of their furnaces ...  Well, while Cesar was quietly carrying me\non his back, I saw those black demons in the distance, looking quite\nsmall, in front of the red fires of their furnaces: they came into\nsight, disappeared and came into sight again, as we went on our winding\nway.  At last, they disappeared altogether.  The shape was still\nholding me up and Cesar walked on, unled and sure-footed. I could not\ntell you, even approximately, how long this ride lasted; I only know\nthat we seemed to turn and turn and often went down a spiral stair into\nthe very heart of the earth.  Even then, it may be that my head was\nturning, but I don't think so: no, my mind was quite clear.  At last,\nCesar raised his nostrils, sniffed the air and quickened his pace a\nlittle.  I felt a moistness in the air and Cesar stopped.  The darkness\nhad lifted.  A sort of bluey light surrounded us.  We were on the edge\nof a lake, whose leaden waters stretched into the distance, into the\ndarkness; but the blue light lit up the bank and I saw a little boat\nfastened to an iron ring on the wharf!\"\n\n\"A boat!\"\n\n\"Yes, but I knew that all that existed and that there was nothing\nsupernatural about that underground lake and boat.  But think of the\nexceptional conditions in which I arrived upon that shore!  I don't\nknow whether the effects of the cordial had worn off when the man's\nshape lifted me into the boat, but my terror began all over again.  My\ngruesome escort must have noticed it, for he sent Cesar back and I\nheard his hoofs trampling up a staircase while the man jumped into the\nboat, untied the rope that held it and seized the oars.  He rowed with\na quick, powerful stroke; and his eyes, under the mask, never left me.\nWe slipped across the noiseless water in the bluey light which I told\nyou of; then we were in the dark again and we touched shore.  And I was\nonce more taken up in the man's arms.  I cried aloud.  And then,\nsuddenly, I was silent, dazed by the light... Yes, a dazzling light in\nthe midst of which I had been put down.  I sprang to my feet.  I was in\nthe middle of a drawing-room that seemed to me to be decorated, adorned\nand furnished with nothing but flowers, flowers both magnificent and\nstupid, because of the silk ribbons that tied them to baskets, like\nthose which they sell in the shops on the boulevards.  They were much\ntoo civilized flowers, like those which I used to find in my\ndressing-room after a first night.  And, in the midst of all these\nflowers, stood the black shape of the man in the mask, with arms\ncrossed, and he said, 'Don't be afraid, Christine; you are in no\ndanger.' IT WAS THE VOICE!\n\n\"My anger equaled my amazement.  I rushed at the mask and tried to\nsnatch it away, so as to see the face of the voice.  The man said, 'You\nare in no danger, so long as you do not touch the mask.' And, taking me\ngently by the wrists, he forced me into a chair and then went down on\nhis knees before me and said nothing more!  His humility gave me back\nsome of my courage; and the light restored me to the realties of life.\nHowever extraordinary the adventure might be, I was now surrounded by\nmortal, visible, tangible things.  The furniture, the hangings, the\ncandles, the vases and the very flowers in their baskets, of which I\ncould almost have told whence they came and what they cost, were bound\nto confine my imagination to the limits of a drawing-room quite as\ncommonplace as any that, at least, had the excuse of not being in the\ncellars of the Opera.  I had, no doubt, to do with a terrible,\neccentric person, who, in some mysterious fashion, had succeeded in\ntaking up his abode there, under the Opera house, five stories below\nthe level of the ground.  And the voice, the voice which I had\nrecognized under the mask, was on its knees before me, WAS A MAN!  And\nI began to cry...  The man, still kneeling, must have understood the\ncause of my tears, for he said, 'It is true, Christine! ... I am not an\nAngel, nor a genius, nor a ghost ... I am Erik!'\"\n\nChristine's narrative was again interrupted.  An echo behind them\nseemed to repeat the word after her.\n\n\"Erik!\"\n\nWhat echo? ... They both turned round and saw that night had fallen.\nRaoul made a movement as though to rise, but Christine kept him beside\nher.\n\n\"Don't go,\" she said.  \"I want you to know everything HERE!\"\n\n\"But why here, Christine?  I am afraid of your catching cold.\"\n\n\"We have nothing to fear except the trap-doors, dear, and here we are\nmiles away from the trap-doors ... and I am not allowed to see you\noutside the theater.  This is not the time to annoy him.  We must not\narouse his suspicion.\"\n\n\"Christine!  Christine!  Something tells me that we are wrong to wait\ntill to-morrow evening and that we ought to fly at once.\"\n\n\"I tell you that, if he does not hear me sing tomorrow, it will cause\nhim infinite pain.\"\n\n\"It is difficult not to cause him pain and yet to escape from him for\ngood.\"\n\n\"You are right in that, Raoul, for certainly he will die of my flight.\"\nAnd she added in a dull voice, \"But then it counts both ways ...  for\nwe risk his killing us.\"\n\n\"Does he love you so much?\"\n\n\"He would commit murder for me.\"\n\n\"But one can find out where he lives.  One can go in search of him.\nNow that we know that Erik is not a ghost, one can speak to him and\nforce him to answer!\"\n\nChristine shook her head.\n\n\"No, no!  There is nothing to be done with Erik except to run away!\"\n\n\"Then why, when you were able to run away, did you go back to him?\"\n\n\"Because I had to.  And you will understand that when I tell you how I\nleft him.\"\n\n\"Oh, I hate him!\" cried Raoul.  \"And you, Christine, tell me, do you\nhate him too?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Christine simply.\n\n\"No, of course not ...  Why, you love him!  Your fear, your terror, all\nof that is just love and love of the most exquisite kind, the kind\nwhich people do not admit even to themselves,\" said Raoul bitterly.\n\"The kind that gives you a thrill, when you think of it...  Picture it:\na man who lives in a palace underground!\" And he gave a leer.\n\n\"Then you want me to go back there?\" said the young girl cruelly.\n\"Take care, Raoul; I have told you:  I should never return!\"\n\nThere was an appalling silence between the three of them: the two who\nspoke and the shadow that listened, behind them.\n\n\"Before answering that,\" said Raoul, at last, speaking very slowly, \"I\nshould like to know with what feeling he inspires you, since you do not\nhate him.\"\n\n\"With horror!\" she said.  \"That is the terrible thing about it.  He\nfills me with horror and I do not hate him.  How can I hate him, Raoul?\nThink of Erik at my feet, in the house on the lake, underground.  He\naccuses himself, he curses himself, he implores my forgiveness! ... He\nconfesses his cheat.  He loves me!  He lays at my feet an immense and\ntragic love...  He has carried me off for love! ... He has imprisoned\nme with him, underground, for love! ... But he respects me:  he crawls,\nhe moans, he weeps! ... And, when I stood up, Raoul, and told him that\nI could only despise him if he did not, then and there, give me my\nliberty ... he offered it ... he offered to show me the mysterious road\n... Only ... only he rose too ... and I was made to remember that,\nthough he was not an angel, nor a ghost, nor a genius, he remained the\nvoice ... for he sang.  And I listened ... and stayed! ... That night,\nwe did not exchange another word.  He sang me to sleep.\n\n\"When I woke up, I was alone, lying on a sofa in a simply furnished\nlittle bedroom, with an ordinary mahogany bedstead, lit by a lamp\nstanding on the marble top of an old Louis-Philippe chest of drawers.\nI soon discovered that I was a prisoner and that the only outlet from\nmy room led to a very comfortable bath-room. On returning to the\nbedroom, I saw on the chest of drawers a note, in red ink, which said,\n'My dear Christine, you need have no concern as to your fate.  You have\nno better nor more respectful friend in the world than myself.  You are\nalone, at present, in this home which is yours.  I am going out\nshopping to fetch you all the things that you can need.' I felt sure\nthat I had fallen into the hands of a madman.  I ran round my little\napartment, looking for a way of escape which I could not find.  I\nupbraided myself for my absurd superstition, which had caused me to\nfall into the trap.  I felt inclined to laugh and to cry at the same\ntime.\n\n\"This was the state of mind in which Erik found me.  After giving three\ntaps on the wall, he walked in quietly through a door which I had not\nnoticed and which he left open.  He had his arms full of boxes and\nparcels and arranged them on the bed, in a leisurely fashion, while I\noverwhelmed him with abuse and called upon him to take off his mask, if\nit covered the face of an honest man.  He replied serenely, 'You shall\nnever see Erik's face.'  And he reproached me with not having finished\ndressing at that time of day: he was good enough to tell me that it was\ntwo o'clock in the afternoon.  He said he would give me half an hour\nand, while he spoke, wound up my watch and set it for me.  After which,\nhe asked me to come to the dining-room, where a nice lunch was waiting\nfor us.\n\n\"I was very angry, slammed the door in his face and went to the\nbath-room ...  When I came out again, feeling greatly refreshed, Erik\nsaid that he loved me, but that he would never tell me so except when I\nallowed him and that the rest of the time would be devoted to music.\n'What do you mean by the rest of the time?' I asked.  'Five days,' he\nsaid, with decision.  I asked him if I should then be free and he said,\n'You will be free, Christine, for, when those five days are past, you\nwill have learned not to see me; and then, from time to time, you will\ncome to see your poor Erik!' He pointed to a chair opposite him, at a\nsmall table, and I sat down, feeling greatly perturbed.  However, I ate\na few prawns and the wing of a chicken and drank half a glass of tokay,\nwhich he had himself, he told me, brought from the Konigsberg cellars.\nErik did not eat or drink.  I asked him what his nationality was and if\nthat name of Erik did not point to his Scandinavian origin.  He said\nthat he had no name and no country and that he had taken the name of\nErik by accident.\n\n\"After lunch, he rose and gave me the tips of his fingers, saying he\nwould like to show me over his flat; but I snatched away my hand and\ngave a cry.  What I had touched was cold and, at the same time, bony;\nand I remembered that his hands smelt of death.  'Oh, forgive me!' he\nmoaned.  And he opened a door before me.  'This is my bedroom, if you\ncare to see it.  It is rather curious.' His manners, his words, his\nattitude gave me confidence and I went in without hesitation.  I felt\nas if I were entering the room of a dead person.  The walls were all\nhung with black, but, instead of the white trimmings that usually set\noff that funereal upholstery, there was an enormous stave of music with\nthe notes of the DIES IRAE, many times repeated.  In the middle of the\nroom was a canopy, from which hung curtains of red brocaded stuff, and,\nunder the canopy, an open coffin.  'That is where I sleep,' said Erik.\n'One has to get used to everything in life, even to eternity.'  The\nsight upset me so much that I turned away my head.\n\n\"Then I saw the keyboard of an organ which filled one whole side of the\nwalls.  On the desk was a music-book covered with red notes.  I asked\nleave to look at it and read, 'Don Juan Triumphant.' 'Yes,' he said, 'I\ncompose sometimes.'  I began that work twenty years ago.  When I have\nfinished, I shall take it away with me in that coffin and never wake up\nagain.'  'You must work at it as seldom as you can,' I said.  He\nreplied, 'I sometimes work at it for fourteen days and nights together,\nduring which I live on music only, and then I rest for years at a\ntime.'  'Will you play me something out of your Don Juan Triumphant?' I\nasked, thinking to please him.  'You must never ask me that,' he said,\nin a gloomy voice.  'I will play you Mozart, if you like, which will\nonly make you weep; but my Don Juan, Christine, burns; and yet he is\nnot struck by fire from Heaven.'  Thereupon we returned to the\ndrawing-room. I noticed that there was no mirror in the whole\napartment.  I was going to remark upon this, but Erik had already sat\ndown to the piano.  He said, 'You see, Christine, there is some music\nthat is so terrible that it consumes all those who approach it.\nFortunately, you have not come to that music yet, for you would lose\nall your pretty coloring and nobody would know you when you returned to\nParis.  Let us sing something from the Opera, Christine Daae.' He spoke\nthese last words as though he were flinging an insult at me.\"\n\n\"What did you do?\"\n\n\"I had no time to think about the meaning he put into his words.  We at\nonce began the duet in Othello and already the catastrophe was upon us.\nI sang Desdemona with a despair, a terror which I had never displayed\nbefore.  As for him, his voice thundered forth his revengeful soul at\nevery note.  Love, jealousy, hatred, burst out around us in harrowing\ncries.  Erik's black mask made me think of the natural mask of the Moor\nof Venice.  He was Othello himself.  Suddenly, I felt a need to see\nbeneath the mask.  I wanted to know the FACE of the voice, and, with a\nmovement which I was utterly unable to control, swiftly my fingers tore\naway the mask.  Oh, horror, horror, horror!\"\n\nChristine stopped, at the thought of the vision that had scared her,\nwhile the echoes of the night, which had repeated the name of Erik, now\nthrice moaned the cry:\n\n\"Horror! ... Horror! ... Horror!\"\n\nRaoul and Christine, clasping each other closely, raised their eyes to\nthe stars that shone in a clear and peaceful sky.  Raoul said:\n\n\"Strange, Christine, that this calm, soft night should be so full of\nplaintive sounds.  One would think that it was sorrowing with us.\"\n\n\"When you know the secret, Raoul, your ears, like mine, will be full of\nlamentations.\"\n\nShe took Raoul's protecting hands in hers and, with a long shiver,\ncontinued:\n\n\"Yes, if I lived to be a hundred, I should always hear the superhuman\ncry of grief and rage which he uttered when the terrible sight appeared\nbefore my eyes ...  Raoul, you have seen death's heads, when they have\nbeen dried and withered by the centuries, and, perhaps, if you were not\nthe victim of a nightmare, you saw HIS death's head at Perros.  And\nthen you saw Red Death stalking about at the last masked ball.  But all\nthose death's heads were motionless and their dumb horror was not\nalive.  But imagine, if you can, Red Death's mask suddenly coming to\nlife in order to express, with the four black holes of its eyes, its\nnose, and its mouth, the extreme anger, the mighty fury of a demon; AND\nNOT A RAY OF LIGHT FROM THE SOCKETS, for, as I learned later, you can\nnot see his blazing eyes except in the dark.\n\n\"I fell back against the wall and he came up to me, grinding his teeth,\nand, as I fell upon my knees, he hissed mad, incoherent words and\ncurses at me.  Leaning over me, he cried, 'Look! You want to see!  See!\nFeast your eyes, glut your soul on my cursed ugliness!  Look at Erik's\nface!  Now you know the face of the voice!  You were not content to\nhear me, eh?  You wanted to know what I looked like!  Oh, you women are\nso inquisitive!  Well, are you satisfied?  I'm a very good-looking\nfellow, eh? ... When a woman has seen me, as you have, she belongs to\nme.  She loves me for ever.  I am a kind of Don Juan, you know!'  And,\ndrawing himself up to his full height, with his hand on his hip,\nwagging the hideous thing that was his head on his shoulders, he\nroared, 'Look at me!  I AM DON JUAN TRIUMPHANT!' And, when I turned\naway my head and begged for mercy, he drew it to him, brutally,\ntwisting his dead fingers into my hair.\"\n\n\"Enough!  Enough!\" cried Raoul.  \"I will kill him.  In Heaven's name,\nChristine, tell me where the dining-room on the lake is!  I must kill\nhim!\"\n\n\"Oh, be quiet, Raoul, if you want to know!\"\n\n\"Yes, I want to know how and why you went back; I must know! ...  But,\nin any case, I will kill him!\"\n\n\"Oh, Raoul, listen, listen! ... He dragged me by my hair and then ...\nand then ... Oh, it is too horrible!\"\n\n\"Well, what?  Out with it!\" exclaimed Raoul fiercely.  \"Out with it,\nquick!\"\n\n\"Then he hissed at me.  'Ah, I frighten you, do I? ... I dare say! ...\nPerhaps you think that I have another mask, eh, and that this ... this\n... my head is a mask?  Well,' he roared, 'tear it off as you did the\nother!  Come!  Come along!  I insist!  Your hands!  Your hands!  Give\nme your hands!'  And he seized my hands and dug them into his awful\nface.  He tore his flesh with my nails, tore his terrible dead flesh\nwith my nails! ... 'Know,' he shouted, while his throat throbbed and\npanted like a furnace, 'know that I am built up of death from head to\nfoot and that it is a corpse that loves you and adores you and will\nnever, never leave you! ... Look, I am not laughing now, I am crying,\ncrying for you, Christine, who have torn off my mask and who therefore\ncan never leave me again! ... As long as you thought me handsome, you\ncould have come back, I know you would have come back ... but, now that\nyou know my hideousness, you would run away for good... So I shall keep\nyou here! ... Why did you want to see me?  Oh, mad Christine, who\nwanted to see me! ... When my own father never saw me and when my\nmother, so as not to see me, made me a present of my first mask!'\n\n\"He had let go of me at last and was dragging himself about on the\nfloor, uttering terrible sobs. And then he crawled away like a snake,\nwent into his room, closed the door and left me alone to my\nreflections.  Presently I heard the sound of the organ; and then I\nbegan to understand Erik's contemptuous phrase when he spoke about\nOpera music.  What I now heard was utterly different from what I had\nheard up to then.  His Don Juan Triumphant (for I had not a doubt but\nthat he had rushed to his masterpiece to forget the horror of the\nmoment) seemed to me at first one long, awful, magnificent sob.  But,\nlittle by little, it expressed every emotion, every suffering of which\nmankind is capable.  It intoxicated me; and I opened the door that\nseparated us.  Erik rose, as I entered, BUT DARED NOT TURN IN MY\nDIRECTION.  'Erik,' I cried, 'show me your face without fear!  I swear\nthat you are the most unhappy and sublime of men; and, if ever again I\nshiver when I look at you, it will be because I am thinking of the\nsplendor of your genius!'  Then Erik turned round, for he believed me,\nand I also had faith in myself.  He fell at my feet, with words of love\n...  with words of love in his dead mouth ... and the music had ceased\n...  He kissed the hem of my dress and did not see that I closed my\neyes.\n\n\"What more can I tell you, dear?  You now know the tragedy.  It went on\nfor a fortnight--a fortnight during which I lied to him.  My lies were\nas hideous as the monster who inspired them; but they were the price of\nmy liberty.  I burned his mask; and I managed so well that, even when\nhe was not singing, he tried to catch my eye, like a dog sitting by its\nmaster.  He was my faithful slave and paid me endless little\nattentions.  Gradually, I gave him such confidence that he ventured to\ntake me walking on the banks of the lake and to row me in the boat on\nits leaden waters; toward the end of my captivity he let me out through\nthe gates that closed the underground passages in the Rue Scribe.  Here\na carriage awaited us and took us to the Bois.  The night when we met\nyou was nearly fatal to me, for he is terribly jealous of you and I had\nto tell him that you were soon going away ...  Then, at last, after a\nfortnight of that horrible captivity, during which I was filled with\npity, enthusiasm, despair and horror by turns, he believed me when I\nsaid, 'I WILL COME BACK!'\"\n\n\"And you went back, Christine,\" groaned Raoul.\n\n\"Yes, dear, and I must tell you that it was not his frightful threats\nwhen setting me free that helped me to keep my word, but the harrowing\nsob which he gave on the threshold of the tomb.  ...  That sob attached\nme to the unfortunate man more than I myself suspected when saying\ngood-by to him.  Poor Erik!  Poor Erik!\"\n\n\"Christine,\" said Raoul, rising, \"you tell me that you love me; but you\nhad recovered your liberty hardly a few hours before you returned to\nErik!  Remember the masked ball!\"\n\n\"Yes; and do you remember those hours which I passed with you, Raoul\n... to the great danger of both of us?\"\n\n\"I doubted your love for me, during those hours.\"\n\n\"Do you doubt it still, Raoul? ... Then know that each of my visits to\nErik increased my horror of him; for each of those visits, instead of\ncalming him, as I hoped, made him mad with love!  And I am so\nfrightened, so frightened! ...\"\n\n\"You are frightened ... but do you love me?  If Erik were good-looking,\nwould you love me, Christine?\"\n\nShe rose in her turn, put her two trembling arms round the young man's\nneck and said:\n\n\"Oh, my betrothed of a day, if I did not love you, I would not give you\nmy lips!  Take them, for the first time and the last.\"\n\nHe kissed her lips; but the night that surrounded them was rent\nasunder, they fled as at the approach of a storm and their eyes, filled\nwith dread of Erik, showed them, before they disappeared, high up above\nthem, an immense night-bird that stared at them with its blazing eyes\nand seemed to cling to the string of Apollo's lyre.\n\n\n\nChapter XIII  A Master-Stroke of the Trap-Door Lover\n\n\nRaoul and Christine ran, eager to escape from the roof and the blazing\neyes that showed only in the dark; and they did not stop before they\ncame to the eighth floor on the way down.\n\nThere was no performance at the Opera that night and the passages were\nempty.  Suddenly, a queer-looking form stood before them and blocked\nthe road:\n\n\"No, not this way!\"\n\nAnd the form pointed to another passage by which they were to reach the\nwings.  Raoul wanted to stop and ask for an explanation.  But the form,\nwhich wore a sort of long frock-coat and a pointed cap, said:\n\n\"Quick!  Go away quickly!\"\n\nChristine was already dragging Raoul, compelling him to start running\nagain.\n\n\"But who is he?  Who is that man?\" he asked.\n\nChristine replied:  \"It's the Persian.\"\n\n\"What's he doing here?\"\n\n\"Nobody knows.  He is always in the Opera.\"\n\n\"You are making me run away, for the first time in my life.  If we\nreally saw Erik, what I ought to have done was to nail him to Apollo's\nlyre, just as we nail the owls to the walls of our Breton farms; and\nthere would have been no more question of him.\"\n\n\"My dear Raoul, you would first have had to climb up to Apollo's lyre:\nthat is no easy matter.\"\n\n\"The blazing eyes were there!\"\n\n\"Oh, you are getting like me now, seeing him everywhere!  What I took\nfor blazing eyes was probably a couple of stars shining through the\nstrings of the lyre.\"\n\nAnd Christine went down another floor, with Raoul following her.\n\n\"As you have quite made up your mind to go, Christine, I assure you it\nwould be better to go at once.  Why wait for to-morrow? He may have\nheard us to-night.\"\n\n\"No, no, he is working, I tell you, at his Don Juan Triumphant and not\nthinking of us.\"\n\n\"You're so sure of that you keep on looking behind you!\"\n\n\"Come to my dressing-room.\"\n\n\"Hadn't we better meet outside the Opera?\"\n\n\"Never, till we go away for good!  It would bring us bad luck, if I did\nnot keep my word.  I promised him to see you only here.\"\n\n\"It's a good thing for me that he allowed you even that.  Do you know,\"\nsaid Raoul bitterly, \"that it was very plucky of you to let us play at\nbeing engaged?\"\n\n\"Why, my dear, he knows all about it!  He said, 'I trust you,\nChristine.  M. de Chagny is in love with you and is going abroad.\nBefore he goes, I want him to be as happy as I am.'  Are people so\nunhappy when they love?\"\n\n\"Yes, Christine, when they love and are not sure of being loved.\"\n\nThey came to Christine's dressing-room.\n\n\"Why do you think that you are safer in this room than on the stage?\"\nasked Raoul.  \"You heard him through the walls here, therefore he can\ncertainly hear us.\"\n\n\"No. He gave me his word not to be behind the walls of my dressing-room\nagain and I believe Erik's word.  This room and my bedroom on the lake\nare for me, exclusively, and not to be approached by him.\"\n\n\"How can you have gone from this room into that dark passage,\nChristine?  Suppose we try to repeat your movements; shall we?\"\n\n\"It is dangerous, dear, for the glass might carry me off again; and,\ninstead of running away, I should be obliged to go to the end of the\nsecret passage to the lake and there call Erik.\"\n\n\"Would he hear you?\"\n\n\"Erik will hear me wherever I call him.  He told me so.  He is a very\ncurious genius.  You must not think, Raoul, that he is simply a man who\namuses himself by living underground.  He does things that no other man\ncould do; he knows things which nobody in the world knows.\"\n\n\"Take care, Christine, you are making a ghost of him again!\"\n\n\"No, he is not a ghost; he is a man of Heaven and earth, that is all.\"\n\n\"A man of Heaven and earth ... that is all! ... A nice way to speak of\nhim! ... And are you still resolved to run away from him?\"\n\n\"Yes, to-morrow.\"\n\n\"To-morrow, you will have no resolve left!\"\n\n\"Then, Raoul, you must run away with me in spite of myself; is that\nunderstood?\"\n\n\"I shall be here at twelve to-morrow night; I shall keep my promise,\nwhatever happens.  You say that, after listening to the performance, he\nis to wait for you in the dining-room on the lake?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And how are you to reach him, if you don't know how to go out by the\nglass?\"\n\n\"Why, by going straight to the edge of the lake.\"\n\nChristine opened a box, took out an enormous key and showed it to Raoul.\n\n\"What's that?\" he asked.\n\n\"The key of the gate to the underground passage in the Rue Scribe.\"\n\n\"I understand, Christine.  It leads straight to the lake.  Give it to\nme, Christine, will you?\"\n\n\"Never!\" she said.  \"That would be treacherous!\"\n\nSuddenly Christine changed color.  A mortal pallor overspread her\nfeatures.\n\n\"Oh heavens!\" she cried.  \"Erik!  Erik!  Have pity on me!\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue!\" said Raoul.  \"You told me he could hear you!\"\n\nBut the singer's attitude became more and more inexplicable.  She wrung\nher fingers, repeating, with a distraught air:\n\n\"Oh, Heaven!  Oh, Heaven!\"\n\n\"But what is it?  What is it?\"  Raoul implored.\n\n\"The ring ... the gold ring he gave me.\"\n\n\"Oh, so Erik gave you that ring!\"\n\n\"You know he did, Raoul!  But what you don't know is that, when he gave\nit to me, he said, 'I give you back your liberty, Christine, on\ncondition that this ring is always on your finger.  As long as you keep\nit, you will be protected against all danger and Erik will remain your\nfriend.  But woe to you if you ever part with it, for Erik will have\nhis revenge!' ... My dear, my dear, the ring is gone! ... Woe to us\nboth!\"\n\nThey both looked for the ring, but could not find it.  Christine\nrefused to be pacified.\n\n\"It was while I gave you that kiss, up above, under Apollo's lyre,\" she\nsaid.  \"The ring must have slipped from my finger and dropped into the\nstreet!  We can never find it.  And what misfortunes are in store for\nus now!  Oh, to run away!\"\n\n\"Let us run away at once,\" Raoul insisted, once more.\n\nShe hesitated.  He thought that she was going to say yes...  Then her\nbright pupils became dimmed and she said:\n\n\"No!  To-morrow!\"\n\nAnd she left him hurriedly, still wringing and rubbing her fingers, as\nthough she hoped to bring the ring back like that.\n\nRaoul went home, greatly perturbed at all that he had heard.\n\n[Illustration: They Sat Like that for a Moment in Silence]\n\n\"If I don't save her from the hands of that humbug,\" he said, aloud, as\nhe went to bed, \"she is lost.  But I shall save her.\"\n\nHe put out his lamp and felt a need to insult Erik in the dark.  Thrice\nover, he shouted:\n\n\"Humbug! ... Humbug! ... Humbug!\"\n\nBut, suddenly, he raised himself on his elbow.  A cold sweat poured\nfrom his temples.  Two eyes, like blazing coals, had appeared at the\nfoot of his bed.  They stared at him fixedly, terribly, in the darkness\nof the night.\n\nRaoul was no coward; and yet he trembled.  He put out a groping,\nhesitating hand toward the table by his bedside.  He found the matches\nand lit his candle.  The eyes disappeared.\n\nStill uneasy in his mind, he thought to himself:\n\n\"She told me that HIS eyes only showed in the dark.  His eyes have\ndisappeared in the light, but HE may be there still.\"\n\nAnd he rose, hunted about, went round the room.  He looked under his\nbed, like a child.  Then he thought himself absurd, got into bed again\nand blew out the candle.  The eyes reappeared.\n\nHe sat up and stared back at them with all the courage he possessed.\nThen he cried:\n\n\"Is that you, Erik?  Man, genius, or ghost, is it you?\"\n\nHe reflected:  \"If it's he, he's on the balcony!\"\n\nThen he ran to the chest of drawers and groped for his revolver.  He\nopened the balcony window, looked out, saw nothing and closed the\nwindow again.  He went back to bed, shivering, for the night was cold,\nand put the revolver on the table within his reach.\n\nThe eyes were still there, at the foot of the bed.  Were they between\nthe bed and the window-pane or behind the pane, that is to say, on the\nbalcony?  That was what Raoul wanted to know.  He also wanted to know\nif those eyes belonged to a human being... He wanted to know\neverything.  Then, patiently, calmly, he seized his revolver and took\naim.  He aimed a little above the two eyes.  Surely, if they were eyes\nand if above those two eyes there was a forehead and if Raoul was not\ntoo clumsy ...\n\nThe shot made a terrible din amid the silence of the slumbering house.\nAnd, while footsteps came hurrying along the passages, Raoul sat up\nwith outstretched arm, ready to fire again, if need be.\n\nThis time, the two eyes had disappeared.\n\nServants appeared, carrying lights; Count Philippe, terribly anxious:\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"I think I have been dreaming,\" replied the young man.  \"I fired at two\nstars that kept me from sleeping.\"\n\n\"You're raving!  Are you ill?  For God's sake, tell me, Raoul: what\nhappened?\"\n\nAnd the count seized hold of the revolver.\n\n\"No, no, I'm not raving...  Besides, we shall soon see ...\"\n\nHe got out of bed, put on a dressing-gown and slippers, took a light\nfrom the hands of a servant and, opening the window, stepped out on the\nbalcony.\n\nThe count saw that the window had been pierced by a bullet at a man's\nheight.  Raoul was leaning over the balcony with his candle: \"Aha!\" he\nsaid.  \"Blood! ... Blood! ... Here, there, more blood!  ...  That's a\ngood thing!  A ghost who bleeds is less dangerous!\" he grinned.\n\n\"Raoul!  Raoul!  Raoul!\"\n\nThe count was shaking him as though he were trying to waken a\nsleep-walker.\n\n\"But, my dear brother, I'm not asleep!\"  Raoul protested impatiently.\n\"You can see the blood for yourself.  I thought I had been dreaming and\nfiring at two stars.  It was Erik's eyes ... and here is his blood! ...\nAfter all, perhaps I was wrong to shoot; and Christine is quite capable\nof never forgiving me ...  All this would not have happened if I had\ndrawn the curtains before going to bed.\"\n\n\"Raoul, have you suddenly gone mad?  Wake up!\"\n\n\"What, still?  You would do better to help me find Erik ... for, after\nall, a ghost who bleeds can always be found.\"\n\nThe count's valet said:\n\n\"That is so, sir; there is blood on the balcony.\"\n\nThe other man-servant brought a lamp, by the light of which they\nexamined the balcony carefully.  The marks of blood followed the rail\ntill they reached a gutter-spout; then they went up the gutter-spout.\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" said Count Philippe, \"you have fired at a cat.\"\n\n\"The misfortune is,\" said Raoul, with a grin, \"that it's quite\npossible.  With Erik, you never know.  Is it Erik?  Is it the cat?  Is\nit the ghost?  No, with Erik, you can't tell!\"\n\nRaoul went on making this strange sort of remarks which corresponded so\nintimately and logically with the preoccupation of his brain and which,\nat the same time, tended to persuade many people that his mind was\nunhinged.  The count himself was seized with this idea; and, later, the\nexamining magistrate, on receiving the report of the commissary of\npolice, came to the same conclusion.\n\n\"Who is Erik?\" asked the count, pressing his brother's hand.\n\n\"He is my rival.  And, if he's not dead, it's a pity.\"\n\nHe dismissed the servants with a wave of the hand and the two Chagnys\nwere left alone.  But the men were not out of earshot before the\ncount's valet heard Raoul say, distinctly and emphatically:\n\n\"I shall carry off Christine Daae to-night.\"\n\nThis phrase was afterward repeated to M. Faure, the\nexamining-magistrate.  But no one ever knew exactly what passed between\nthe two brothers at this interview.  The servants declared that this\nwas not their first quarrel.  Their voices penetrated the wall; and it\nwas always an actress called Christine Daae that was in question.\n\nAt breakfast--the early morning breakfast, which the count took in his\nstudy--Philippe sent for his brother.  Raoul arrived silent and gloomy.\nThe scene was a very short one.  Philippe handed his brother a copy of\nthe Epoque and said:\n\n\"Read that!\"\n\nThe viscount read:\n\n\"The latest news in the Faubourg is that there is a promise of marriage\nbetween Mlle. Christine Daae, the opera-singer, and M. le Vicomte Raoul\nde Chagny.  If the gossips are to be credited, Count Philippe has sworn\nthat, for the first time on record, the Chagnys shall not keep their\npromise.  But, as love is all-powerful, at the Opera as--and even more\nthan--elsewhere, we wonder how Count Philippe intends to prevent the\nviscount, his brother, from leading the new Margarita to the altar.\nThe two brothers are said to adore each other; but the count is\ncuriously mistaken if he imagines that brotherly love will triumph over\nlove pure and simple.\"\n\n\"You see, Raoul,\" said the count, \"you are making us ridiculous!  That\nlittle girl has turned your head with her ghost-stories.\"\n\nThe viscount had evidently repeated Christine's narrative to his\nbrother, during the night.  All that he now said was:\n\n\"Good-by, Philippe.\"\n\n\"Have you quite made up your mind?  You are going to-night? With her?\"\n\nNo reply.\n\n\"Surely you will not do anything so foolish?  I SHALL know how to\nprevent you!\"\n\n\"Good-by, Philippe,\" said the viscount again and left the room.\n\nThis scene was described to the examining-magistrate by the count\nhimself, who did not see Raoul again until that evening, at the Opera,\na few minutes before Christine's disappearance.\n\nRaoul, in fact, devoted the whole day to his preparations for the\nflight.  The horses, the carriage, the coachman, the provisions, the\nluggage, the money required for the journey, the road to be taken (he\nhad resolved not to go by train, so as to throw the ghost off the\nscent): all this had to be settled and provided for; and it occupied\nhim until nine o'clock at night.\n\nAt nine o'clock, a sort of traveling-barouche with the curtains of its\nwindows close-down, took its place in the rank on the Rotunda side.  It\nwas drawn by two powerful horses driven by a coachman whose face was\nalmost concealed in the long folds of a muffler.  In front of this\ntraveling-carriage were three broughams, belonging respectively to\nCarlotta, who had suddenly returned to Paris, to Sorelli and, at the\nhead of the rank, to Comte Philippe de Chagny.  No one left the\nbarouche.  The coachman remained on his box, and the three other\ncoachmen remained on theirs.\n\nA shadow in a long black cloak and a soft black felt hat passed along\nthe pavement between the Rotunda and the carriages, examined the\nbarouche carefully, went up to the horses and the coachman and then\nmoved away without saying a word, The magistrate afterward believed\nthat this shadow was that of the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny; but I do not\nagree, seeing that that evening, as every evening, the Vicomte de\nChagny was wearing a tall hat, which hat, besides, was subsequently\nfound.  I am more inclined to think that the shadow was that of the\nghost, who knew all about the whole affair, as the reader will soon\nperceive.\n\nThey were giving FAUST, as it happened, before a splendid house.  The\nFaubourg was magnificently represented; and the paragraph in that\nmorning's EPOQUE had already produced its effect, for all eyes were\nturned to the box in which Count Philippe sat alone, apparently in a\nvery indifferent and careless frame of mind.  The feminine element in\nthe brilliant audience seemed curiously puzzled; and the viscount's\nabsence gave rise to any amount of whispering behind the fans.\nChristine Daae met with a rather cold reception.  That special audience\ncould not forgive her for aiming so high.\n\nThe singer noticed this unfavorable attitude of a portion of the house\nand was confused by it.\n\nThe regular frequenters of the Opera, who pretended to know the truth\nabout the viscount's love-story, exchanged significant smiles at\ncertain passages in Margarita's part; and they made a show of turning\nand looking at Philippe de Chagny's box when Christine sang:\n\n        \"I wish I could but know who was he\n        That addressed me,\n        If he was noble, or, at least, what his name is.\"\n\nThe count sat with his chin on his hand and seemed to pay no attention\nto these manifestations.  He kept his eyes fixed on the stage; but his\nthoughts appeared to be far away.\n\nChristine lost her self-assurance more and more.  She trembled.  She\nfelt on the verge of a breakdown ...  Carolus Fonta wondered if she was\nill, if she could keep the stage until the end of the Garden Act.  In\nthe front of the house, people remembered the catastrophe that had\nbefallen Carlotta at the end of that act and the historic \"co-ack\"\nwhich had momentarily interrupted her career in Paris.\n\nJust then, Carlotta made her entrance in a box facing the stage, a\nsensational entrance.  Poor Christine raised her eyes upon this fresh\nsubject of excitement.  She recognized her rival.  She thought she saw\na sneer on her lips.  That saved her.  She forgot everything, in order\nto triumph once more.\n\nFrom that moment the prima donna sang with all her heart and soul.  She\ntried to surpass all that she had done till then; and she succeeded.\nIn the last act when she began the invocation to the angels, she made\nall the members of the audience feel as though they too had wings.\n\nIn the center of the amphitheater a man stood up and remained standing,\nfacing the singer.  It was Raoul.\n\n\"Holy angel, in Heaven blessed ...\"\n\nAnd Christine, her arms outstretched, her throat filled with music, the\nglory of her hair falling over her bare shoulders, uttered the divine\ncry:\n\n\"My spirit longs with thee to rest!\"\n\nIt was at that moment that the stage was suddenly plunged in darkness.\nIt happened so quickly that the spectators hardly had time to utter a\nsound of stupefaction, for the gas at once lit up the stage again.  But\nChristine Daae was no longer there!\n\nWhat had become of her?  What was that miracle?  All exchanged glances\nwithout understanding, and the excitement at once reached its height.\nNor was the tension any less great on the stage itself.  Men rushed\nfrom the wings to the spot where Christine had been singing that very\ninstant.  The performance was interrupted amid the greatest disorder.\n\nWhere had Christine gone?  What witchcraft had snatched her, away\nbefore the eyes of thousands of enthusiastic onlookers and from the\narms of Carolus Fonta himself?  It was as though the angels had really\ncarried her up \"to rest.\"\n\nRaoul, still standing up in the amphitheater, had uttered a cry.  Count\nPhilippe had sprung to his feet in his box.  People looked at the\nstage, at the count, at Raoul, and wondered if this curious event was\nconnected in any way with the paragraph in that morning's paper.  But\nRaoul hurriedly left his seat, the count disappeared from his box and,\nwhile the curtain was lowered, the subscribers rushed to the door that\nled behind the scenes.  The rest of the audience waited amid an\nindescribable hubbub.  Every one spoke at once.  Every one tried to\nsuggest an explanation of the extraordinary incident.\n\nAt last, the curtain rose slowly and Carolus Fonta stepped to the\nconductor's desk and, in a sad and serious voice, said:\n\n\"Ladies and gentlemen, an unprecedented event has taken place and\nthrown us into a state of the greatest alarm.  Our sister-artist,\nChristine Daae, has disappeared before our eyes and nobody can tell us\nhow!\"\n\n\n\nChapter XIV  The Singular Attitude of a Safety-Pin\n\n\nBehind the curtain, there was an indescribable crowd.  Artists,\nscene-shifters, dancers, supers, choristers, subscribers were all\nasking questions, shouting and hustling one another.\n\n\"What became of her?\"\n\n\"She's run away.\"\n\n\"With the Vicomte de Chagny, of course!\"\n\n\"No, with the count!\"\n\n\"Ah, here's Carlotta!  Carlotta did the trick!\"\n\n\"No, it was the ghost!\"  And a few laughed, especially as a careful\nexamination of the trap-doors and boards had put the idea of an\naccident out of the question.\n\nAmid this noisy throng, three men stood talking in a low voice and with\ndespairing gestures.  They were Gabriel, the chorus-master; Mercier,\nthe acting-manager; and Remy, the secretary.  They retired to a corner\nof the lobby by which the stage communicates with the wide passage\nleading to the foyer of the ballet.  Here they stood and argued behind\nsome enormous \"properties.\"\n\n\"I knocked at the door,\" said Remy.  \"They did not answer.  Perhaps\nthey are not in the office.  In any case, it's impossible to find out,\nfor they took the keys with them.\"\n\n\"They\" were obviously the managers, who had given orders, during the\nlast entr'acte, that they were not to be disturbed on any pretext\nwhatever.  They were not in to anybody.\n\n\"All the same,\" exclaimed Gabriel, \"a singer isn't run away with, from\nthe middle of the stage, every day!\"\n\n\"Did you shout that to them?\" asked Mercier, impatiently.\n\n\"I'll go back again,\" said Remy, and disappeared at a run.\n\nThereupon the stage-manager arrived.\n\n\"Well, M. Mercier, are you coming?  What are you two doing here?\nYou're wanted, Mr. Acting-Manager.\"\n\n\"I refuse to know or to do anything before the commissary arrives,\"\ndeclared Mercier.  \"I have sent for Mifroid.  We shall see when he\ncomes!\"\n\n\"And I tell you that you ought to go down to the organ at once.\"\n\n\"Not before the commissary comes.\"\n\n\"I've been down to the organ myself already.\"\n\n\"Ah!  And what did you see?\"\n\n\"Well, I saw nobody!  Do you hear--nobody!\"\n\n\"What do you want me to do down there for{sic}?\"\n\n\"You're right!\" said the stage-manager, frantically pushing his hands\nthrough his rebellious hair.  \"You're right!  But there might be some\none at the organ who could tell us how the stage came to be suddenly\ndarkened.  Now Mauclair is nowhere to be found.  Do you understand\nthat?\"\n\nMauclair was the gas-man, who dispensed day and night at will on the\nstage of the Opera.\n\n\"Mauclair is not to be found!\" repeated Mercier, taken aback.  \"Well,\nwhat about his assistants?\"\n\n\"There's no Mauclair and no assistants!  No one at the lights, I tell\nyou!  You can imagine,\" roared the stage-manager, \"that that little\ngirl must have been carried off by somebody else:  she didn't run away\nby herself!  It was a calculated stroke and we have to find out about\nit ...  And what are the managers doing all this time?  ...  I gave\norders that no one was to go down to the lights and I posted a fireman\nin front of the gas-man's box beside the organ.  Wasn't that right?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, quite right, quite right.  And now let's wait for the\ncommissary.\"\n\nThe stage-manager walked away, shrugging his shoulders, fuming,\nmuttering insults at those milksops who remained quietly squatting in a\ncorner while the whole theater was topsyturvy{sic}.\n\nGabriel and Mercier were not so quiet as all that.  Only they had\nreceived an order that paralyzed them.  The managers were not to be\ndisturbed on any account.  Remy had violated that order and met with no\nsuccess.\n\nAt that moment he returned from his new expedition, wearing a curiously\nstartled air.\n\n\"Well, have you seen them?\" asked Mercier.\n\n\"Moncharmin opened the door at last.  His eyes were starting out of his\nhead.  I thought he meant to strike me.  I could not get a word in; and\nwhat do you think he shouted at me?  'Have you a safety-pin?' 'No!'\n'Well, then, clear out!'  I tried to tell him that an unheard-of thing\nhad happened on the stage, but he roared, 'A safety-pin! Give me a\nsafety-pin at once!'  A boy heard him--he was bellowing like a\nbull--ran up with a safety-pin and gave it to him; whereupon Moncharmin\nslammed the door in my face, and there you are!\"\n\n\"And couldn't you have said, 'Christine Daae.'\"\n\n\"I should like to have seen you in my place.  He was foaming at the\nmouth.  He thought of nothing but his safety-pin. I believe, if they\nhadn't brought him one on the spot, he would have fallen down in a fit!\n... Oh, all this isn't natural; and our managers are going mad! ...\nBesides, it can't go on like this!  I'm not used to being treated in\nthat fashion!\"\n\nSuddenly Gabriel whispered:\n\n\"It's another trick of O. G.'s.\"\n\nRimy gave a grin, Mercier a sigh and seemed about to speak ... but,\nmeeting Gabriel's eye, said nothing.\n\nHowever, Mercier felt his responsibility increased as the minutes\npassed without the managers' appearing; and, at last, he could stand it\nno longer.\n\n\"Look here, I'll go and hunt them out myself!\"\n\nGabriel, turning very gloomy and serious, stopped him.\n\n\"Be careful what you're doing, Mercier!  If they're staying in their\noffice, it's probably because they have to!  O. G. has more than one\ntrick in his bag!\"\n\nBut Mercier shook his head.\n\n\"That's their lookout!  I'm going!  If people had listened to me, the\npolice would have known everything long ago!\"\n\nAnd he went.\n\n\"What's everything?\" asked Remy.  \"What was there to tell the police?\nWhy don't you answer, Gabriel? ... Ah, so you know something!  Well,\nyou would do better to tell me, too, if you don't want me to shout out\nthat you are all going mad! ... Yes, that's what you are:  mad!\"\n\nGabriel put on a stupid look and pretended not to understand the\nprivate secretary's unseemly outburst.\n\n\"What 'something' am I supposed to know?\" he said.  \"I don't know what\nyou mean.\"\n\nRemy began to lose his temper.\n\n\"This evening, Richard and Moncharmin were behaving like lunatics,\nhere, between the acts.\"\n\n\"I never noticed it,\" growled Gabriel, very much annoyed.\n\n\"Then you're the only one! ... Do you think that I didn't see them? ...\nAnd that M. Parabise, the manager of the Credit Central, noticed\nnothing? ... And that M. de La Borderie, the ambassador, has no eyes to\nsee with? ... Why, all the subscribers were pointing at our managers!\"\n\n\"But what were our managers doing?\" asked Gabriel, putting on his most\ninnocent air.\n\n\"What were they doing?  You know better than any one what they were\ndoing! ... You were there! ... And you were watching them, you and\nMercier! ... And you were the only two who didn't laugh.\"\n\n\"I don't understand!\"\n\nGabriel raised his arms and dropped them to his sides again, which\ngesture was meant to convey that the question did not interest him in\nthe least.  Remy continued:\n\n\"What is the sense of this new mania of theirs?  WHY WON'T THEY HAVE\nANY ONE COME NEAR THEM NOW?\"\n\n\"What?  WON'T THEY HAVE ANY ONE COME NEAR THEM?\"\n\n\"AND THEY WON'T LET ANY ONE TOUCH THEM!\"\n\n\"Really?  Have you noticed THAT THEY WON'T LET ANY ONE TOUCH THEM?\nThat is certainly odd!\"\n\n\"Oh, so you admit it!  And high time, too!  And THEN, THEY WALK\nBACKWARD!\"\n\n\"BACKWARD!  You have seen our managers WALK BACKWARD?  Why, I thought\nthat only crabs walked backward!\"\n\n\"Don't laugh, Gabriel; don't laugh!\"\n\n\"I'm not laughing,\" protested Gabriel, looking as solemn as a judge.\n\n\"Perhaps you can tell me this, Gabriel, as you're an intimate friend of\nthe management:  When I went up to M. Richard, outside the foyer,\nduring the Garden interval, with my hand out before me, why did M.\nMoncharmin hurriedly whisper to me, 'Go away!  Go away!  Whatever you\ndo, don't touch M. le Directeur!'  Am I supposed to have an infectious\ndisease?\"\n\n\"It's incredible!\"\n\n\"And, a little later, when M. de La Borderie went up to M. Richard,\ndidn't you see M. Moncharmin fling himself between them and hear him\nexclaim, 'M. l'Ambassadeur I entreat you not to touch M. le Directeur'?\"\n\n\"It's terrible! ... And what was Richard doing meanwhile?\"\n\n\"What was he doing?  Why, you saw him!  He turned about, BOWED IN FRONT\nOF HIM, THOUGH THERE WAS NOBODY IN FRONT OF HIM, AND WITHDREW BACKWARD.\"\n\n\"BACKWARD?\"\n\n\"And Moncharmin, behind Richard, also turned about; that is, he\ndescribed a semicircle behind Richard and also WALKED BACKWARD! ... And\nthey went LIKE THAT to the staircase leading to the managers' office:\nBACKWARD, BACKWARD, BACKWARD!  ...  Well, if they are not mad, will you\nexplain what it means?\"\n\n\"Perhaps they were practising a figure in the ballet,\" suggested\nGabriel, without much conviction in his voice.\n\nThe secretary was furious at this wretched joke, made at so dramatic a\nmoment.  He knit his brows and contracted his lips.  Then he put his\nmouth to Gabriel's ear:\n\n\"Don't be so sly, Gabriel.  There are things going on for which you and\nMercier are partly responsible.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Gabriel.\n\n\"Christine Daae is not the only one who suddenly disappeared to-night.\"\n\n\"Oh, nonsense!\"\n\n\"There's no nonsense about it.  Perhaps you can tell me why, when\nMother Giry came down to the foyer just now, Mercier took her by the\nhand and hurried her away with him?\"\n\n\"Really?\" said Gabriel, \"I never saw it.\"\n\n\"You did see it, Gabriel, for you went with Mercier and Mother Giry to\nMercier's office.  Since then, you and Mercier have been seen, but no\none has seen Mother Giry.\"\n\n\"Do you think we've eaten her?\"\n\n\"No, but you've locked her up in the office; and any one passing the\noffice can hear her yelling, 'Oh, the scoundrels!  Oh, the scoundrels!'\"\n\nAt this point of this singular conversation, Mercier arrived, all out\nof breath.\n\n\"There!\" he said, in a gloomy voice.  \"It's worse than ever! ...  I\nshouted, 'It's a serious matter!  Open the door!  It's I, Mercier.' I\nheard footsteps.  The door opened and Moncharmin appeared.  He was very\npale.  He said, 'What do you want?'  I answered, 'Some one has run away\nwith Christine Daae.'  What do you think he said?  'And a good job,\ntoo!'  And he shut the door, after putting this in my hand.\"\n\nMercier opened his hand; Remy and Gabriel looked.\n\n\"The safety-pin!\" cried Remy.\n\n\"Strange!  Strange!\" muttered Gabriel, who could not help shivering.\n\nSuddenly a voice made them all three turn round.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, gentlemen.  Could you tell me where Christine Daae\nis?\"\n\nIn spite of the seriousness of the circumstances, the absurdity of the\nquestion would have made them roar with laughter, if they had not\ncaught sight of a face so sorrow-stricken that they were at once seized\nwith pity.  It was the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.\n\n\n\nChapter XV  Christine!  Christine!\n\n\nRaoul's first thought, after Christine Daae's fantastic disappearance,\nwas to accuse Erik.  He no longer doubted the almost supernatural\npowers of the Angel of Music, in this domain of the Opera in which he\nhad set up his empire.  And Raoul rushed on the stage, in a mad fit of\nlove and despair.\n\n\"Christine!  Christine!\" he moaned, calling to her as he felt that she\nmust be calling to him from the depths of that dark pit to which the\nmonster had carried her.  \"Christine!  Christine!\"\n\nAnd he seemed to hear the girl's screams through the frail boards that\nseparated him from her.  He bent forward, he listened, ... he wandered\nover the stage like a madman.  Ah, to descend, to descend into that pit\nof darkness every entrance to which was closed to him, ... for the\nstairs that led below the stage were forbidden to one and all that\nnight!\n\n\"Christine!  Christine! ...\"\n\nPeople pushed him aside, laughing.  They made fun of him.  They thought\nthe poor lover's brain was gone!\n\nBy what mad road, through what passages of mystery and darkness known\nto him alone had Erik dragged that pure-souled child to the awful\nhaunt, with the Louis-Philippe room, opening out on the lake?\n\n\"Christine!  Christine! ... Why don't you answer? ... Are you alive?\n...\"\n\nHideous thoughts flashed through Raoul's congested brain.  Of course,\nErik must have discovered their secret, must have known that Christine\nhad played him false.  What a vengeance would be his!\n\nAnd Raoul thought again of the yellow stars that had come, the night\nbefore, and roamed over his balcony.  Why had he not put them out for\ngood?  There were some men's eyes that dilated in the darkness and\nshone like stars or like cats' eyes.  Certainly Albinos, who seemed to\nhave rabbits' eyes by day, had cats' eyes at night: everybody knew\nthat! ... Yes, yes, he had undoubtedly fired at Erik.  Why had he not\nkilled him?  The monster had fled up the gutter-spout like a cat or a\nconvict who--everybody knew that also--would scale the very skies, with\nthe help of a gutter-spout ...  No doubt Erik was at that time\ncontemplating some decisive step against Raoul, but he had been wounded\nand had escaped to turn against poor Christine instead.\n\nSuch were the cruel thoughts that haunted Raoul as he ran to the\nsinger's dressing-room.\n\n\"Christine!  Christine!\"\n\nBitter tears scorched the boy's eyelids as he saw scattered over the\nfurniture the clothes which his beautiful bride was to have worn at the\nhour of their flight.  Oh, why had she refused to leave earlier?\n\nWhy had she toyed with the threatening catastrophe?  Why toyed with the\nmonster's heart?  Why, in a final access of pity, had she insisted on\nflinging, as a last sop to that demon's soul, her divine song:\n\n            \"Holy angel, in Heaven blessed,\n            My spirit longs with thee to rest!\"\n\nRaoul, his throat filled with sobs, oaths and insults, fumbled\nawkwardly at the great mirror that had opened one night, before his\neyes, to let Christine pass to the murky dwelling below.  He pushed,\npressed, groped about, but the glass apparently obeyed no one but Erik\n...  Perhaps actions were not enough with a glass of the kind?  Perhaps\nhe was expected to utter certain words?  When he was a little boy, he\nhad heard that there were things that obeyed the spoken word!\n\nSuddenly, Raoul remembered something about a gate opening into the Rue\nScribe, an underground passage running straight to the Rue Scribe from\nthe lake ...  Yes, Christine had told him about that...  And, when he\nfound that the key was no longer in the box, he nevertheless ran to the\nRue Scribe.  Outside, in the street, he passed his trembling hands over\nthe huge stones, felt for outlets ... met with iron bars ... were those\nthey? ... Or these? ...  Or could it be that air-hole? ... He plunged\nhis useless eyes through the bars ...  How dark it was in there! ... He\nlistened ...  All was silence! ... He went round the building ... and\ncame to bigger bars, immense gates! ... It was the entrance to the Cour\nde l'Administration.\n\nRaoul rushed into the doorkeeper's lodge.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, madame, could you tell me where to find a gate or\ndoor, made of bars, iron bars, opening into the Rue Scribe ...  and\nleading to the lake? ... You know the lake I mean? ... Yes, the\nunderground lake ... under the Opera.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I know there is a lake under the Opera, but I don't know\nwhich door leads to it.  I have never been there!\"\n\n\"And the Rue Scribe, madame, the Rue Scribe?  Have you never been to\nthe Rue Scribe?\"\n\nThe woman laughed, screamed with laughter!  Raoul darted away, roaring\nwith anger, ran up-stairs, four stairs at a time, down-stairs, rushed\nthrough the whole of the business side of the opera-house, found\nhimself once more in the light of the stage.\n\nHe stopped, with his heart thumping in his chest:  suppose Christine\nDaae had been found?  He saw a group of men and asked:\n\n\"I beg your pardon, gentlemen.  Could you tell me where Christine Daae\nis?\"\n\nAnd somebody laughed.\n\nAt the same moment the stage buzzed with a new sound and, amid a crowd\nof men in evening-dress, all talking and gesticulating together,\nappeared a man who seemed very calm and displayed a pleasant face, all\npink and chubby-cheeked, crowned with curly hair and lit up by a pair\nof wonderfully serene blue eyes.  Mercier, the acting-manager, called\nthe Vicomte de Chagny's attention to him and said:\n\n\"This is the gentleman to whom you should put your question, monsieur.\nLet me introduce Mifroid, the commissary of police.\"\n\n\"Ah, M. le Vicomte de Chagny!  Delighted to meet you, monsieur,\" said\nthe commissary.  \"Would you mind coming with me? ... And now where are\nthe managers? ... Where are the managers?\"\n\nMercier did not answer, and Remy, the secretary, volunteered the\ninformation that the managers were locked up in their office and that\nthey knew nothing as yet of what had happened.\n\n\"You don't mean to say so!  Let us go up to the office!\"\n\nAnd M. Mifroid, followed by an ever-increasing crowd, turned toward the\nbusiness side of the building.  Mercier took advantage of the confusion\nto slip a key into Gabriel's hand:\n\n\"This is all going very badly,\" he whispered.  \"You had better let\nMother Giry out.\"\n\nAnd Gabriel moved away.\n\nThey soon came to the managers' door.  Mercier stormed in vain: the\ndoor remained closed.\n\n\"Open in the name of the law!\" commanded M. Mifroid, in a loud and\nrather anxious voice.\n\nAt last the door was opened.  All rushed in to the office, on the\ncommissary's heels.\n\nRaoul was the last to enter.  As he was about to follow the rest into\nthe room, a hand was laid on his shoulder and he heard these words\nspoken in his ear:\n\n\"ERIK'S SECRETS CONCERN NO ONE BUT HIMSELF!\"\n\nHe turned around, with a stifled exclamation.  The hand that was laid\non his shoulder was now placed on the lips of a person with an ebony\nskin, with eyes of jade and with an astrakhan cap on his head: the\nPersian!  The stranger kept up the gesture that recommended discretion\nand then, at the moment when the astonished viscount was about to ask\nthe reason of his mysterious intervention, bowed and disappeared.\n\n\n\nChapter XVI  Mme. Giry's Astounding Revelations as to Her Personal\nRelations with the Opera Ghost\n\n\nBefore following the commissary into the manager's office I must\ndescribe certain extraordinary occurrences that took place in that\noffice which Remy and Mercier had vainly tried to enter and into which\nMM. Richard and Moncharmin had locked themselves with an object which\nthe reader does not yet know, but which it is my duty, as an historian,\nto reveal without further postponement.\n\nI have had occasion to say that the managers' mood had undergone a\ndisagreeable change for some time past and to convey the fact that this\nchange was due not only to the fall of the chandelier on the famous\nnight of the gala performance.\n\nThe reader must know that the ghost had calmly been paid his first\ntwenty thousand francs.  Oh, there had been wailing and gnashing of\nteeth, indeed!  And yet the thing had happened as simply as could be.\n\nOne morning, the managers found on their table an envelope addressed to\n\"Monsieur O. G. (private)\" and accompanied by a note from O. G. himself:\n\nThe time has come to carry out the clause in the memorandum-book.\nPlease put twenty notes of a thousand francs each into this envelope,\nseal it with your own seal and hand it to Mme. Giry, who will do what\nis necessary.\n\nThe managers did not hesitate; without wasting time in asking how these\nconfounded communications came to be delivered in an office which they\nwere careful to keep locked, they seized this opportunity of laying\nhands, on the mysterious blackmailer.  And, after telling the whole\nstory, under the promise of secrecy, to Gabriel and Mercier, they put\nthe twenty thousand francs into the envelope and without asking for\nexplanations, handed it to Mme. Giry, who had been reinstated in her\nfunctions.  The box-keeper displayed no astonishment.  I need hardly\nsay that she was well watched.  She went straight to the ghost's box\nand placed the precious envelope on the little shelf attached to the\nledge.  The two managers, as well as Gabriel and Mercier, were hidden\nin such a way that they did not lose sight of the envelope for a second\nduring the performance and even afterward, for, as the envelope had not\nmoved, those who watched it did not move either; and Mme. Giry went\naway while the managers, Gabriel and Mercier were still there.  At\nlast, they became tired of waiting and opened the envelope, after\nascertaining that the seals had not been broken.\n\nAt first sight, Richard and Moncharmin thought that the notes were\nstill there; but soon they perceived that they were not the same.  The\ntwenty real notes were gone and had been replaced by twenty notes, of\nthe \"Bank of St. Farce\"![1]\n\nThe managers' rage and fright were unmistakable.  Moncharmin wanted to\nsend for the commissary of police, but Richard objected.  He no doubt\nhad a plan, for he said:\n\n\"Don't let us make ourselves ridiculous!  All Paris would laugh at us.\nO. G. has won the first game:  we will win the second.\"\n\nHe was thinking of the next month's allowance.\n\nNevertheless, they had been so absolutely tricked that they were bound\nto suffer a certain dejection.  And, upon my word, it was not difficult\nto understand.  We must not forget that the managers had an idea at the\nback of their minds, all the time, that this strange incident might be\nan unpleasant practical joke on the part of their predecessors and that\nit would not do to divulge it prematurely.  On the other hand,\nMoncharmin was sometimes troubled with a suspicion of Richard himself,\nwho occasionally took fanciful whims into his head.  And so they were\ncontent to await events, while keeping an eye on Mother Giry.  Richard\nwould not have her spoken to.\n\n\"If she is a confederate,\" he said, \"the notes are gone long ago.  But,\nin my opinion, she is merely an idiot.\"\n\n\"She's not the only idiot in this business,\" said Moncharmin pensively.\n\n\"Well, who could have thought it?\" moaned Richard.  \"But don't be\nafraid ... next time, I shall have taken my precautions.\"\n\nThe next time fell on the same day that beheld the disappearance of\nChristine Daae.  In the morning, a note from the ghost reminded them\nthat the money was due.  It read:\n\nDo just as you did last time.  It went very well.  Put the twenty\nthousand in the envelope and hand it to our excellent Mme. Giry.\n\nAnd the note was accompanied by the usual envelope.  They had only to\ninsert the notes.\n\nThis was done about half an hour before the curtain rose on the first\nact of Faust.  Richard showed the envelope to Moncharmin.  Then he\ncounted the twenty thousand-franc notes in front of him and put the\nnotes into the envelope, but without closing it.\n\n\"And now,\" he said, \"let's have Mother Giry in.\"\n\nThe old woman was sent for.  She entered with a sweeping courtesy.  She\nstill wore her black taffeta dress, the color of which was rapidly\nturning to rust and lilac, to say nothing of the dingy bonnet.  She\nseemed in a good temper.  She at once said:\n\n\"Good evening, gentlemen!  It's for the envelope, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mme. Giry,\" said Richard, most amiably.  \"For the envelope ...\nand something else besides.\"\n\n\"At your service, M. Richard, at your service.  And what is the\nsomething else, please?\"\n\n\"First of all, Mme. Giry, I have a little question to put to you.\"\n\n\"By all means, M. Richard:  Mme. Giry is here to answer you.\"\n\n\"Are you still on good terms with the ghost?\"\n\n\"Couldn't be better, sir; couldn't be better.\"\n\n\"Ah, we are delighted ...  Look here, Mme. Giry,\" said Richard, in the\ntone of making an important confidence.  \"We may just as well tell you,\namong ourselves ... you're no fool!\"\n\n\"Why, sir,\" exclaimed the box-keeper, stopping the pleasant nodding of\nthe black feathers in her dingy bonnet, \"I assure you no one has ever\ndoubted that!\"\n\n\"We are quite agreed and we shall soon understand one another.  The\nstory of the ghost is all humbug, isn't it? ... Well, still between\nourselves, ... it has lasted long enough.\"\n\nMme. Giry looked at the managers as though they were talking Chinese.\nShe walked up to Richard's table and asked, rather anxiously:\n\n\"What do you mean?  I don't understand.\"\n\n\"Oh, you, understand quite well.  In any case, you've got to\nunderstand...  And, first of all, tell us his name.\"\n\n\"Whose name?\"\n\n\"The name of the man whose accomplice you are, Mme. Giry!\"\n\n\"I am the ghost's accomplice?  I? ... His accomplice in what, pray?\"\n\n\"You do all he wants.\"\n\n\"Oh!  He's not very troublesome, you know.\"\n\n\"And does he still tip you?\"\n\n\"I mustn't complain.\"\n\n\"How much does he give you for bringing him that envelope?\"\n\n\"Ten francs.\"\n\n\"You poor thing!  That's not much, is it?\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you that presently, Mme. Giry.  Just now we should like to\nknow for what extraordinary reason you have given yourself body and\nsoul, to this ghost ... Mme. Giry's friendship and devotion are not to\nbe bought for five francs or ten francs.\"\n\n\"That's true enough ...  And I can tell you the reason, sir.  There's\nno disgrace about it...  on the contrary.\"\n\n\"We're quite sure of that, Mme. Giry!\"\n\n\"Well, it's like this ... only the ghost doesn't like me to talk about\nhis business.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" sneered Richard.\n\n\"But this is a matter that concerns myself alone ...  Well, it was in\nBox Five one evening, I found a letter addressed to myself, a sort of\nnote written in red ink.  I needn't read the letter to you sir; I know\nit by heart, and I shall never forget it if I live to be a hundred!\"\n\nAnd Mme. Giry, drawing herself up, recited the letter with touching\neloquence:\n\nMADAM:\n\n1825.  Mlle. Menetrier, leader of the ballet, became Marquise de Cussy.\n\n1832.  Mlle. Marie Taglioni, a dancer, became Comtesse Gilbert des\nVoisins.\n\n1846.  La Sota, a dancer, married a brother of the King of Spain.\n\n1847.  Lola Montes, a dancer, became the morganatic wife of King Louis\nof Bavaria and was created Countess of Landsfeld.\n\n1848.  Mlle. Maria, a dancer, became Baronne d'Herneville.\n\n1870.  Theresa Hessier, a dancer, married Dom Fernando, brother to the\nKing of Portugal.\n\nRichard and Moncharmin listened to the old woman, who, as she proceeded\nwith the enumeration of these glorious nuptials, swelled out, took\ncourage and, at last, in a voice bursting with pride, flung out the\nlast sentence of the prophetic letter:\n\n1885.  Meg Giry, Empress!\n\nExhausted by this supreme effort, the box-keeper fell into a chair,\nsaying:\n\n\"Gentlemen, the letter was signed, 'Opera Ghost.'  I had heard much of\nthe ghost, but only half believed in him.  From the day when he\ndeclared that my little Meg, the flesh of my flesh, the fruit of my\nwomb, would be empress, I believed in him altogether.\"\n\nAnd really it was not necessary to make a long study of Mme. Giry's\nexcited features to understand what could be got out of that fine\nintellect with the two words \"ghost\" and \"empress.\"\n\nBut who pulled the strings of that extraordinary puppet?  That was the\nquestion.\n\n\"You have never seen him; he speaks to you and you believe all he\nsays?\" asked Moncharmin.\n\n\"Yes.  To begin with, I owe it to him that my little Meg was promoted\nto be the leader of a row.  I said to the ghost, 'If she is to be\nempress in 1885, there is no time to lose; she must become a leader at\nonce.' He said, 'Look upon it as done.'  And he had only a word to say\nto M. Poligny and the thing was done.\"\n\n\"So you see that M. Poligny saw him!\"\n\n\"No, not any more than I did; but he heard him.  The ghost said a word\nin his ear, you know, on the evening when he left Box Five, looking so\ndreadfully pale.\"\n\nMoncharmin heaved a sigh.  \"What a business!\" he groaned.\n\n\"Ah!\" said Mme. Giry.  \"I always thought there were secrets between the\nghost and M. Poligny.  Anything that the ghost asked M. Poligny to do\nM. Poligny did.  M. Poligny could refuse the ghost nothing.\"\n\n\"You hear, Richard:  Poligny could refuse the ghost nothing.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I hear!\" said Richard.  \"M. Poligny is a friend of the\nghost; and, as Mme. Giry is a friend of M. Poligny, there we are!  ...\nBut I don't care a hang about M. Poligny,\" he added roughly.  \"The only\nperson whose fate really interests me is Mme. Giry...  Mme. Giry, do\nyou know what is in this envelope?\"\n\n\"Why, of course not,\" she said.\n\n\"Well, look.\"\n\nMine.  Giry looked into the envelope with a lackluster eye, which soon\nrecovered its brilliancy.\n\n\"Thousand-franc notes!\" she cried.\n\n\"Yes, Mme. Giry, thousand-franc notes!  And you knew it!\"\n\n\"I, sir?  I? ... I swear ...\"\n\n\"Don't swear, Mme. Giry! ... And now I will tell you the second reason\nwhy I sent for you.  Mme. Giry, I am going to have you arrested.\"\n\nThe two black feathers on the dingy bonnet, which usually affected the\nattitude of two notes of interrogation, changed into two notes of\nexclamation; as for the bonnet itself, it swayed in menace on the old\nlady's tempestuous chignon.  Surprise, indignation, protest and dismay\nwere furthermore displayed by little Meg's mother in a sort of\nextravagant movement of offended virtue, half bound, half slide, that\nbrought her right under the nose of M. Richard, who could not help\npushing back his chair.\n\n\"HAVE ME ARRESTED!\"\n\nThe mouth that spoke those words seemed to spit the three teeth that\nwere left to it into Richard's face.\n\nM. Richard behaved like a hero.  He retreated no farther.  His\nthreatening forefinger seemed already to be pointing out the keeper of\nBox Five to the absent magistrates.\n\n\"I am going to have you arrested, Mme. Giry, as a thief!\"\n\n\"Say that again!\"\n\nAnd Mme. Giry caught Mr. Manager Richard a mighty box on the ear,\nbefore Mr. Manager Moncharmin had time to intervene.  But it was not\nthe withered hand of the angry old beldame that fell on the managerial\near, but the envelope itself, the cause of all the trouble, the magic\nenvelope that opened with the blow, scattering the bank-notes, which\nescaped in a fantastic whirl of giant butterflies.\n\nThe two managers gave a shout, and the same thought made them both go\non their knees, feverishly, picking up and hurriedly examining the\nprecious scraps of paper.\n\n\"Are they still genuine, Moncharmin?\"\n\n\"Are they still genuine, Richard?\"\n\n\"Yes, they are still genuine!\"\n\nAbove their heads, Mme. Giry's three teeth were clashing in a noisy\ncontest, full of hideous interjections.  But all that could be clearly\ndistinguished was this LEIT-MOTIF:\n\n\"I, a thief! ... I, a thief, I?\"\n\nShe choked with rage.  She shouted:\n\n\"I never heard of such a thing!\"\n\nAnd, suddenly, she darted up to Richard again.\n\n\"In any case,\" she yelped, \"you, M. Richard, ought to know better than\nI where the twenty thousand francs went to!\"\n\n\"I?\" asked Richard, astounded.  \"And how should I know?\"\n\nMoncharmin, looking severe and dissatisfied, at once insisted that the\ngood lady should explain herself.\n\n\"What does this mean, Mme. Giry?\" he asked.  \"And why do you say that\nM. Richard ought to know better than you where the twenty-thousand\nfrancs went to?\"\n\nAs for Richard, who felt himself turning red under Moncharmin's eyes,\nhe took Mme. Giry by the wrist and shook it violently.  In a voice\ngrowling and rolling like thunder, he roared:\n\n\"Why should I know better than you where the twenty-thousand francs\nwent to?  Why?  Answer me!\"\n\n\"Because they went into your pocket!\" gasped the old woman, looking at\nhim as if he were the devil incarnate.\n\nRichard would have rushed upon Mme. Giry, if Moncharmin had not stayed\nhis avenging hand and hastened to ask her, more gently:\n\n\"How can you suspect my partner, M. Richard, of putting twenty-thousand\nfrancs in his pocket?\"\n\n\"I never said that,\" declared Mme. Giry, \"seeing that it was myself who\nput the twenty-thousand francs into M. Richard's pocket.\" And she\nadded, under her voice, \"There!  It's out! ... And may the ghost\nforgive me!\"\n\nRichard began bellowing anew, but Moncharmin authoritatively ordered\nhim to be silent.\n\n\"Allow me!  Allow me!  Let the woman explain herself.  Let me question\nher.\"  And he added:  \"It is really astonishing that you should take up\nsuch a tone! ... We are on the verge of clearing up the whole mystery.\nAnd you're in a rage! ... You're wrong to behave like that...  I'm\nenjoying myself immensely.\"\n\nMme. Giry, like the martyr that she was, raised her head, her face\nbeaming with faith in her own innocence.\n\n\"You tell me there were twenty-thousand francs in the envelope which I\nput into M. Richard's pocket; but I tell you again that I knew nothing\nabout it ...  Nor M. Richard either, for that matter!\"\n\n\"Aha!\" said Richard, suddenly assuming a swaggering air which\nMoncharmin did not like.  \"I knew nothing either!  You put\ntwenty-thousand francs in my pocket and I knew nothing either!  I am\nvery glad to hear it, Mme. Giry!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" the terrible dame agreed, \"yes, it's true.  We neither of us\nknew anything.  But you, you must have ended by finding out!\"\n\nRichard would certainly have swallowed Mme. Giry alive, if Moncharmin\nhad not been there!  But Moncharmin protected her.  He resumed his\nquestions:\n\n\"What sort of envelope did you put in M. Richard's pocket?  It was not\nthe one which we gave you, the one which you took to Box Five before\nour eyes; and yet that was the one which contained the twenty-thousand\nfrancs.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon.  The envelope which M. le Directeur gave me was the\none which I slipped into M. le Directeur's pocket,\" explained Mme.\nGiry.  \"The one which I took to the ghost's box was another envelope,\njust like it, which the ghost gave me beforehand and which I hid up my\nsleeve.\"\n\nSo saying, Mme. Giry took from her sleeve an envelope ready prepared\nand similarly addressed to that containing the twenty-thousand francs.\nThe managers took it from her.  They examined it and saw that it was\nfastened with seals stamped with their own managerial seal.  They\nopened it.  It contained twenty Bank of St. Farce notes like those\nwhich had so much astounded them the month before.\n\n\"How simple!\" said Richard.\n\n\"How simple!\" repeated Moncharmin.  And he continued with his eyes\nfixed upon Mme. Giry, as though trying to hypnotize her.\n\n\"So it was the ghost who gave you this envelope and told you to\nsubstitute it for the one which we gave you?  And it was the ghost who\ntold you to put the other into M. Richard's pocket?\"\n\n\"Yes, it was the ghost.\"\n\n\"Then would you mind giving us a specimen of your little talents?  Here\nis the envelope.  Act as though we knew nothing.\"\n\n\"As you please, gentlemen.\"\n\nMme. Giry took the envelope with the twenty notes inside it and made\nfor the door.  She was on the point of going out when the two managers\nrushed at her:\n\n\"Oh, no!  Oh, no!  We're not going to be 'done' a second time!  Once\nbitten, twice shy!\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon, gentlemen,\" said the old woman, in self-excuse,\n\"you told me to act as though you knew nothing ...  Well, if you knew\nnothing, I should go away with your envelope!\"\n\n\"And then how would you slip it into my pocket?\" argued Richard, whom\nMoncharmin fixed with his left eye, while keeping his right on Mme.\nGiry:  a proceeding likely to strain his sight, but Moncharmin was\nprepared to go to any length to discover the truth.\n\n\"I am to slip it into your pocket when you least expect it, sir.  You\nknow that I always take a little turn behind the scenes, in the course\nof the evening, and I often go with my daughter to the ballet-foyer,\nwhich I am entitled to do, as her mother; I bring her her shoes, when\nthe ballet is about to begin ... in fact, I come and go as I please ...\nThe subscribers come and go too...  So do you, sir ...  There are lots\nof people about ...  I go behind you and slip the envelope into the\ntail-pocket of your dress-coat ...  There's no witchcraft about that!\"\n\n\"No witchcraft!\" growled Richard, rolling his eyes like Jupiter Tonans.\n\"No witchcraft!  Why, I've just caught you in a lie, you old witch!\"\n\nMme. Giry bristled, with her three teeth sticking out of her mouth.\n\n\"And why, may I ask?\"\n\n\"Because I spent that evening watching Box Five and the sham envelope\nwhich you put there.  I did not go to the ballet-foyer for a second.\"\n\n\"No, sir, and I did not give you the envelope that evening, but at the\nnext performance ... on the evening when the under-secretary of state\nfor fine arts ...\"\n\nAt these words, M. Richard suddenly interrupted Mme. Giry:\n\n\"Yes, that's true, I remember now!  The under-secretary went behind the\nscenes.  He asked for me.  I went down to the ballet-foyer for a\nmoment.  I was on the foyer steps ...  The under-secretary and his\nchief clerk were in the foyer itself.  I suddenly turned around ... you\nhad passed behind me, Mme. Giry ...  You seemed to push against me ...\nOh, I can see you still, I can see you still!\"\n\n\"Yes, that's it, sir, that's it.  I had just finished my little\nbusiness.  That pocket of yours, sir, is very handy!\"\n\nAnd Mme. Giry once more suited the action to the word, She passed\nbehind M. Richard and, so nimbly that Moncharmin himself was impressed\nby it, slipped the envelope into the pocket of one of the tails of M.\nRichard's dress-coat.\n\n\"Of course!\" exclaimed Richard, looking a little pale.  \"It's very\nclever of O. G.  The problem which he had to solve was this: how to do\naway with any dangerous intermediary between the man who gives the\ntwenty-thousand francs and the man who receives it.  And by far the\nbest thing he could hit upon was to come and take the money from my\npocket without my noticing it, as I myself did not know that it was\nthere.  It's wonderful!\"\n\n\"Oh, wonderful, no doubt!\"  Moncharmin agreed.  \"Only, you forget,\nRichard, that I provided ten-thousand francs of the twenty and that\nnobody put anything in my pocket!\"\n\n\n\n[1] Flash notes drawn on the \"Bank of St. Farce\" in France correspond\nwith those drawn on the \"Bank of Engraving\" in England.--Translator's\nNote.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XVII  The Safety-Pin Again\n\n\nMoncharmin's last phrase so dearly expressed the suspicion in which he\nnow held his partner that it was bound to cause a stormy explanation,\nat the end of which it was agreed that Richard should yield to all\nMoncharmin's wishes, with the object of helping him to discover the\nmiscreant who was victimizing them.\n\nThis brings us to the interval after the Garden Act, with the strange\nconduct observed by M. Remy and those curious lapses from the dignity\nthat might be expected of the managers.  It was arranged between\nRichard and Moncharmin, first, that Richard should repeat the exact\nmovements which he had made on the night of the disappearance of the\nfirst twenty-thousand francs; and, second, that Moncharmin should not\nfor an instant lose sight of Richard's coat-tail pocket, into which\nMme. Giry was to slip the twenty-thousand francs.\n\nM. Richard went and placed himself at the identical spot where he had\nstood when he bowed to the under-secretary for fine arts.  M.\nMoncharmin took up his position a few steps behind him.\n\nMme. Giry passed, rubbed up against M. Richard, got rid of her\ntwenty-thousand francs in the manager's coat-tail pocket and\ndisappeared ...  Or rather she was conjured away.  In accordance with\nthe instructions received from Moncharmin a few minutes earlier,\nMercier took the good lady to the acting-manager's office and turned\nthe key on her, thus making it impossible for her to communicate with\nher ghost.\n\nMeanwhile, M. Richard was bending and bowing and scraping and walking\nbackward, just as if he had that high and mighty minister, the\nunder-secretary for fine arts, before him.  Only, though these marks of\npoliteness would have created no astonishment if the under-secretary of\nstate had really been in front of M. Richard, they caused an easily\ncomprehensible amazement to the spectators of this very natural but\nquite inexplicable scene when M. Richard had no body in front of him.\n\nM. Richard bowed ... to nobody; bent his back ... before nobody; and\nwalked backward ... before nobody ...  And, a few steps behind him, M.\nMoncharmin did the same thing that he was doing in addition to pushing\naway M. Remy and begging M. de La Borderie, the ambassador, and the\nmanager of the Credit Central \"not to touch M. le Directeur.\"\n\nMoncharmin, who had his own ideas, did not want Richard to come to him\npresently, when the twenty-thousand francs were gone, and say:\n\n\"Perhaps it was the ambassador ... or the manager of the Credit Central\n... or Remy.\"\n\nThe more so as, at the time of the first scene, as Richard himself\nadmitted, Richard had met nobody in that part of the theater after Mme.\nGiry had brushed up against him...\n\nHaving begun by walking backward in order to bow, Richard continued to\ndo so from prudence, until he reached the passage leading to the\noffices of the management.  In this way, he was constantly watched by\nMoncharmin from behind and himself kept an eye on any one approaching\nfrom the front.  Once more, this novel method of walking behind the\nscenes, adopted by the managers of our National Academy of Music,\nattracted attention; but the managers themselves thought of nothing but\ntheir twenty-thousand francs.\n\nOn reaching the half-dark passage, Richard said to Moncharmin, in a low\nvoice:\n\n\"I am sure that nobody has touched me ...  You had now better keep at\nsome distance from me and watch me till I come to door of the office:\nit is better not to arouse suspicion and we can see anything that\nhappens.\"\n\nBut Moncharmin replied.  \"No, Richard, no!  You walk ahead and I'll\nwalk immediately behind you!  I won't leave you by a step!\"\n\n\"But, in that case,\" exclaimed Richard, \"they will never steal our\ntwenty-thousand francs!\"\n\n\"I should hope not, indeed!\" declared Moncharmin.\n\n\"Then what we are doing is absurd!\"\n\n\"We are doing exactly what we did last time ...  Last time, I joined\nyou as you were leaving the stage and followed close behind you down\nthis passage.\"\n\n\"That's true!\" sighed Richard, shaking his head and passively obeying\nMoncharmin.\n\nTwo minutes later, the joint managers locked themselves into their\noffice.  Moncharmin himself put the key in his pocket:\n\n\"We remained locked up like this, last time,\" he said, \"until you left\nthe Opera to go home.\"\n\n\"That's so.  No one came and disturbed us, I suppose?\"\n\n\"No one.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Richard, who was trying to collect his memory, \"then I\nmust certainly have been robbed on my way home from the Opera.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Moncharmin in a drier tone than ever, \"no, that's\nimpossible.  For I dropped you in my cab.  The twenty-thousand francs\ndisappeared at your place:  there's not a shadow of a doubt about that.\"\n\n\"It's incredible!\" protested Richard.  \"I am sure of my servants ...\nand if one of them had done it, he would have disappeared since.\"\n\nMoncharmin shrugged his shoulders, as though to say that he did not\nwish to enter into details, and Richard began to think that Moncharmin\nwas treating him in a very insupportable fashion.\n\n\"Moncharmin, I've had enough of this!\"\n\n\"Richard, I've had too much of it!\"\n\n\"Do you dare to suspect me?\"\n\n\"Yes, of a silly joke.\"\n\n\"One doesn't joke with twenty-thousand francs.\"\n\n\"That's what I think,\" declared Moncharmin, unfolding a newspaper and\nostentatiously studying its contents.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" asked Richard.  \"Are you going to read the paper\nnext?\"\n\n\"Yes, Richard, until I take you home.\"\n\n\"Like last time?\"\n\n\"Yes, like last time.\"\n\nRichard snatched the paper from Moncharmin's hands.  Moncharmin stood\nup, more irritated than ever, and found himself faced by an exasperated\nRichard, who, crossing his arms on his chest, said:\n\n\"Look here, I'm thinking of this, I'M THINKING OF WHAT I MIGHT THINK\nif, like last time, after my spending the evening alone with you, you\nbrought me home and if, at the moment of parting, I perceived that\ntwenty-thousand francs had disappeared from my coat-pocket ... like\nlast time.\"\n\n\"And what might you think?\" asked Moncharmin, crimson with rage.\n\n\"I might think that, as you hadn't left me by a foot's breadth and as,\nby your own wish, you were the only one to approach me, like last time,\nI might think that, if that twenty-thousand francs was no longer in my\npocket, it stood a very good chance of being in yours!\"\n\nMoncharmin leaped up at the suggestion.\n\n\"Oh!\" he shouted.  \"A safety-pin!\"\n\n\"What do you want a safety-pin for?\"\n\n\"To fasten you up with! ... A safety-pin! ... A safety-pin!\"\n\n\"You want to fasten me with a safety-pin?\"\n\n\"Yes, to fasten you to the twenty-thousand francs!  Then, whether it's\nhere, or on the drive from here to your place, or at your place, you\nwill feel the hand that pulls at your pocket and you will see if it's\nmine!  Oh, so you're suspecting me now, are you?  A safety-pin!\"\n\nAnd that was the moment when Moncharmin opened the door on the passage\nand shouted:\n\n\"A safety-pin! ... somebody give me a safety-pin!\"\n\nAnd we also know how, at the same moment, Remy, who had no safety-pin,\nwas received by Moncharmin, while a boy procured the pin so eagerly\nlonged for.  And what happened was this:  Moncharmin first locked the\ndoor again.  Then he knelt down behind Richard's back.\n\n\"I hope,\" he said, \"that the notes are still there?\"\n\n\"So do I,\" said Richard.\n\n\"The real ones?\" asked Moncharmin, resolved not to be \"had\" this time.\n\n\"Look for yourself,\" said Richard.  \"I refuse to touch them.\"\n\nMoncharmin took the envelope from Richard's pocket and drew out the\nbank-notes with a trembling hand, for, this time, in order frequently\nto make sure of the presence of the notes, he had not sealed the\nenvelope nor even fastened it.  He felt reassured on finding that they\nwere all there and quite genuine.  He put them back in the tail-pocket\nand pinned them with great care.  Then he sat down behind Richard's\ncoat-tails and kept his eyes fixed on them, while Richard, sitting at\nhis writing-table, did not stir.\n\n\"A little patience, Richard,\" said Moncharmin.  \"We have only a few\nminutes to wait ...  The clock will soon strike twelve.  Last time, we\nleft at the last stroke of twelve.\"\n\n\"Oh, I shall have all the patience necessary!\"\n\nThe time passed, slow, heavy, mysterious, stifling.  Richard tried to\nlaugh.\n\n\"I shall end by believing in the omnipotence of the ghost,\" he said.\n\"Just now, don't you find something uncomfortable, disquieting,\nalarming in the atmosphere of this room?\"\n\n\"You're quite right,\" said Moncharmin, who was really impressed.\n\n\"The ghost!\" continued Richard, in a low voice, as though fearing lest\nhe should be overheard by invisible ears.  \"The ghost!  Suppose, all\nthe same, it were a ghost who puts the magic envelopes on the table ...\nwho talks in Box Five ... who killed Joseph Buquet ...  who unhooked\nthe chandelier ... and who robs us!  For, after all, after all, after\nall, there is no one here except you and me, and, if the notes\ndisappear and neither you nor I have anything to do with it, well, we\nshall have to believe in the ghost ... in the ghost.\"\n\nAt that moment, the clock on the mantlepiece gave its warning click and\nthe first stroke of twelve struck.\n\nThe two managers shuddered.  The perspiration streamed from their\nforeheads.  The twelfth stroke sounded strangely in their ears.\n\nWhen the clock stopped, they gave a sigh and rose from their chairs.\n\n\"I think we can go now,\" said Moncharmin.\n\n\"I think so,\" Richard a agreed.\n\n\"Before we go, do you mind if I look in your pocket?\"\n\n\"But, of course, Moncharmin, YOU MUST! ... Well?\" he asked, as\nMoncharmin was feeling at the pocket.\n\n\"Well, I can feel the pin.\"\n\n\"Of course, as you said, we can't be robbed without noticing it.\"\n\nBut Moncharmin, whose hands were still fumbling, bellowed:\n\n\"I can feel the pin, but I can't feel the notes!\"\n\n\"Come, no joking, Moncharmin! ... This isn't the time for it.\"\n\n\"Well, feel for yourself.\"\n\nRichard tore off his coat.  The two managers turned the pocket inside\nout.  THE POCKET WAS EMPTY.  And the curious thing was that the pin\nremained, stuck in the same place.\n\nRichard and Moncharmin turned pale.  There was no longer any doubt\nabout the witchcraft.\n\n\"The ghost!\" muttered Moncharmin.\n\nBut Richard suddenly sprang upon his partner.\n\n\"No one but you has touched my pocket!  Give me back my twenty-thousand\nfrancs! ... Give me back my twenty-thousand francs! ...\"\n\n\"On my soul,\" sighed Moncharmin, who was ready to swoon, \"on my soul, I\nswear that I haven't got it!\"\n\nThen somebody knocked at the door.  Moncharmin opened it automatically,\nseemed hardly to recognize Mercier, his business-manager, exchanged a\nfew words with him, without knowing what he was saying and, with an\nunconscious movement, put the safety-pin, for which he had no further\nuse, into the hands of his bewildered subordinate ...\n\n\n\nChapter XVIII  The Commissary, The Viscount and the Persian\n\n\nThe first words of the commissary of police, on entering the managers'\noffice, were to ask after the missing prima donna.\n\n\"Is Christine Daae here?\"\n\n\"Christine Daae here?\" echoed Richard.  \"No. Why?\"\n\nAs for Moncharmin, he had not the strength left to utter a word.\n\nRichard repeated, for the commissary and the compact crowd which had\nfollowed him into the office observed an impressive silence.\n\n\"Why do you ask if Christine Daae is here, M. LE COMMISSAIRE?\"\n\n\"Because she has to be found,\" declared the commissary of police\nsolemnly.\n\n\"What do you mean, she has to be found?  Has she disappeared?\"\n\n\"In the middle of the performance!\"\n\n\"In the middle of the performance?  This is extraordinary!\"\n\n\"Isn't it?  And what is quite as extraordinary is that you should first\nlearn it from me!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Richard, taking his head in his hands and muttering.  \"What\nis this new business?  Oh, it's enough to make a man send in his\nresignation!\"\n\nAnd he pulled a few hairs out of his mustache without even knowing what\nhe was doing.\n\n\"So she ... so she disappeared in the middle of the performance?\" he\nrepeated.\n\n\"Yes, she was carried off in the Prison Act, at the moment when she was\ninvoking the aid of the angels; but I doubt if she was carried off by\nan angel.\"\n\n\"And I am sure that she was!\"\n\nEverybody looked round.  A young man, pale and trembling with\nexcitement, repeated:\n\n\"I am sure of it!\"\n\n\"Sure of what?\" asked Mifroid.\n\n\"That Christine Daae was carried off by an angel, M. LE COMMISSAIRE and\nI can tell you his name.\"\n\n\"Aha, M. le Vicomte de Chagny!  So you maintain that Christine Daae was\ncarried off by an angel:  an angel of the Opera, no doubt?\"\n\n\"Yes, monsieur, by an angel of the Opera; and I will tell you where he\nlives ... when we are alone.\"\n\n\"You are right, monsieur.\"\n\nAnd the commissary of police, inviting Raoul to take a chair, cleared\nthe room of all the rest, excepting the managers.\n\nThen Raoul spoke:\n\n\"M. le Commissaire, the angel is called Erik, he lives in the Opera and\nhe is the Angel of Music!\"\n\n\"The Angel of Music!  Really!  That is very curious! ... The Angel of\nMusic!\"  And, turning to the managers, M. Mifroid asked, \"Have you an\nAngel of Music on the premises, gentlemen?\"\n\nRichard and Moncharmin shook their heads, without even speaking.\n\n\"Oh,\" said the viscount, \"those gentlemen have heard of the Opera\nghost.  Well, I am in a position to state that the Opera ghost and the\nAngel of Music are one and the same person; and his real name is Erik.\"\n\nM. Mifroid rose and looked at Raoul attentively.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, monsieur but is it your intention to make fun of\nthe law?  And, if not, what is all this about the Opera ghost?\"\n\n\"I say that these gentlemen have heard of him.\"\n\n\"Gentlemen, it appears that you know the Opera ghost?\"\n\nRichard rose, with the remaining hairs of his mustache in his hand.\n\n\"No, M. Commissary, no, we do not know him, but we wish that we did,\nfor this very evening he has robbed us of twenty-thousand francs!\"\n\nAnd Richard turned a terrible look on Moncharmin, which seemed to say:\n\n\"Give me back the twenty-thousand francs, or I'll tell the whole story.\"\n\nMoncharmin understood what he meant, for, with a distracted gesture, he\nsaid:\n\n\"Oh, tell everything and have done with it!\"\n\nAs for Mifroid, he looked at the managers and at Raoul by turns and\nwondered whether he had strayed into a lunatic asylum.  He passed his\nhand through his hair.\n\n\"A ghost,\" he said, \"who, on the same evening, carries off an\nopera-singer and steals twenty-thousand francs is a ghost who must have\nhis hands very full!  If you don't mind, we will take the questions in\norder.  The singer first, the twenty-thousand francs after.  Come, M.\nde Chagny, let us try to talk seriously.  You believe that Mlle.\nChristine Daae has been carried off by an individual called Erik.  Do\nyou know this person?  Have you seen him?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"In a church yard.\"\n\nM. Mifroid gave a start, began to scrutinize Raoul again and said:\n\n\"Of course! ... That's where ghosts usually hang out! ... And what were\nyou doing in that churchyard?\"\n\n\"Monsieur,\" said Raoul, \"I can quite understand how absurd my replies\nmust seem to you.  But I beg you to believe that I am in full\npossession of my faculties.  The safety of the person dearest to me in\nthe world is at stake.  I should like to convince you in a few words,\nfor time is pressing and every minute is valuable.  Unfortunately, if I\ndo not tell you the strangest story that ever was from the beginning,\nyou will not believe me.  I will tell you all I know about the Opera\nghost, M. Commissary.  Alas, I do not know much! ...\"\n\n\"Never mind, go on, go on!\" exclaimed Richard and Moncharmin, suddenly\ngreatly interested.\n\nUnfortunately for their hopes of learning some detail that could put\nthem on the track of their hoaxer, they were soon compelled to accept\nthe fact that M. Raoul de Chagny had completely lost his head.  All\nthat story about Perros-Guirec, death's heads and enchanted violins,\ncould only have taken birth in the disordered brain of a youth mad with\nlove.  It was evident, also, that Mr. Commissary Mifroid shared their\nview; and the magistrate would certainly have cut short the incoherent\nnarrative if circumstances had not taken it upon themselves to\ninterrupt it.\n\nThe door opened and a man entered, curiously dressed in an enormous\nfrock-coat and a tall hat, at once shabby and shiny, that came down to\nhis ears.  He went up to the commissary and spoke to him in a whisper.\nIt was doubtless a detective come to deliver an important communication.\n\nDuring this conversation, M. Mifroid did not take his eyes off Raoul.\nAt last, addressing him, he said:\n\n\"Monsieur, we have talked enough about the ghost.  We will now talk\nabout yourself a little, if you have no objection: you were to carry\noff Mlle. Christine Daae to-night?\"\n\n\"Yes, M. le Commissaire.\"\n\n\"After the performance?\"\n\n\"Yes, M. le Commissaire.\"\n\n\"All your arrangements were made?\"\n\n\"Yes, M. le Commissaire.\"\n\n\"The carriage that brought you was to take you both away...  There were\nfresh horses in readiness at every stage ...\"\n\n\"That is true, M. le Commissaire.\"\n\n\"And nevertheless your carriage is still outside the Rotunda awaiting\nyour orders, is it not?\"\n\n\"Yes, M. le Commissaire.\"\n\n\"Did you know that there were three other carriages there, in addition\nto yours?\"\n\n\"I did not pay the least attention.\"\n\n\"They were the carriages of Mlle. Sorelli, which could not find room in\nthe Cour de l'Administration; of Carlotta; and of your brother, M. le\nComte de Chagny...\"\n\n\"Very likely...\"\n\n\"What is certain is that, though your carriage and Sorelli's and\nCarlotta's are still there, by the Rotunda pavement, M. le Comte de\nChagny's carriage is gone.\"\n\n\"This has nothing to say to ...\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon.  Was not M. le Comte opposed to your marriage with\nMlle. Daae?\"\n\n\"That is a matter that only concerns the family.\"\n\n\"You have answered my question:  he was opposed to it ... and that was\nwhy you were carrying Christine Daae out of your brother's reach...\nWell, M. de Chagny, allow me to inform you that your brother has been\nsmarter than you!  It is he who has carried off Christine Daae!\"\n\n\"Oh, impossible!\" moaned Raoul, pressing his hand to his heart.  \"Are\nyou sure?\"\n\n\"Immediately after the artist's disappearance, which was procured by\nmeans which we have still to ascertain, he flung into his carriage,\nwhich drove right across Paris at a furious pace.\"\n\n\"Across Paris?\" asked poor Raoul, in a hoarse voice.  \"What do you mean\nby across Paris?\"\n\n\"Across Paris and out of Paris ... by the Brussels road.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" cried the young man, \"I shall catch them!\"  And he rushed out of\nthe office.\n\n\"And bring her back to us!\" cried the commisary gaily ...  \"Ah, that's\na trick worth two of the Angel of Music's!\"\n\nAnd, turning to his audience, M. Mifroid delivered a little lecture on\npolice methods.\n\n\"I don't know for a moment whether M. le Comte de Chagny has really\ncarried Christine Daae off or not ... but I want to know and I believe\nthat, at this moment, no one is more anxious to inform us than his\nbrother ...  And now he is flying in pursuit of him!  He is my chief\nauxiliary!  This, gentlemen, is the art of the police, which is\nbelieved to be so complicated and which, nevertheless appears so simple\nas soon its you see that it consists in getting your work done by\npeople who have nothing to do with the police.\"\n\nBut M. le Commissaire de Police Mifroid would not have been quite so\nsatisfied with himself if he had known that the rush of his rapid\nemissary was stopped at the entrance to the very first corridor.  A\ntall figure blocked Raoul's way.\n\n\"Where are you going so fast, M. de Chagny?\" asked a voice.\n\nRaoul impatiently raised his eyes and recognized the astrakhan cap of\nan hour ago.  He stopped:\n\n\"It's you!\" he cried, in a feverish voice.  \"You, who know Erik's\nsecrets and don't want me to speak of them.  Who are you?\"\n\n\"You know who I am! ... I am the Persian!\"\n\n\n\nChapter XIX  The Viscount and the Persian\n\n\nRaoul now remembered that his brother had once shown him that\nmysterious person, of whom nothing was known except that he was a\nPersian and that he lived in a little old-fashioned flat in the Rue de\nRivoli.\n\nThe man with the ebony skin, the eyes of jade and the astrakhan cap\nbent over Raoul.\n\n\"I hope, M. de Chagny,\" he said, \"that you have not betrayed Erik's\nsecret?\"\n\n\"And why should I hesitate to betray that monster, sir?\" Raoul rejoined\nhaughtily, trying to shake off the intruder.  \"Is he your friend, by\nany chance?\"\n\n\"I hope that you said nothing about Erik, sir, because Erik's secret is\nalso Christine Daae's and to talk about one is to talk about the other!\"\n\n\"Oh, sir,\" said Raoul, becoming more and more impatient, \"you seem to\nknow about many things that interest me; and yet I have no time to\nlisten to you!\"\n\n\"Once more, M. de Chagny, where are you going so fast?\"\n\n\"Can not you guess?  To Christine Daae's assistance...\"\n\n\"Then, sir, stay here, for Christine Daae is here!\"\n\n\"With Erik?\"\n\n\"With Erik.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"I was at the performance and no one in the world but Erik could\ncontrive an abduction like that! ... Oh,\" he said, with a deep sigh, \"I\nrecognized the monster's touch! ...\"\n\n\"You know him then?\"\n\nThe Persian did not reply, but heaved a fresh sigh.\n\n\"Sir,\" said Raoul, \"I do not know what your intentions are, but can you\ndo anything to help me?  I mean, to help Christine Daae?\"\n\n\"I think so, M. de Chagny, and that is why I spoke to you.\"\n\n\"What can you do?\"\n\n\"Try to take you to her ... and to him.\"\n\n\"If you can do me that service, sir, my life is yours! ... One word\nmore:  the commissary of police tells me that Christine Daae has been\ncarried off by my brother, Count Philippe.\"\n\n\"Oh, M. de Chagny, I don't believe a word of it.\"\n\n\"It's not possible, is it?\"\n\n\"I don't know if it is possible or not; but there are ways and ways of\ncarrying people off; and M. le Comte Philippe has never, as far as I\nknow, had anything to do with witchcraft.\"\n\n\"Your arguments are convincing, sir, and I am a fool! ... Oh, let us\nmake haste!  I place myself entirely in your hands! ...  How should I\nnot believe you, when you are the only one to believe me ... when you\nare the only one not to smile when Erik's name is mentioned?\"\n\nAnd the young man impetuously seized the Persian's hands.  They were\nice-cold.\n\n\"Silence!\" said the Persian, stopping and listening to the distant\nsounds of the theater.  \"We must not mention that name here.  Let us\nsay 'he' and 'him;' then there will be less danger of attracting his\nattention.\"\n\n\"Do you think he is near us?\"\n\n\"It is quite possible, Sir, if he is not, at this moment, with his\nvictim, IN THE HOUSE ON THE LAKE.\"\n\n\"Ah, so you know that house too?\"\n\n\"If he is not there, he may be here, in this wall, in this floor, in\nthis ceiling! ... Come!\"\n\nAnd the Persian, asking Raoul to deaden the sound of his footsteps, led\nhim down passages which Raoul had never seen before, even at the time\nwhen Christine used to take him for walks through that labyrinth.\n\n\"If only Darius has come!\" said the Persian.\n\n\"Who is Darius?\"\n\n\"Darius?  My servant.\"\n\nThey were now in the center of a real deserted square, an immense\napartment ill-lit by a small lamp.  The Persian stopped Raoul and, in\nthe softest of whispers, asked:\n\n\"What did you say to the commissary?\"\n\n\"I said that Christine Daae's abductor was the Angel of Music, ALIAS\nthe Opera ghost, and that the real name was ...\"\n\n\"Hush! ... And did he believe you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"He attached no importance to what you said?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"He took you for a bit of a madman?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"So much the better!\" sighed the Persian.\n\nAnd they continued their road.  After going up and down several\nstaircases which Raoul had never seen before, the two men found\nthemselves in front of a door which the Persian opened with a\nmaster-key. The Persian and Raoul were both, of course, in\ndress-clothes; but, whereas Raoul had a tall hat, the Persian wore the\nastrakhan cap which I have already mentioned.  It was an infringement\nof the rule which insists upon the tall hat behind the scenes; but in\nFrance foreigners are allowed every license: the Englishman his\ntraveling-cap, the Persian his cap of astrakhan.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the Persian, \"your tall hat will be in your way: you would\ndo well to leave it in the dressing-room.\"\n\n\"What dressing-room?\" asked Raoul.\n\n\"Christine Daae's.\"\n\nAnd the Persian, letting Raoul through the door which he had just\nopened, showed him the actress' room opposite.  They were at the end of\nthe passage the whole length of which Raoul had been accustomed to\ntraverse before knocking at Christine's door.\n\n\"How well you know the Opera, sir!\"\n\n\"Not so well as 'he' does!\" said the Persian modestly.\n\nAnd he pushed the young man into Christine's dressing-room, which was\nas Raoul had left it a few minutes earlier.\n\nClosing the door, the Persian went to a very thin partition that\nseparated the dressing-room from a big lumber-room next to it.  He\nlistened and then coughed loudly.\n\nThere was a sound of some one stirring in the lumber-room; and, a few\nseconds later, a finger tapped at the door.\n\n\"Come in,\" said the Persian.\n\nA man entered, also wearing an astrakhan cap and dressed in a long\novercoat.  He bowed and took a richly carved case from under his coat,\nput it on the dressing-table, bowed once again and went to the door.\n\n\"Did no one see you come in, Darius?\"\n\n\"No, master.\"\n\n\"Let no one see you go out.\"\n\nThe servant glanced down the passage and swiftly disappeared.\n\nThe Persian opened the case.  It contained a pair of long pistols.\n\n\"When Christine Daae was carried off, sir, I sent word to my servant to\nbring me these pistols.  I have had them a long time and they can be\nrelied upon.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to fight a duel?\" asked the young man.\n\n\"It will certainly be a duel which we shall have to fight,\" said the\nother, examining the priming of his pistols.  \"And what a duel!\"\nHanding one of the pistols to Raoul, he added, \"In this duel, we shall\nbe two to one; but you must be prepared for everything, for we shall be\nfighting the most terrible adversary that you can imagine.  But you\nlove Christine Daae, do you not?\"\n\n\"I worship the ground she stands on!  But you, sir, who do not love\nher, tell me why I find you ready to risk your life for her!  You must\ncertainly hate Erik!\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" said the Persian sadly, \"I do not hate him.  If I hated him,\nhe would long ago have ceased doing harm.\"\n\n\"Has he done you harm?\"\n\n\"I have forgiven him the harm which he has done me.\"\n\n\"I do not understand you.  You treat him as a monster, you speak of his\ncrime, he has done you harm and I find in you the same inexplicable\npity that drove me to despair when I saw it in Christine!\"\n\nThe Persian did not reply.  He fetched a stool and set it against the\nwall facing the great mirror that filled the whole of the wall-space\nopposite.  Then he climbed on the stool and, with his nose to the\nwallpaper, seemed to be looking for something.\n\n\"Ah,\" he said, after a long search, \"I have it!\"  And, raising his\nfinger above his head, he pressed against a corner in the pattern of\nthe paper.  Then he turned round and jumped off the stool:\n\n\"In half a minute,\" he said, \"he shall be ON HIS ROAD!\" and crossing\nthe whole of the dressing-room he felt the great mirror.\n\n\"No, it is not yielding yet,\" he muttered.\n\n\"Oh, are we going out by the mirror?\" asked Raoul.  \"Like Christine\nDaae.\"\n\n\"So you knew that Christine Daae went out by that mirror?\"\n\n\"She did so before my eyes, sir!  I was hidden behind the curtain of\nthe inner room and I saw her vanish not by the glass, but in the glass!\"\n\n\"And what did you do?\"\n\n\"I thought it was an aberration of my senses, a mad dream.\n\n\"Or some new fancy of the ghost's!\" chuckled the Persian.  \"Ah, M. de\nChagny,\" he continued, still with his hand on the mirror, \"would that\nwe had to do with a ghost!  We could then leave our pistols in their\ncase ...  Put down your hat, please ... there ... and now cover your\nshirt-front as much as you can with your coat ... as I am doing ...\nBring the lapels forward ... turn up the collar ...  We must make\nourselves as invisible as possible.\"\n\nBearing against the mirror, after a short silence, he said:\n\n\"It takes some time to release the counterbalance, when you press on\nthe spring from the inside of the room.  It is different when you are\nbehind the wall and can act directly on the counterbalance.  Then the\nmirror turns at once and is moved with incredible rapidity.\"\n\n\"What counterbalance?\" asked Raoul.\n\n\"Why, the counterbalance that lifts the whole of this wall on to its\npivot.  You surely don't expect it to move of itself, by enchantment!\nIf you watch, you will see the mirror first rise an inch or two and\nthen shift an inch or two from left to right.  It will then be on a\npivot and will swing round.\"\n\n\"It's not turning!\" said Raoul impatiently.\n\n\"Oh, wait!  You have time enough to be impatient, sir!  The mechanism\nhas obviously become rusty, or else the spring isn't working... Unless\nit is something else,\" added the Persian, anxiously.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"He may simply have cut the cord of the counterbalance and blocked the\nwhole apparatus.\"\n\n\"Why should he?  He does not know that we are coming this way!\"\n\n\"I dare say he suspects it, for he knows that I understand the system.\"\n\n\"It's not turning! ... And Christine, sir, Christine?\"\n\nThe Persian said coldly:\n\n\"We shall do all that it is humanly possible to do! ... But he may stop\nus at the first step! ... He commands the walls, the doors and the\ntrapdoors.  In my country, he was known by a name which means the\n'trap-door lover.'\"\n\n\"But why do these walls obey him alone?  He did not build them!\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, that is just what he did!\"\n\nRaoul looked at him in amazement; but the Persian made a sign to him to\nbe silent and pointed to the glass ...  There was a sort of shivering\nreflection.  Their image was troubled as in a rippling sheet of water\nand then all became stationary again.\n\n\"You see, sir, that it is not turning!  Let us take another road!\"\n\n\"To-night, there is no other!\" declared the Persian, in a singularly\nmournful voice.  \"And now, look out!  And be ready to fire.\"\n\nHe himself raised his pistol opposite the glass.  Raoul imitated his\nmovement.  With his free arm, the Persian drew the young man to his\nchest and, suddenly, the mirror turned, in a blinding daze of\ncross-lights: it turned like one of those revolving doors which have\nlately been fixed to the entrances of most restaurants, it turned,\ncarrying Raoul and the Persian with it and suddenly hurling them from\nthe full light into the deepest darkness.\n\n\n\nChapter XX  In the Cellars of the Opera\n\n\n\"Your hand high, ready to fire!\" repeated Raoul's companion quickly.\n\nThe wall, behind them, having completed the circle which it described\nupon itself, closed again; and the two men stood motionless for a\nmoment, holding their breath.\n\nAt last, the Persian decided to make a movement; and Raoul heard him\nslip on his knees and feel for something in the dark with his groping\nhands.  Suddenly, the darkness was made visible by a small dark lantern\nand Raoul instinctively stepped backward as though to escape the\nscrutiny of a secret enemy.  But he soon perceived that the light\nbelonged to the Persian, whose movements he was closely observing.  The\nlittle red disk was turned in every direction and Raoul saw that the\nfloor, the walls and the ceiling were all formed of planking.  It must\nhave been the ordinary road taken by Erik to reach Christine's\ndressing-room and impose upon her innocence.  And Raoul, remembering\nthe Persian's remark, thought that it had been mysteriously constructed\nby the ghost himself.  Later, he learned that Erik had found, all\nprepared for him, a secret passage, long known to himself alone and\ncontrived at the time of the Paris Commune to allow the jailers to\nconvey their prisoners straight to the dungeons that had been\nconstructed for them in the cellars; for the Federates had occupied the\nopera-house immediately after the eighteenth of March and had made a\nstarting-place right at the top for their Mongolfier balloons, which\ncarried their incendiary proclamations to the departments, and a state\nprison right at the bottom.\n\nThe Persian went on his knees and put his lantern on the ground.  He\nseemed to be working at the floor; and suddenly he turned off his\nlight.  Then Raoul heard a faint click and saw a very pale luminous\nsquare in the floor of the passage.  It was as though a window had\nopened on the Opera cellars, which were still lit.  Raoul no longer saw\nthe Persian, but he suddenly felt him by his side and heard him whisper:\n\n\"Follow me and do all that I do.\"\n\nRaoul turned to the luminous aperture.  Then he saw the Persian, who\nwas still on his knees, hang by his hands from the rim of the opening,\nwith his pistol between his teeth, and slide into the cellar below.\n\nCuriously enough, the viscount had absolute confidence in the Persian,\nthough he knew nothing about him.  His emotion when speaking of the\n\"monster\" struck him as sincere; and, if the Persian had cherished any\nsinister designs against him, he would not have armed him with his own\nhands.  Besides, Raoul must reach Christine at all costs.  He therefore\nwent on his knees also and hung from the trap with both hands.\n\n\"Let go!\" said a voice.\n\nAnd he dropped into the arms of the Persian, who told him to lie down\nflat, closed the trap-door above him and crouched down beside him.\nRaoul tried to ask a question, but the Persian's hand was on his mouth\nand he heard a voice which he recognized as that of the commissary of\npolice.\n\nRaoul and the Persian were completely hidden behind a wooden partition.\nNear them, a small staircase led to a little room in which the\ncommissary appeared to be walking up and down, asking questions.  The\nfaint light was just enough to enable Raoul to distinguish the shape of\nthings around him.  And he could not restrain a dull cry: there were\nthree corpses there.\n\nThe first lay on the narrow landing of the little staircase; the two\nothers had rolled to the bottom of the staircase.  Raoul could have\ntouched one of the two poor wretches by passing his fingers through the\npartition.\n\n\"Silence!\" whispered the Persian.\n\nHe too had seen the bodies and he gave one word in explanation:\n\n\"HE!\"\n\nThe commissary's voice was now heard more distinctly.  He was asking\nfor information about the system of lighting, which the stage-manager\nsupplied.  The commissary therefore must be in the \"organ\" or its\nimmediate neighborhood.\n\nContrary to what one might think, especially in connection with an\nopera-house, the \"organ\" is not a musical instrument.  At that time,\nelectricity was employed only for a very few scenic effects and for the\nbells.  The immense building and the stage itself were still lit by\ngas; hydrogen was used to regulate and modify the lighting of a scene;\nand this was done by means of a special apparatus which, because of the\nmultiplicity of its pipes, was known as the \"organ.\" A box beside the\nprompter's box was reserved for the chief gas-man, who from there gave\nhis orders to his assistants and saw that they were executed.  Mauclair\nstayed in this box during all the performances.\n\nBut now Mauclair was not in his box and his assistants not in their\nplaces.\n\n\"Mauclair!  Mauclair!\"\n\nThe stage-manager's voice echoed through the cellars.  But Mauclair did\nnot reply.\n\nI have said that a door opened on a little staircase that led to the\nsecond cellar.  The commissary pushed it, but it resisted.\n\n\"I say,\" he said to the stage-manager, \"I can't open this door: is it\nalways so difficult?\"\n\nThe stage-manager forced it open with his shoulder.  He saw that, at\nthe same time, he was pushing a human body and he could not keep back\nan exclamation, for he recognized the body at once:\n\n\"Mauclair!  Poor devil!  He is dead!\"\n\nBut Mr. Commissary Mifroid, whom nothing surprised, was stooping over\nthat big body.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"he is dead-drunk, which is not quite the same thing.\"\n\n\"It's the first time, if so,\" said the stage-manager\n\n\"Then some one has given him a narcotic.  That is quite possible.\"\n\nMifroid went down a few steps and said:\n\n\"Look!\"\n\nBy the light of a little red lantern, at the foot of the stairs, they\nsaw two other bodies.  The stage-manager recognized Mauclair's\nassistants.  Mifroid went down and listened to their breathing.\n\n\"They are sound asleep,\" he said.  \"Very curious business!  Some person\nunknown must have interfered with the gas-man and his staff ... and\nthat person unknown was obviously working on behalf of the kidnapper\n...  But what a funny idea to kidnap a performer on the stage! ... Send\nfor the doctor of the theater, please.\" And Mifroid repeated, \"Curious,\ndecidedly curious business!\"\n\nThen he turned to the little room, addressing the people whom Raoul and\nthe Persian were unable to see from where they lay.\n\n\"What do you say to all this, gentlemen?  You are the only ones who\nhave not given your views.  And yet you must have an opinion of some\nsort.\"\n\nThereupon, Raoul and the Persian saw the startled faces of the joint\nmanagers appear above the landing--and they heard Moncharmin's excited\nvoice:\n\n\"There are things happening here, Mr. Commissary, which we are unable\nto explain.\"\n\nAnd the two faces disappeared.\n\n\"Thank you for the information, gentlemen,\" said Mifroid, with a jeer.\n\nBut the stage-manager, holding his chin in the hollow of his right\nhand, which is the attitude of profound thought, said:\n\n\"It is not the first time that Mauclair has fallen asleep in the\ntheater.  I remember finding him, one evening, snoring in his little\nrecess, with his snuff-box beside him.\"\n\n\"Is that long ago?\" asked M. Mifroid, carefully wiping his eye-glasses.\n\n\"No, not so very long ago ...  Wait a bit! ... It was the night ... of\ncourse, yes ... It was the night when Carlotta--you know, Mr.\nCommissary--gave her famous 'co-ack'!\"\n\n\"Really?  The night when Carlotta gave her famous 'co-ack'?\"\n\nAnd M. Mifroid, replacing his gleaming glasses on his nose, fixed the\nstage-manager with a contemplative stare.\n\n\"So Mauclair takes snuff, does he?\" he asked carelessly.\n\n\"'Yes, Mr. Commissary ...  Look, there is his snuff-box on that little\nshelf ...  Oh! he's a great snuff-taker!\"\n\n\"So am I,\" said Mifroid and put the snuff-box in his pocket.\n\nRaoul and the Persian, themselves unobserved, watched the removal of\nthe three bodies by a number of scene-shifters, who were followed by\nthe commissary and all the people with him.  Their steps were heard for\na few minutes on the stage above.  When they were alone the Persian\nmade a sign to Raoul to stand up.  Raoul did so; but, as he did not\nlift his hand in front of his eyes, ready to fire, the Persian told him\nto resume that attitude and to continue it, whatever happened.\n\n\"But it tires the hand unnecessarily,\" whispered Raoul.  \"If I do fire,\nI shan't be sure of my aim.\"\n\n\"Then shift your pistol to the other hand,\" said the Persian.\n\n\"I can't shoot with my left hand.\"\n\nThereupon, the Persian made this queer reply, which was certainly not\ncalculated to throw light into the young man's flurried brain:\n\n\"It's not a question of shooting with the right hand or the left; it's\na question of holding one of your hands as though you were going to\npull the trigger of a pistol with your arm bent.  As for the pistol\nitself, when all is said, you can put that in your pocket!\"  And he\nadded, \"Let this be clearly understood, or I will answer for nothing.\nIt is a matter of life and death.  And now, silence and follow me!\"\n\nThe cellars of the Opera are enormous and they are five in number.\nRaoul followed the Persian and wondered what he would have done without\nhis companion in that extraordinary labyrinth.  They went down to the\nthird cellar; and their progress was still lit by some distant lamp.\n\nThe lower they went, the more precautions the Persian seemed to take.\nHe kept on turning to Raoul to see if he was holding his arm properly,\nshowing him how he himself carried his hand as if always ready to fire,\nthough the pistol was in his pocket.\n\nSuddenly, a loud voice made them stop.  Some one above them shouted:\n\n\"All the door-shutters on the stage!  The commissary of police wants\nthem!\"\n\nSteps were heard and shadows glided through the darkness.  The Persian\ndrew Raoul behind a set piece.  They saw passing before and above them\nold men bent by age and the past burden of opera-scenery.  Some could\nhardly drag themselves along; others, from habit, with stooping bodies\nand outstretched hands, looked for doors to shut.\n\nThey were the door-shutters, the old, worn-out scene-shifters, on whom\na charitable management had taken pity, giving them the job of shutting\ndoors above and below the stage.  They went about incessantly, from top\nto bottom of the building, shutting the doors; and they were also\ncalled \"The draft-expellers,\" at least at that time, for I have little\ndoubt that by now they are all dead.  Drafts are very bad for the\nvoice, wherever they may come from.[1]\n\nThe two men might have stumbled over them, waking them up and provoking\na request for explanations.  For the moment, M. Mifroid's inquiry saved\nthem from any such unpleasant encounters.\n\nThe Persian and Raoul welcomed this incident, which relieved them of\ninconvenient witnesses, for some of those door-shutters, having nothing\nelse to do or nowhere to lay their heads, stayed at the Opera, from\nidleness or necessity, and spent the night there.\n\nBut they were not left to enjoy their solitude for long.  Other shades\nnow came down by the same way by which the door-shutters had gone up.\nEach of these shades carried a little lantern and moved it about,\nabove, below and all around, as though looking for something or\nsomebody.\n\n\"Hang it!\" muttered the Persian.  \"I don't know what they are looking\nfor, but they might easily find us ...  Let us get away, quick! ...\nYour hand up, sir, ready to fire! ... Bend your arm ... more ... that's\nit! ... Hand at the level of your eye, as though you were fighting a\nduel and waiting for the word to fire!  Oh, leave your pistol in your\npocket.  Quick, come along, down-stairs.  Level of your eye!  Question\nof life or death! ...  Here, this way, these stairs!\"  They reached the\nfifth cellar.  \"Oh, what a duel, sir, what a duel!\"\n\nOnce in the fifth cellar, the Persian drew breath.  He seemed to enjoy\na rather greater sense of security than he had displayed when they both\nstopped in the third; but he never altered the attitude of his hand.\nAnd Raoul, remembering the Persian's observation--\"I know these pistols\ncan be relied upon\"--was more and more astonished, wondering why any\none should be so gratified at being able to rely upon a pistol which he\ndid not intend to use!\n\nBut the Persian left him no time for reflection.  Telling Raoul to stay\nwhere he was, he ran up a few steps of the staircase which they had\njust left and then returned.\n\n\"How stupid of us!\" he whispered.  \"We shall soon have seen the end of\nthose men with their lanterns.  It is the firemen going their\nrounds.\"[2]\n\nThe two men waited five minutes longer.  Then the Persian took Raoul up\nthe stairs again; but suddenly he stopped him with a gesture.\nSomething moved in the darkness before them.\n\n\"Flat on your stomach!\" whispered the Persian.\n\nThe two men lay flat on the floor.\n\nThey were only just in time.  A shade, this time carrying no light,\njust a shade in the shade, passed.  It passed close to them, near\nenough to touch them.\n\nThey felt the warmth of its cloak upon them.  For they could\ndistinguish the shade sufficiently to see that it wore a cloak which\nshrouded it from head to foot.  On its head it had a soft felt hat ...\n\nIt moved away, drawing its feet against the walls and sometimes giving\na kick into a corner.\n\n\"Whew!\" said the Persian.  \"We've had a narrow escape; that shade knows\nme and has twice taken me to the managers' office.\"\n\n\"Is it some one belonging to the theater police?\" asked Raoul.\n\n\"It's some one much worse than that!\" replied the Persian, without\ngiving any further explanation.[3]\n\n\"It's not ... he?\"\n\n\"He? ... If he does not come behind us, we shall always see his yellow\neyes!  That is more or less our safeguard to-night. But he may come\nfrom behind, stealing up; and we are dead men if we do not keep our\nhands as though about to fire, at the level of our eyes, in front!\"\n\nThe Persian had hardly finished speaking, when a fantastic face came in\nsight ... a whole fiery face, not only two yellow eyes!\n\nYes, a head of fire came toward them, at a man's height, but with no\nbody attached to it.  The face shed fire, looked in the darkness like a\nflame shaped as a man's face.\n\n\"Oh,\" said the Persian, between his teeth.  \"I have never seen this\nbefore! ... Pampin was not mad, after all: he had seen it! ...  What\ncan that flame be?  It is not HE, but he may have sent it!  ... Take\ncare! ... Take care!  Your hand at the level of your eyes, in Heaven's\nname, at the level of your eyes! ... know most of his tricks ...  but\nnot this one ...  Come, let us run ...  it is safer.  Hand at the level\nof your eyes!\"\n\nAnd they fled down the long passage that opened before them.\n\nAfter a few seconds, that seemed to them like long minutes, they\nstopped.\n\n\"He doesn't often come this way,\" said the Persian.  \"This side has\nnothing to do with him.  This side does not lead to the lake nor to the\nhouse on the lake ...  But perhaps he knows that we are at his heels\n... although I promised him to leave him alone and never to meddle in\nhis business again!\"\n\nSo saying, he turned his head and Raoul also turned his head; and they\nagain saw the head of fire behind their two heads.  It had followed\nthem.  And it must have run also, and perhaps faster than they, for it\nseemed to be nearer to them.\n\nAt the same time, they began to perceive a certain noise of which they\ncould not guess the nature.  They simply noticed that the sound seemed\nto move and to approach with the fiery face.  It was a noise as though\nthousands of nails had been scraped against a blackboard, the perfectly\nunendurable noise that is sometimes made by a little stone inside the\nchalk that grates on the blackboard.\n\nThey continued to retreat, but the fiery face came on, came on, gaining\non them.  They could see its features clearly now.  The eyes were round\nand staring, the nose a little crooked and the mouth large, with a\nhanging lower lip, very like the eyes, nose and lip of the moon, when\nthe moon is quite red, bright red.\n\nHow did that red moon manage to glide through the darkness, at a man's\nheight, with nothing to support it, at least apparently?  And how did\nit go so fast, so straight ahead, with such staring, staring eyes?  And\nwhat was that scratching, scraping, grating sound which it brought with\nit?\n\nThe Persian and Raoul could retreat no farther and flattened themselves\nagainst the wall, not knowing what was going to happen because of that\nincomprehensible head of fire, and especially now, because of the more\nintense, swarming, living, \"numerous\" sound, for the sound was\ncertainly made up of hundreds of little sounds that moved in the\ndarkness, under the fiery face.\n\nAnd the fiery face came on ... with its noise ... came level with them!\n...\n\nAnd the two companions, flat against their wall, felt their hair stand\non end with horror, for they now knew what the thousand noises meant.\nThey came in a troop, hustled along in the shadow by innumerable little\nhurried waves, swifter than the waves that rush over the sands at high\ntide, little night-waves foaming under the moon, under the fiery head\nthat was like a moon.  And the little waves passed between their legs,\nclimbing up their legs, irresistibly, and Raoul and the Persian could\nno longer restrain their cries of horror, dismay and pain.  Nor could\nthey continue to hold their hands at the level of their eyes: their\nhands went down to their legs to push back the waves, which were full\nof little legs and nails and claws and teeth.\n\nYes, Raoul and the Persian were ready to faint, like Pampin the\nfireman.  But the head of fire turned round in answer to their cries,\nand spoke to them:\n\n\"Don't move!  Don't move! ... Whatever you do, don't come after me!\n...  I am the rat-catcher! ... Let me pass, with my rats! ...\"\n\nAnd the head of fire disappeared, vanished in the darkness, while the\npassage in front of it lit up, as the result of the change which the\nrat-catcher had made in his dark lantern.  Before, so as not to scare\nthe rats in front of him, he had turned his dark lantern on himself,\nlighting up his own head; now, to hasten their flight, he lit the dark\nspace in front of him.  And he jumped along, dragging with him the\nwaves of scratching rats, all the thousand sounds.\n\nRaoul and the Persian breathed again, though still trembling.\n\n\"I ought to have remembered that Erik talked to me about the\nrat-catcher,\" said the Persian.  \"But he never told me that he looked\nlike that ...  and it's funny that I should never have met him before\n...  Of course, Erik never comes to this part!\"\n\n[Illustration: two page color illustration]\n\n\"Are we very far from the lake, sir?\" asked Raoul.  \"When shall we get\nthere? ... Take me to the lake, oh, take me to the lake! ...  When we\nare at the lake, we will call out! ... Christine will hear us! ... And\nHE will hear us, too! ... And, as you know him, we shall talk to him!\"\n\"Baby!\" said the Persian.  \"We shall never enter the house on the lake\nby the lake! ... I myself have never landed on the other bank ... the\nbank on which the house stands.  ... You have to cross the lake first\n... and it is well guarded!  ... I fear that more than one of those\nmen--old scene-shifters, old door-shutters--who have never been seen\nagain were simply tempted to cross the lake ...  It is terrible ...  I\nmyself would have been nearly killed there ... if the monster had not\nrecognized me in time!  ... One piece of advice, sir; never go near the\nlake... And, above all, shut your ears if you hear the voice singing\nunder the water, the siren's voice!\"\n\n\"But then, what are we here for?\" asked Raoul, in a transport of fever,\nimpatience and rage.  \"If you can do nothing for Christine, at least\nlet me die for her!\"  The Persian tried to calm the young man.\n\n\"We have only one means of saving Christine Daae, believe me, which is\nto enter the house unperceived by the monster.\"\n\n\"And is there any hope of that, sir?\"\n\n\"Ah, if I had not that hope, I would not have come to fetch you!\"\n\n\"And how can one enter the house on the lake without crossing the lake?\"\n\n\"From the third cellar, from which we were so unluckily driven away.\nWe will go back there now ...  I will tell you,\" said the Persian, with\na sudden change in his voice, \"I will tell you the exact place, sir: it\nis between a set piece and a discarded scene from ROI DE LAHORE,\nexactly at the spot where Joseph Buquet died...  Come, sir, take\ncourage and follow me!  And hold your hand at the level of your eyes!\n... But where are we?\"\n\nThe Persian lit his lamp again and flung its rays down two enormous\ncorridors that crossed each other at right angles.\n\n\"We must be,\" he said, \"in the part used more particularly for the\nwaterworks.  I see no fire coming from the furnaces.\"\n\nHe went in front of Raoul, seeking his road, stopping abruptly when he\nwas afraid of meeting some waterman.  Then they had to protect\nthemselves against the glow of a sort of underground forge, which the\nmen were extinguishing, and at which Raoul recognized the demons whom\nChristine had seen at the time of her first captivity.\n\nIn this way, they gradually arrived beneath the huge cellars below the\nstage.  They must at this time have been at the very bottom of the\n\"tub\" and at an extremely great depth, when we remember that the earth\nwas dug out at fifty feet below the water that lay under the whole of\nthat part of Paris.[4]\n\nThe Persian touched a partition-wall and said:\n\n\"If I am not mistaken, this is a wall that might easily belong to the\nhouse on the lake.\"\n\nHe was striking a partition-wall of the \"tub,\" and perhaps it would be\nas well for the reader to know how the bottom and the partition-walls\nof the tub were built.  In order to prevent the water surrounding the\nbuilding-operations from remaining in immediate contact with the walls\nsupporting the whole of the theatrical machinery, the architect was\nobliged to build a double case in every direction.  The work of\nconstructing this double case took a whole year.  It was the wall of\nthe first inner case that the Persian struck when speaking to Raoul of\nthe house on the lake.  To any one understanding the architecture of\nthe edifice, the Persian's action would seem to indicate that Erik's\nmysterious house had been built in the double case, formed of a thick\nwall constructed as an embankment or dam, then of a brick wall, a\ntremendous layer of cement and another wall several yards in thickness.\n\nAt the Persian's words, Raoul flung himself against the wall and\nlistened eagerly.  But he heard nothing ... nothing ... except distant\nsteps sounding on the floor of the upper portions of the theater.\n\nThe Persian darkened his lantern again.\n\n\"Look out!\" he said.  \"Keep your hand up!  And silence!  For we shall\ntry another way of getting in.\"\n\nAnd he led him to the little staircase by which they had come down\nlately.\n\nThey went up, stopping at each step, peering into the darkness and the\nsilence, till they came to the third cellar.  Here the Persian motioned\nto Raoul to go on his knees; and, in this way, crawling on both knees\nand one hand--for the other hand was held in the position\nindicated--they reached the end wall.\n\nAgainst this wall stood a large discarded scene from the ROI DE LAHORE.\nClose to this scene was a set piece.  Between the scene and the set\npiece there was just room for a body ... for a body which one day was\nfound hanging there.  The body of Joseph Buquet.\n\nThe Persian, still kneeling, stopped and listened.  For a moment, he\nseemed to hesitate and looked at Raoul; then he turned his eyes upward,\ntoward the second cellar, which sent down the faint glimmer of a\nlantern, through a cranny between two boards.  This glimmer seemed to\ntrouble the Persian.\n\nAt last, he tossed his head and made up his mind to act.  He slipped\nbetween the set piece and the scene from the ROI DE LAHORE, with Raoul\nclose upon his heels.  With his free hand, the Persian felt the wall.\nRaoul saw him bear heavily upon the wall, just as he had pressed\nagainst the wall in Christine's dressing-room. Then a stone gave way,\nleaving a hole in the wall.\n\nThis time, the Persian took his pistol from his pocket and made a sign\nto Raoul to do as he did.  He cocked the pistol.\n\nAnd, resolutely, still on his knees, he wiggled through the hole in the\nwall.  Raoul, who had wished to pass first, had to be content to follow\nhim.\n\nThe hole was very narrow.  The Persian stopped almost at once.  Raoul\nheard him feeling the stones around him.  Then the Persian took out his\ndark lantern again, stooped forward, examined something beneath him and\nimmediately extinguished his lantern.  Raoul heard him say, in a\nwhisper:\n\n\"We shall have to drop a few yards, without making a noise; take off\nyour boots.\"\n\nThe Persian handed his own shoes to Raoul.\n\n\"Put them outside the wall,\" he said.  \"We shall find them there when\nwe leave.\"[5]\n\nHe crawled a little farther on his knees, then turned right round and\nsaid:\n\n\"I am going to hang by my hands from the edge of the stone and let\nmyself drop INTO HIS HOUSE.  You must do exactly the same.  Do not be\nafraid.  I will catch you in my arms.\"\n\nRaoul soon heard a dull sound, evidently produced by the fall of the\nPersian, and then dropped down.\n\nHe felt himself clasped in the Persian's arms.\n\n\"Hush!\" said the Persian.\n\nAnd they stood motionless, listening.\n\nThe darkness was thick around them, the silence heavy and terrible.\n\nThen the Persian began to make play with the dark lantern again,\nturning the rays over their heads, looking for the hole through which\nthey had come, and failing to find it:\n\n\"Oh!\" he said.  \"The stone has closed of itself!\"\n\nAnd the light of the lantern swept down the wall and over the floor.\n\nThe Persian stooped and picked up something, a sort of cord, which he\nexamined for a second and flung away with horror.\n\n\"The Punjab lasso!\" he muttered.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Raoul.\n\nThe Persian shivered.  \"It might very well be the rope by which the man\nwas hanged, and which was looked for so long.\"\n\nAnd, suddenly seized with fresh anxiety, he moved the little red disk\nof his lantern over the walls.  In this way, he lit up a curious thing:\nthe trunk of a tree, which seemed still quite alive, with its leaves;\nand the branches of that tree ran right up the walls and disappeared in\nthe ceiling.\n\nBecause of the smallness of the luminous disk, it was difficult at\nfirst to make out the appearance of things:  they saw a corner of a\nbranch ... and a leaf ... and another leaf ... and, next to it, nothing\nat all, nothing but the ray of light that seemed to reflect itself ...\nRaoul passed his hand over that nothing, over that reflection.\n\n\"Hullo!\" he said.  \"The wall is a looking-glass!\"\n\n\"Yes, a looking-glass!\" said the Persian, in a tone of deep emotion.\nAnd, passing the hand that held the pistol over his moist forehead, he\nadded, \"We have dropped into the torture-chamber!\"\n\nWhat the Persian knew of this torture-chamber and what there befell him\nand his companion shall be told in his own words, as set down in a\nmanuscript which he left behind him, and which I copy VERBATIM.\n\n\n\n[1] M. Pedro Gailhard has himself told me that he created a few\nadditional posts as door-shutters for old stage-carpenters whom he was\nunwilling to dismiss from the service of the Opera.\n\n[2] In those days, it was still part of the firemen's duty to watch\nover the safety of the Opera house outside the performances; but this\nservice has since been suppressed.  I asked M. Pedro Gailhard the\nreason, and he replied:\n\n\"It was because the management was afraid that, in their utter\ninexperience of the cellars of the Opera, the firemen might set fire to\nthe building!\"\n\n[3] Like the Persian, I can give no further explanation touching the\napparition of this shade.  Whereas, in this historic narrative,\neverything else will be normally explained, however abnormal the course\nof events may seem, I can not give the reader expressly to understand\nwhat the Persian meant by the words, \"It is some one much worse than\nthat!\"  The reader must try to guess for himself, for I promised M.\nPedro Gailhard, the former manager of the Opera, to keep his secret\nregarding the extremely interesting and useful personality of the\nwandering, cloaked shade which, while condemning itself to live in the\ncellars of the Opera, rendered such immense services to those who, on\ngala evenings, for instance, venture to stray away from the stage.  I\nam speaking of state services; and, upon my word of honor, I can say no\nmore.\n\n[4] All the water had to be exhausted, in the building of the Opera.\nTo give an idea of the amount of water that was pumped up, I can tell\nthe reader that it represented the area of the courtyard of the Louvre\nand a height half as deep again as the towers of Notre Dame.  And\nnevertheless the engineers had to leave a lake.\n\n[5] These two pairs of boots, which were placed, according to the\nPersian's papers, just between the set piece and the scene from the ROI\nDE LAHORE, on the spot where Joseph Buquet was found hanging, were\nnever discovered.  They must have been taken by some stage-carpenter or\n\"door-shutter.\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXI  Interesting and Instructive Vicissitudes of a Persian in\nthe Cellars of the Opera\n\n\nTHE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE\n\nIt was the first time that I entered the house on the lake.  I had\noften begged the \"trap-door lover,\" as we used to call Erik in my\ncountry, to open its mysterious doors to me.  He always refused.  I\nmade very many attempts, but in vain, to obtain admittance.  Watch him\nas I might, after I first learned that he had taken up his permanent\nabode at the Opera, the darkness was always too thick to enable me to\nsee how he worked the door in the wall on the lake.  One day, when I\nthought myself alone, I stepped into the boat and rowed toward that\npart of the wall through which I had seen Erik disappear.  It was then\nthat I came into contact with the siren who guarded the approach and\nwhose charm was very nearly fatal to me.\n\nI had no sooner put off from the bank than the silence amid which I\nfloated on the water was disturbed by a sort of whispered singing that\nhovered all around me.  It was half breath, half music; it rose softly\nfrom the waters of the lake; and I was surrounded by it through I knew\nnot what artifice.  It followed me, moved with me and was so soft that\nit did not alarm me.  On the contrary, in my longing to approach the\nsource of that sweet and enticing harmony, I leaned out of my little\nboat over the water, for there was no doubt in my mind that the singing\ncame from the water itself.  By this time, I was alone in the boat in\nthe middle of the lake; the voice--for it was now distinctly a\nvoice--was beside me, on the water.  I leaned over, leaned still\nfarther.  The lake was perfectly calm, and a moonbeam that passed\nthrough the air hole in the Rue Scribe showed me absolutely nothing on\nits surface, which was smooth and black as ink.  I shook my ears to get\nrid of a possible humming; but I soon had to accept the fact that there\nwas no humming in the ears so harmonious as the singing whisper that\nfollowed and now attracted me.\n\nHad I been inclined to superstition, I should have certainly thought\nthat I had to do with some siren whose business it was to confound the\ntraveler who should venture on the waters of the house on the lake.\nFortunately, I come from a country where we are too fond of fantastic\nthings not to know them through and through; and I had no doubt but\nthat I was face to face with some new invention of Erik's. But this\ninvention was so perfect that, as I leaned out of the boat, I was\nimpelled less by a desire to discover its trick than to enjoy its\ncharm; and I leaned out, leaned out until I almost overturned the boat.\n\nSuddenly, two monstrous arms issued from the bosom of the waters and\nseized me by the neck, dragging me down to the depths with irresistible\nforce.  I should certainly have been lost, if I had not had time to\ngive a cry by which Erik knew me.  For it was he; and, instead of\ndrowning me, as was certainly his first intention, he swam with me and\nlaid me gently on the bank:\n\n\"How imprudent you are!\" he said, as he stood before me, dripping with\nwater.  \"Why try to enter my house?  I never invited you!  I don't want\nyou there, nor anybody!  Did you save my life only to make it\nunbearable to me?  However great the service you rendered him, Erik may\nend by forgetting it; and you know that nothing can restrain Erik, not\neven Erik himself.\"\n\nHe spoke, but I had now no other wish than to know what I already\ncalled the trick of the siren.  He satisfied my curiosity, for Erik,\nwho is a real monster--I have seen him at work in Persia, alas--is\nalso, in certain respects, a regular child, vain and self-conceited,\nand there is nothing he loves so much, after astonishing people, as to\nprove all the really miraculous ingenuity of his mind.\n\nHe laughed and showed me a long reed.\n\n\"It's the silliest trick you ever saw,\" he said, \"but it's very useful\nfor breathing and singing in the water.  I learned it from the Tonkin\npirates, who are able to remain hidden for hours in the beds of the\nrivers.\"[1]\n\nI spoke to him severely.\n\n\"It's a trick that nearly killed me!\"  I said.  \"And it may have been\nfatal to others!  You know what you promised me, Erik?  No more\nmurders!\"\n\n\"Have I really committed murders?\" he asked, putting on his most\namiable air.\n\n\"Wretched man!\"  I cried.  \"Have you forgotten the rosy hours of\nMazenderan?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, in a sadder tone, \"I prefer to forget them.  I used\nto make the little sultana laugh, though!\"\n\n\"All that belongs to the past,\" I declared; \"but there is the present\n... and you are responsible to me for the present, because, if I had\nwished, there would have been none at all for you.  Remember that,\nErik:  I saved your life!\"\n\nAnd I took advantage of the turn of conversation to speak to him of\nsomething that had long been on my mind:\n\n\"Erik,\" I asked, \"Erik, swear that ...\"\n\n\"What?\" he retorted.  \"You know I never keep my oaths.  Oaths are made\nto catch gulls with.\"\n\n\"Tell me ... you can tell me, at any rate...\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Well, the chandelier ... the chandelier, Erik? ...\"\n\n\"What about the chandelier?\"\n\n\"You know what I mean.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he sniggered, \"I don't mind telling you about the chandelier!\n... IT WASN'T I! ... The chandelier was very old and worn.\"\n\nWhen Erik laughed, he was more terrible than ever.  He jumped into the\nboat, chuckling so horribly that I could not help trembling.\n\n\"Very old and worn, my dear daroga![2]  Very old and worn, the\nchandelier! ... It fell of itself! ... It came down with a smash! ...\nAnd now, daroga, take my advice and go and dry yourself, or you'll\ncatch a cold in the head! ...  And never get into my boat again ...\nAnd, whatever you do, don't try to enter my house:  I'm not always\nthere ... daroga!  And I should be sorry to have to dedicate my Requiem\nMass to you!\"\n\nSo saying, swinging to and fro, like a monkey, and still chuckling, he\npushed off and soon disappeared in the darkness of the lake.\n\nFrom that day, I gave up all thought of penetrating into his house by\nthe lake.  That entrance was obviously too well guarded, especially\nsince he had learned that I knew about it.  But I felt that there must\nbe another entrance, for I had often seen Erik disappear in the third\ncellar, when I was watching him, though I could not imagine how.\n\nEver since I had discovered Erik installed in the Opera, I lived in a\nperpetual terror of his horrible fancies, not in so far as I was\nconcerned, but I dreaded everything for others.[3]\n\nAnd whenever some accident, some fatal event happened, I always thought\nto myself, \"I should not be surprised if that were Erik,\" even as\nothers used to say, \"It's the ghost!\"  How often have I not heard\npeople utter that phrase with a smile!  Poor devils!  If they had known\nthat the ghost existed in the flesh, I swear they would not have\nlaughed!\n\nAlthough Erik announced to me very solemnly that he had changed and\nthat he had become the most virtuous of men SINCE HE WAS LOVED FOR\nHIMSELF--a sentence that, at first, perplexed me most terribly--I could\nnot help shuddering when I thought of the monster.  His horrible,\nunparalleled and repulsive ugliness put him without the pale of\nhumanity; and it often seemed to me that, for this reason, he no longer\nbelieved that he had any duty toward the human race.  The way in which\nhe spoke of his love affairs only increased my alarm, for I foresaw the\ncause of fresh and more hideous tragedies in this event to which he\nalluded so boastfully.\n\nOn the other hand, I soon discovered the curious moral traffic\nestablished between the monster and Christine Daae.  Hiding in the\nlumber-room next to the young prima donna's dressing-room, I listened\nto wonderful musical displays that evidently flung Christine into\nmarvelous ecstasy; but, all the same, I would never have thought that\nErik's voice--which was loud as thunder or soft as angels' voices, at\nwill--could have made her forget his ugliness.  I understood all when I\nlearned that Christine had not yet seen him!  I had occasion to go to\nthe dressing-room and, remembering the lessons he had once given me, I\nhad no difficulty in discovering the trick that made the wall with the\nmirror swing round and I ascertained the means of hollow bricks and so\non--by which he made his voice carry to Christine as though she heard\nit close beside her.  In this way also I discovered the road that led\nto the well and the dungeon--the Communists' dungeon--and also the\ntrap-door that enabled Erik to go straight to the cellars below the\nstage.\n\nA few days later, what was not my amazement to learn by my own eyes and\nears that Erik and Christine Daae saw each other and to catch the\nmonster stooping over the little well, in the Communists' road and\nsprinkling the forehead of Christine Daae, who had fainted.  A white\nhorse, the horse out of the PROFETA, which had disappeared from the\nstables under the Opera, was standing quietly beside them.  I showed\nmyself.  It was terrible.  I saw sparks fly from those yellow eyes and,\nbefore I had time to say a word, I received a blow on the head that\nstunned me.\n\nWhen I came to myself, Erik, Christine and the white horse had\ndisappeared.  I felt sure that the poor girl was a prisoner in the\nhouse on the lake.  Without hesitation, I resolved to return to the\nbank, notwithstanding the attendant danger.  For twenty-four hours, I\nlay in wait for the monster to appear; for I felt that he must go out,\ndriven by the need of obtaining provisions.  And, in this connection, I\nmay say, that, when he went out in the streets or ventured to show\nhimself in public, he wore a pasteboard nose, with a mustache attached\nto it, instead of his own horrible hole of a nose.  This did not quite\ntake away his corpse-like air, but it made him almost, I say almost,\nendurable to look at.\n\nI therefore watched on the bank of the lake and, weary of long waiting,\nwas beginning to think that he had gone through the other door, the\ndoor in the third cellar, when I heard a slight splashing in the dark,\nI saw the two yellow eyes shining like candles and soon the boat\ntouched shore.  Erik jumped out and walked up to me:\n\n\"You've been here for twenty-four hours,\" he said, \"and you're annoying\nme.  I tell you, all this will end very badly.  And you will have\nbrought it upon yourself; for I have been extraordinarily patient with\nyou.  You think you are following me, you great booby, whereas it's I\nwho am following you; and I know all that you know about me, here.  I\nspared you yesterday, in MY COMMUNISTS' ROAD; but I warn you,\nseriously, don't let me catch you there again!  Upon my word, you don't\nseem able to take a hint!\"\n\nHe was so furious that I did not think, for the moment, of interrupting\nhim.  After puffing and blowing like a walrus, he put his horrible\nthought into words:\n\n\"Yes, you must learn, once and for all--once and for all, I say--to\ntake a hint!  I tell you that, with your recklessness--for you have\nalready been twice arrested by the shade in the felt hat, who did not\nknow what you were doing in the cellars and took you to the managers,\nwho looked upon you as an eccentric Persian interested in stage\nmechanism and life behind the scenes:  I know all about it, I was\nthere, in the office; you know I am everywhere--well, I tell you that,\nwith your recklessness, they will end by wondering what you are after\nhere ... and they will end by knowing that you are after Erik ... and\nthen they will be after Erik themselves and they will discover the\nhouse on the lake ...  If they do, it will be a bad lookout for you,\nold chap, a bad lookout! ...  I won't answer for anything.\"\n\nAgain he puffed and blew like a walrus.\n\n\"I won't answer for anything! ... If Erik's secrets cease to be Erik's\nsecrets, IT WILL BE A BAD LOOKOUT FOR A GOODLY NUMBER OF THE HUMAN\nRACE!  That's all I have to tell you, and unless you are a great booby,\nit ought to be enough for you ... except that you don't know how to\ntake a hint.\"\n\nHe had sat down on the stern of his boat and was kicking his heels\nagainst the planks, waiting to hear what I had to answer.  I simply\nsaid:\n\n\"It's not Erik that I'm after here!\"\n\n\"Who then?\"\n\n\"You know as well as I do:  it's Christine Daae,\" I answered.\n\nHe retorted:  \"I have every right to see her in my own house.  I am\nloved for my own sake.\"\n\n\"That's not true,\" I said.  \"You have carried her off and are keeping\nher locked up.\"\n\n\"Listen,\" he said.  \"Will you promise never to meddle with my affairs\nagain, if I prove to you that I am loved for my own sake?\"\n\n\"Yes, I promise you,\" I replied, without hesitation, for I felt\nconvinced that for such a monster the proof was impossible.\n\n\"Well, then, it's quite simple ...  Christine Daae shall leave this as\nshe pleases and come back again! ... Yes, come back again, because she\nwishes ... come back of herself, because she loves me for myself! ...\"\n\n\"Oh, I doubt if she will come back! ... But it is your duty to let her\ngo.\"  \"My duty, you great booby! ... It is my wish ...  my wish to let\nher go; and she will come back again ... for she loves me! ... All this\nwill end in a marriage ... a marriage at the Madeleine, you great\nbooby!  Do you believe me now?  When I tell you that my nuptial mass is\nwritten ... wait till you hear the KYRIE...\"\n\nHe beat time with his heels on the planks of the boat and sang:\n\n\"KYRIE! ... KYRIE! ... KYRIE ELEISON! ... Wait till you hear, wait till\nyou hear that mass.\"\n\n\"Look here,\" I said.  \"I shall believe you if I see Christine Daae come\nout of the house on the lake and go back to it of her own accord.\"\n\n\"And you won't meddle any more in my affairs?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Very well, you shall see that to-night. Come to the masked ball.\nChristine and I will go and have a look round.  Then you can hide in\nthe lumber-room and you shall see Christine, who will have gone to her\ndressing-room, delighted to come back by the Communists' road... And,\nnow, be off, for I must go and do some shopping!\"\n\nTo my intense astonishment, things happened as he had announced.\nChristine Daae left the house on the lake and returned to it several\ntimes, without, apparently, being forced to do so.  It was very\ndifficult for me to clear my mind of Erik.  However, I resolved to be\nextremely prudent, and did not make the mistake of returning to the\nshore of the lake, or of going by the Communists' road.  But the idea\nof the secret entrance in the third cellar haunted me, and I repeatedly\nwent and waited for hours behind a scene from the Roi de Lahore, which\nhad been left there for some reason or other.  At last my patience was\nrewarded.  One day, I saw the monster come toward me, on his knees.  I\nwas certain that he could not see me.  He passed between the scene\nbehind which I stood and a set piece, went to the wall and pressed on a\nspring that moved a stone and afforded him an ingress.  He passed\nthrough this, and the stone closed behind him.\n\nI waited for at least thirty minutes and then pressed the spring in my\nturn.  Everything happened as with Erik.  But I was careful not to go\nthrough the hole myself, for I knew that Erik was inside.  On the other\nhand, the idea that I might be caught by Erik suddenly made me think of\nthe death of Joseph Buquet.  I did not wish to jeopardize the\nadvantages of so great a discovery which might be useful to many\npeople, \"to a goodly number of the human race,\" in Erik's words; and I\nleft the cellars of the Opera after carefully replacing the stone.\n\nI continued to be greatly interested in the relations between Erik and\nChristine Daae, not from any morbid curiosity, but because of the\nterrible thought which obsessed my mind that Erik was capable of\nanything, if he once discovered that he was not loved for his own sake,\nas he imagined.  I continued to wander, very cautiously, about the\nOpera and soon learned the truth about the monster's dreary love-affair.\n\nHe filled Christine's mind, through the terror with which he inspired\nher, but the dear child's heart belonged wholly to the Vicomte Raoul de\nChagny.  While they played about, like an innocent engaged couple, on\nthe upper floors of the Opera, to avoid the monster, they little\nsuspected that some one was watching over them.  I was prepared to do\nanything:  to kill the monster, if necessary, and explain to the police\nafterward.  But Erik did not show himself; and I felt none the more\ncomfortable for that.\n\nI must explain my whole plan.  I thought that the monster, being driven\nfrom his house by jealousy, would thus enable me to enter it, without\ndanger, through the passage in the third cellar.  It was important, for\neverybody's sake, that I should know exactly what was inside.  One day,\ntired of waiting for an opportunity, I moved the stone and at once\nheard an astounding music: the monster was working at his Don Juan\nTriumphant, with every door in his house wide open.  I knew that this\nwas the work of his life.  I was careful not to stir and remained\nprudently in my dark hole.\n\nHe stopped playing, for a moment, and began walking about his place,\nlike a madman.  And he said aloud, at the top of his voice:\n\n\"It must be finished FIRST!  Quite finished!\"\n\nThis speech was not calculated to reassure me and, when the music\nrecommenced, I closed the stone very softly.\n\nOn the day of the abduction of Christine Daae, I did not come to the\ntheater until rather late in the evening, trembling lest I should hear\nbad news.  I had spent a horrible day, for, after reading in a morning\npaper the announcement of a forthcoming marriage between Christine and\nthe Vicomte de Chagny, I wondered whether, after all, I should not do\nbetter to denounce the monster.  But reason returned to me, and I was\npersuaded that this action could only precipitate a possible\ncatastrophe.\n\nWhen, my cab set me down before the Opera, I was really almost\nastonished to see it still standing!  But I am something of a fatalist,\nlike all good Orientals, and I entered ready, for anything.\n\nChristine Daae's abduction in the Prison Act, which naturally surprised\neverybody, found me prepared.  I was quite certain that she had been\njuggled away by Erik, that prince of conjurers.  And I thought\npositively that this was the end of Christine and perhaps of everybody,\nso much so that I thought of advising all these people who were staying\non at the theater to make good their escape.  I felt, however, that\nthey would be sure to look upon me as mad and I refrained.\n\nOn the other hand, I resolved to act without further delay, as far as I\nwas concerned.  The chances were in my favor that Erik, at that moment,\nwas thinking only of his captive.  This was the moment to enter his\nhouse through the third cellar; and I resolved to take with me that\npoor little desperate viscount, who, at the first suggestion, accepted,\nwith an amount of confidence in myself that touched me profoundly.  I\nhad sent my servant for my pistols.  I gave one to the viscount and\nadvised him to hold himself ready to fire, for, after all, Erik might\nbe waiting for us behind the wall.  We were to go by the Communists'\nroad and through the trap-door.\n\nSeeing my pistols, the little viscount asked me if we were going to\nfight a duel.  I said:\n\n\"Yes; and what a duel!\"  But, of course, I had no time to explain\nanything to him.  The little viscount is a brave fellow, but he knew\nhardly anything about his adversary; and it was so much the better.  My\ngreat fear was that he was already somewhere near us, preparing the\nPunjab lasso.  No one knows better than he how to throw the Punjab\nlasso, for he is the king of stranglers even as he is the prince of\nconjurors.  When he had finished making the little sultana laugh, at\nthe time of the \"rosy hours of Mazenderan,\" she herself used to ask him\nto amuse her by giving her a thrill.  It was then that he introduced\nthe sport of the Punjab lasso.\n\nHe had lived in India and acquired an incredible skill in the art of\nstrangulation.  He would make them lock him into a courtyard to which\nthey brought a warrior--usually, a man condemned to death--armed with a\nlong pike and broadsword.  Erik had only his lasso; and it was always\njust when the warrior thought that he was going to fell Erik with a\ntremendous blow that we heard the lasso whistle through the air.  With\na turn of the wrist, Erik tightened the noose round his adversary's\nneck and, in this fashion, dragged him before the little sultana and\nher women, who sat looking from a window and applauding.  The little\nsultana herself learned to wield the Punjab lasso and killed several of\nher women and even of the friends who visited her.  But I prefer to\ndrop this terrible subject of the rosy hours of Mazenderan.  I have\nmentioned it only to explain why, on arriving with the Vicomte de\nChagny in the cellars of the Opera, I was bound to protect my companion\nagainst the ever-threatening danger of death by strangling.  My pistols\ncould serve no purpose, for Erik was not likely to show himself; but\nErik could always strangle us.  I had no time to explain all this to\nthe viscount; besides, there was nothing to be gained by complicating\nthe position.  I simply told M. de Chagny to keep his hand at the level\nof his eyes, with the arm bent, as though waiting for the command to\nfire.  With his victim in this attitude, it is impossible even for the\nmost expert strangler to throw the lasso with advantage.  It catches\nyou not only round the neck, but also round the arm or hand.  This\nenables you easily to unloose the lasso, which then becomes harmless.\n\nAfter avoiding the commissary of police, a number of door-shutters and\nthe firemen, after meeting the rat-catcher and passing the man in the\nfelt hat unperceived, the viscount and I arrived without obstacle in\nthe third cellar, between the set piece and the scene from the Roi de\nLahore.  I worked the stone, and we jumped into the house which Erik\nhad built himself in the double case of the foundation-walls of the\nOpera.  And this was the easiest thing in the world for him to do,\nbecause Erik was one of the chief contractors under Philippe Garnier,\nthe architect of the Opera, and continued to work by himself when the\nworks were officially suspended, during the war, the siege of Paris and\nthe Commune.\n\nI knew my Erik too well to feel at all comfortable on jumping into his\nhouse.  I knew what he had made of a certain palace at Mazenderan.\nFrom being the most honest building conceivable, he soon turned it into\na house of the very devil, where you could not utter a word but it was\noverheard or repeated by an echo.  With his trap-doors the monster was\nresponsible for endless tragedies of all kinds.  He hit upon\nastonishing inventions.  Of these, the most curious, horrible and\ndangerous was the so-called torture-chamber. Except in special cases,\nwhen the little sultana amused herself by inflicting suffering upon\nsome unoffending citizen, no one was let into it but wretches condemned\nto death.  And, even then, when these had \"had enough,\" they were\nalways at liberty to put an end to themselves with a Punjab lasso or\nbowstring, left for their use at the foot of an iron tree.\n\nMy alarm, therefore, was great when I saw that the room into which M.\nle Vicomte de Chagny and I had dropped was an exact copy of the\ntorture-chamber of the rosy hours of Mazenderan.  At our feet, I found\nthe Punjab lasso which I had been dreading all the evening.  I was\nconvinced that this rope had already done duty for Joseph Buquet, who,\nlike myself, must have caught Erik one evening working the stone in the\nthird cellar.  He probably tried it in his turn, fell into the\ntorture-chamber and only left it hanged.  I can well imagine Erik\ndragging the body, in order to get rid of it, to the scene from the Roi\nde Lahore, and hanging it there as an example, or to increase the\nsuperstitious terror that was to help him in guarding the approaches to\nhis lair!  Then, upon reflection, Erik went back to fetch the Punjab\nlasso, which is very curiously made out of catgut, and which might have\nset an examining magistrate thinking.  This explains the disappearance\nof the rope.\n\nAnd now I discovered the lasso, at our feet, in the torture-chamber!\n...  I am no coward, but a cold sweat covered my forehead as I moved\nthe little red disk of my lantern over the walls.\n\nM. de Chagny noticed it and asked:\n\n\"What is the matter, sir?\"\n\nI made him a violent sign to be silent.\n\n\n\n[1] An official report from Tonkin, received in Paris at the end of\nJuly, 1909, relates how the famous pirate chief De Tham was tracked,\ntogether with his men, by our soldiers; and how all of them succeeded\nin escaping, thanks to this trick of the reeds.\n\n[2] DAROGA is Persian for chief of police.\n\n[3] The Persian might easily have admitted that Erik's fate also\ninterested himself, for he was well aware that, if the government of\nTeheran had learned that Erik was still alive, it would have been all\nup with the modest pension of the erstwhile daroga.  It is only fair,\nhowever, to add that the Persian had a noble and generous heart; and I\ndo not doubt for a moment that the catastrophes which he feared for\nothers greatly occupied his mind.  His conduct, throughout this\nbusiness, proves it and is above all praise.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXII  In the Torture Chamber\n\n\nTHE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED\n\nWe were in the middle of a little six-cornered room, the sides of which\nwere covered with mirrors from top to bottom.  In the corners, we could\nclearly see the \"joins\" in the glasses, the segments intended to turn\non their gear; yes, I recognized them and I recognized the iron tree in\nthe corner, at the bottom of one of those segments ... the iron tree,\nwith its iron branch, for the hanged men.\n\nI seized my companion's arm:  the Vicomte de Chagny was all a-quiver,\neager to shout to his betrothed that he was bringing her help.  I\nfeared that he would not be able to contain himself.\n\nSuddenly, we heard a noise on our left.  It sounded at first like a\ndoor opening and shutting in the next room; and then there was a dull\nmoan.  I clutched M. de Chagny's arm more firmly still; and then we\ndistinctly heard these words:\n\n\"You must make your choice!  The wedding mass or the requiem mass!\" I\nrecognized the voice of the monster.\n\nThere was another moan, followed by a long silence.\n\nI was persuaded by now that the monster was unaware of our presence in\nhis house, for otherwise he would certainly have managed not to let us\nhear him.  He would only have had to close the little invisible window\nthrough which the torture-lovers look down into the torture-chamber.\nBesides, I was certain that, if he had known of our presence, the\ntortures would have begun at once.\n\nThe important thing was not to let him know; and I dreaded nothing so\nmuch as the impulsiveness of the Vicomte de Chagny, who wanted to rush\nthrough the walls to Christine Daae, whose moans we continued to hear\nat intervals.\n\n\"The requiem mass is not at all gay,\" Erik's voice resumed, \"whereas\nthe wedding mass--you can take my word for it--is magnificent!  You\nmust take a resolution and know your own mind!  I can't go on living\nlike this, like a mole in a burrow!  Don Juan Triumphant is finished;\nand now I want to live like everybody else.  I want to have a wife like\neverybody else and to take her out on Sundays.  I have invented a mask\nthat makes me look like anybody.  People will not even turn round in\nthe streets.  You will be the happiest of women.  And we will sing, all\nby ourselves, till we swoon away with delight.  You are crying!  You\nare afraid of me!  And yet I am not really wicked.  Love me and you\nshall see!  All I wanted was to be loved for myself.  If you loved me I\nshould be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do anything with me that\nyou pleased.\"\n\nSoon the moans that accompanied this sort of love's litany increased\nand increased.  I have never heard anything more despairing; and M. de\nChagny and I recognized that this terrible lamentation came from Erik\nhimself.  Christine seemed to be standing dumb with horror, without the\nstrength to cry out, while the monster was on his knees before her.\n\nThree times over, Erik fiercely bewailed his fate:\n\n\"You don't love me!  You don't love me!  You don't love me!\"\n\nAnd then, more gently:\n\n\"Why do you cry?  You know it gives me pain to see you cry!\"\n\nA silence.\n\nEach silence gave us fresh hope.  We said to ourselves:\n\n\"Perhaps he has left Christine behind the wall.\"\n\nAnd we thought only of the possibility of warning Christine Daae of our\npresence, unknown to the monster.  We were unable to leave the\ntorture-chamber now, unless Christine opened the door to us; and it was\nonly on this condition that we could hope to help her, for we did not\neven know where the door might be.\n\nSuddenly, the silence in the next room was disturbed by the ringing of\nan electric bell.  There was a bound on the other side of the wall and\nErik's voice of thunder:\n\n\"Somebody ringing!  Walk in, please!\"\n\nA sinister chuckle.\n\n\"Who has come bothering now?  Wait for me here ...  I AM GOING TO TELL\nTHE SIREN TO OPEN THE DOOR.\"\n\nSteps moved away, a door closed.  I had no time to think of the fresh\nhorror that was preparing; I forgot that the monster was only going out\nperhaps to perpetrate a fresh crime; I understood but one thing:\nChristine was alone behind the wall!\n\nThe Vicomte de Chagny was already calling to her:\n\n\"Christine!  Christine!\"\n\nAs we could hear what was said in the next room, there was no reason\nwhy my companion should not be heard in his turn.  Nevertheless, the\nviscount had to repeat his cry time after time.\n\nAt last, a faint voice reached us.\n\n\"I am dreaming!\" it said.\n\n\"Christine, Christine, it is I, Raoul!\"\n\nA silence.\n\n\"But answer me, Christine! ... In Heaven's name, if you are alone,\nanswer me!\"\n\nThen Christine's voice whispered Raoul's name.\n\n\"Yes!  Yes!  It is I!  It is not a dream! ... Christine, trust me! ...\nWe are here to save you ... but be prudent!  When you hear the monster,\nwarn us!\"\n\nThen Christine gave way to fear.  She trembled lest Erik should\ndiscover where Raoul was hidden; she told us in a few hurried words\nthat Erik had gone quite mad with love and that he had decided TO KILL\nEVERYBODY AND HIMSELF WITH EVERYBODY if she did not consent to become\nhis wife.  He had given her till eleven o'clock the next evening for\nreflection.  It was the last respite.  She must choose, as he said,\nbetween the wedding mass and the requiem.\n\nAnd Erik had then uttered a phrase which Christine did not quite\nunderstand:\n\n\"Yes or no!  If your answer is no, everybody will be dead AND BURIED!\"\n\nBut I understood the sentence perfectly, for it corresponded in a\nterrible manner with my own dreadful thought.\n\n\"Can you tell us where Erik is?\"  I asked.\n\nShe replied that he must have left the house.\n\n\"Could you make sure?\"\n\n\"No. I am fastened.  I can not stir a limb.\"\n\nWhen we heard this, M. de Chagny and I gave a yell of fury.  Our\nsafety, the safety of all three of us, depended on the girl's liberty\nof movement.\n\n\"But where are you?\" asked Christine.  \"There are only two doors in my\nroom, the Louis-Philippe room of which I told you, Raoul; a door\nthrough which Erik comes and goes, and another which he has never\nopened before me and which he has forbidden me ever to go through,\nbecause he says it is the most dangerous of the doors, the door of the\ntorture-chamber!\"\n\n\"Christine, that is where we are!\"\n\n\"You are in the torture-chamber?\"\n\n\"Yes, but we can not see the door.\"\n\n\"Oh, if I could only drag myself so far!  I would knock at the door and\nthat would tell you where it is.\"\n\n\"Is it a door with a lock to it?\"  I asked.\n\n\"Yes, with a lock.\"\n\n\"Mademoiselle,\" I said, \"it is absolutely necessary, that you should\nopen that door to us!\"\n\n\"But how?\" asked the poor girl tearfully.\n\nWe heard her straining, trying to free herself from the bonds that held\nher.\n\n\"I know where the key is,\" she said, in a voice that seemed exhausted\nby the effort she had made.  \"But I am fastened so tight ...  Oh, the\nwretch!\"\n\nAnd she gave a sob.\n\n\"Where is the key?\"  I asked, signing to M. de Chagny not to speak and\nto leave the business to me, for we had not a moment to lose.\n\n\"In the next room, near the organ, with another little bronze key,\nwhich he also forbade me to touch.  They are both in a little leather\nbag which he calls the bag of life and death...  Raoul!  Raoul!  Fly!\nEverything is mysterious and terrible here, and Erik will soon have\ngone quite mad, and you are in the torture-chamber! ... Go back by the\nway you came.  There must be a reason why the room is called by that\nname!\"\n\n\"Christine,\" said the young man.  \"We will go from here together or die\ntogether!\"\n\n\"We must keep cool,\" I whispered.  \"Why has he fastened you,\nmademoiselle?  You can't escape from his house; and he knows it!\"\n\n\"I tried to commit suicide!  The monster went out last night, after\ncarrying me here fainting and half chloroformed.  He was going TO HIS\nBANKER, so he said! ... When he returned he found me with my face\ncovered with blood ...  I had tried to kill myself by striking my\nforehead against the walls.\"\n\n\"Christine!\" groaned Raoul; and he began to sob.\n\n\"Then he bound me ...  I am not allowed to die until eleven o'clock\nto-morrow evening.\"\n\n\"Mademoiselle,\" I declared, \"the monster bound you ... and he shall\nunbind you.  You have only to play the necessary part!  Remember that\nhe loves you!\"\n\n\"Alas!\" we heard.  \"Am I likely to forget it!\"\n\n\"Remember it and smile to him ... entreat him ... tell him that your\nbonds hurt you.\"\n\nBut Christine Daae said:\n\n\"Hush! ... I hear something in the wall on the lake! ... It is he! ...\nGo away!  Go away!  Go away!\"\n\n\"We could not go away, even if we wanted to,\" I said, as impressively\nas I could.  \"We can not leave this!  And we are in the\ntorture-chamber!\"\n\n\"Hush!\" whispered Christine again.\n\nHeavy steps sounded slowly behind the wall, then stopped and made the\nfloor creak once more.  Next came a tremendous sigh, followed by a cry\nof horror from Christine, and we heard Erik's voice:\n\n\"I beg your pardon for letting you see a face like this!  What a state\nI am in, am I not?  It's THE OTHER ONE'S FAULT!  Why did he ring?  Do I\nask people who pass to tell me the time?  He will never ask anybody the\ntime again!  It is the siren's fault.\"\n\n[Illustration: two page color illustration]\n\nAnother sigh, deeper, more tremendous still, came from the abysmal\ndepths of a soul.\n\n\"Why did you cry out, Christine?\"\n\n\"Because I am in pain, Erik.\"\n\n\"I thought I had frightened you.\"\n\n\"Erik, unloose my bonds ...  Am I not your prisoner?\"\n\n\"You will try to kill yourself again.\"\n\n\"You have given me till eleven o'clock to-morrow evening, Erik.\"\n\nThe footsteps dragged along the floor again.\n\n\"After all, as we are to die together ... and I am just as eager as you\n... yes, I have had enough of this life, you know...  Wait, don't move,\nI will release you ...  You have only one word to say:  'NO!' And it\nwill at once be over WITH EVERYBODY!  ... You are right, you are right;\nwhy wait till eleven o'clock to-morrow evening?  True, it would have\nbeen grander, finer ...  But that is childish nonsense ...  We should\nonly think of ourselves in this life, of our own death ... the rest\ndoesn't matter...  YOU'RE LOOKING AT ME BECAUSE I AM ALL WET? ...  Oh,\nmy dear, it's raining cats and dogs outside! ... Apart from that,\nChristine, I think I am subject to hallucinations ...  You know, the\nman who rang at the siren's door just now--go and look if he's ringing\nat the bottom of the lake-well, he was rather like...  There, turn\nround ... are you glad?  You're free now...  Oh, my poor Christine,\nlook at your wrists:  tell me, have I hurt them? ... That alone\ndeserves death ...  Talking of death, I MUST SING HIS REQUIEM!\"\n\nHearing these terrible remarks, I received an awful presentiment ... I\ntoo had once rung at the monster's door ... and, without knowing it,\nmust have set some warning current in motion.\n\nAnd I remembered the two arms that had emerged from the inky waters...\nWhat poor wretch had strayed to that shore this time?  Who was 'the\nother one,' the one whose requiem we now heard sung?\n\nErik sang like the god of thunder, sang a DIES IRAE that enveloped us\nas in a storm.  The elements seemed to rage around us.  Suddenly, the\norgan and the voice ceased so suddenly that M. de Chagny sprang back,\non the other side of the wall, with emotion.  And the voice, changed\nand transformed, distinctly grated out these metallic syllables: \"WHAT\nHAVE YOU DONE WITH MY BAG?\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXIII  The Tortures Begin\n\n\nTHE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED.\n\nThe voice repeated angrily:  \"What have you done with my bag?  So it\nwas to take my bag that you asked me to release you!\"\n\nWe heard hurried steps, Christine running back to the Louis-Philippe\nroom, as though to seek shelter on the other side of our wall.\n\n\"What are you running away for?\" asked the furious voice, which had\nfollowed her.  \"Give me back my bag, will you?  Don't you know that it\nis the bag of life and death?\"\n\n\"Listen to me, Erik,\" sighed the girl.  \"As it is settled that we are\nto live together ... what difference can it make to you?\"\n\n\"You know there are only two keys in it,\" said the monster.  \"What do\nyou want to do?\"\n\n\"I want to look at this room which I have never seen and which you have\nalways kept from me ...  It's woman's curiosity!\" she said, in a tone\nwhich she tried to render playful.\n\nBut the trick was too childish for Erik to be taken in by it.\n\n\"I don't like curious women,\" he retorted, \"and you had better remember\nthe story of BLUE-BEARD and be careful ...  Come, give me back my bag!\n... Give me back my bag! ... Leave the key alone, will you, you\ninquisitive little thing?\"\n\nAnd he chuckled, while Christine gave a cry of pain.  Erik had\nevidently recovered the bag from her.\n\nAt that moment, the viscount could not help uttering an exclamation of\nimpotent rage.\n\n\"Why, what's that?\" said the monster.  \"Did you hear, Christine?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" replied the poor girl.  \"I heard nothing.\"\n\n\"I thought I heard a cry.\"\n\n\"A cry!  Are you going mad, Erik?  Whom do you expect to give a cry, in\nthis house? ... I cried out, because you hurt me!  I heard nothing.\"\n\n\"I don't like the way you said that! ... You're trembling...  You're\nquite excited ...  You're lying! ... That was a cry, there was a cry!\n... There is some one in the torture-chamber! ...  Ah, I understand\nnow!\"\n\n\"There is no one there, Erik!\"\n\n\"I understand!\"\n\n\"No one!\"\n\n\"The man you want to marry, perhaps!\"\n\n\"I don't want to marry anybody, you know I don't.\"\n\nAnother nasty chuckle.  \"Well, it won't take long to find out.\nChristine, my love, we need not open the door to see what is happening\nin the torture-chamber. Would you like to see?  Would you like to see?\nLook here!  If there is some one, if there is really some one there,\nyou will see the invisible window light up at the top, near the\nceiling.  We need only draw the black curtain and put out the light in\nhere.  There, that's it ...  Let's put out the light!  You're not\nafraid of the dark, when you're with your little husband!\"\n\nThen we heard Christine's voice of anguish:\n\n\"No! ... I'm frightened! ... I tell you, I'm afraid of the dark! ...  I\ndon't care about that room now ...  You're always frightening me, like\na child, with your torture-chamber! ... And so I became inquisitive...\nBut I don't care about it now ... not a bit ... not a bit!\"\n\nAnd that which I feared above all things began, AUTOMATICALLY.  We were\nsuddenly flooded with light!  Yes, on our side of the wall, everything\nseemed aglow.  The Vicomte de Chagny was so much taken aback that he\nstaggered.  And the angry voice roared:\n\n\"I told you there was some one!  Do you see the window now?  The\nlighted window, right up there?  The man behind the wall can't see it!\nBut you shall go up the folding steps:  that is what they are there\nfor! ... You have often asked me to tell you; and now you know! ...\nThey are there to give a peep into the torture-chamber ... you\ninquisitive little thing!\"\n\n\"What tortures? ... Who is being tortured? ... Erik, Erik, say you are\nonly trying to frighten me! ... Say it, if you love me, Erik! ... There\nare no tortures, are there?\"\n\n\"Go and look at the little window, dear!\"\n\nI do not know if the viscount heard the girl's swooning voice, for he\nwas too much occupied by the astounding spectacle that now appeared\nbefore his distracted gaze.  As for me, I had seen that sight too\noften, through the little window, at the time of the rosy hours of\nMazenderan; and I cared only for what was being said next door, seeking\nfor a hint how to act, what resolution to take.\n\n\"Go and peep through the little window!  Tell me what he looks like!\"\n\nWe heard the steps being dragged against the wall.\n\n\"Up with you! ... No! ... No, I will go up myself, dear!\"\n\n\"Oh, very well, I will go up.  Let me go!\"\n\n\"Oh, my darling, my darling! ... How sweet of you! ... How nice of you\nto save me the exertion at my age! ... Tell me what he looks like!\"\n\nAt that moment, we distinctly heard these words above our heads:\n\n\"There is no one there, dear!\"\n\n\"No one? ... Are you sure there is no one?\"\n\n\"Why, of course not ... no one!\"\n\n\"Well, that's all right! ... What's the matter, Christine?  You're not\ngoing to faint, are you ... as there is no one there? ...  Here ...\ncome down ... there! ... Pull yourself together ... as there is no one\nthere! ... BUT HOW DO YOU LIKE THE LANDSCAPE?\"\n\n\"Oh, very much!\"\n\n\"There, that's better! ... You're better now, are you not? ...  That's\nall right, you're better! ... No excitement! ... And what a funny\nhouse, isn't it, with landscapes like that in it?\"\n\n\"Yes, it's like the Musee Grevin ...  But, say, Erik ... there are no\ntortures in there! ... What a fright you gave me!\"\n\n\"Why ... as there is no one there?\"\n\n\"Did you design that room?  It's very handsome.  You're a great artist,\nErik.\"\n\n\"Yes, a great artist, in my own line.\"\n\n\"But tell me, Erik, why did you call that room the torture-chamber?\"\n\n\"Oh, it's very simple.  First of all, what did you see?\"\n\n\"I saw a forest.\"\n\n\"And what is in a forest?\"\n\n\"Trees.\"\n\n\"And what is in a tree?\"\n\n\"Birds.\"\n\n\"Did you see any birds?\"\n\n\"No, I did not see any birds.\"\n\n\"Well, what did you see?  Think!  You saw branches And what are the\nbranches?\" asked the terrible voice.  \"THERE'S A GIBBET!  That is why I\ncall my wood the torture-chamber! ... You see, it's all a joke.  I\nnever express myself like other people.  But I am very tired of it! ...\nI'm sick and tired of having a forest and a torture-chamber in my house\nand of living like a mountebank, in a house with a false bottom! ...\nI'm tired of it!  I want to have a nice, quiet flat, with ordinary\ndoors and windows and a wife inside it, like anybody else!  A wife whom\nI could love and take out on Sundays and keep amused on week-days ...\nHere, shall I show you some card-tricks? That will help us to pass a\nfew minutes, while waiting for eleven o'clock to-morrow evening ...  My\ndear little Christine! ... Are you listening to me? ... Tell me you\nlove me! ...  No, you don't love me ... but no matter, you will! ...\nOnce, you could not look at my mask because you knew what was behind...\nAnd now you don't mind looking at it and you forget what is behind! ...\nOne can get used to everything ... if one wishes...  Plenty of young\npeople who did not care for each other before marriage have adored each\nother since!  Oh, I don't know what I am talking about!  But you would\nhave lots of fun with me.  For instance, I am the greatest\nventriloquist that ever lived, I am the first ventriloquist in the\nworld! ... You're laughing ...  Perhaps you don't believe me?  Listen.\"\n\nThe wretch, who really was the first ventriloquist in the world, was\nonly trying to divert the child's attention from the torture-chamber;\nbut it was a stupid scheme, for Christine thought of nothing but us!\nShe repeatedly besought him, in the gentlest tones which she could\nassume:\n\n\"Put out the light in the little window! ... Erik, do put out the light\nin the little window!\"\n\nFor she saw that this light, which appeared so suddenly and of which\nthe monster had spoken in so threatening a voice, must mean something\nterrible.  One thing must have pacified her for a moment; and that was\nseeing the two of us, behind the wall, in the midst of that resplendent\nlight, alive and well.  But she would certainly have felt much easier\nif the light had been put out.\n\nMeantime, the other had already begun to play the ventriloquist.  He\nsaid:\n\n\"Here, I raise my mask a little ...  Oh, only a little! ...  You see my\nlips, such lips as I have?  They're not moving! ... My mouth is\nclosed--such mouth as I have--and yet you hear my voice... Where will\nyou have it?  In your left ear?  In your right ear?  In the table?  In\nthose little ebony boxes on the mantelpiece? ...  Listen, dear, it's in\nthe little box on the right of the mantelpiece: what does it say?\n'SHALL I TURN THE SCORPION?' ... And now, crack!  What does it say in\nthe little box on the left?  'SHALL I TURN THE GRASSHOPPER?' ... And\nnow, crack!  Here it is in the little leather bag ...  What does it\nsay?  'I AM THE LITTLE BAG OF LIFE AND DEATH!' ...  And now, crack!  It\nis in Carlotta's throat, in Carlotta's golden throat, in Carlotta's\ncrystal throat, as I live!  What does it say?  It says, 'It's I, Mr.\nToad, it's I singing!  I FEEL WITHOUT ALARM--CO-ACK--WITH ITS MELODY\nENWIND ME--CO-ACK!' ...  And now, crack!  It is on a chair in the\nghost's box and it says, 'MADAME CARLOTTA IS SINGING TO-NIGHT TO BRING\nTHE CHANDELIER DOWN!' ... And now, crack!  Aha!  Where is Erik's voice\nnow?  Listen, Christine, darling!  Listen!  It is behind the door of\nthe torture-chamber! Listen!  It's myself in the torture-chamber! And\nwhat do I say?  I say, 'Woe to them that have a nose, a real nose, and\ncome to look round the torture-chamber! Aha, aha, aha!'\"\n\nOh, the ventriloquist's terrible voice!  It was everywhere, everywhere.\nIt passed through the little invisible window, through the walls.  It\nran around us, between us.  Erik was there, speaking to us!  We made a\nmovement as though to fling ourselves upon him.  But, already, swifter,\nmore fleeting than the voice of the echo, Erik's voice had leaped back\nbehind the wall!\n\nSoon we heard nothing more at all, for this is what happened:\n\n\"Erik!  Erik!\" said Christine's voice.  \"You tire me with your voice.\nDon't go on, Erik!  Isn't it very hot here?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" replied Erik's voice, \"the heat is unendurable!\"\n\n\"But what does this mean? ... The wall is really getting quite hot! ...\nThe wall is burning!\"\n\n\"I'll tell you, Christine, dear:  it is because of the forest next\ndoor.\"\n\n\"Well, what has that to do with it?  The forest?\"\n\n\"WHY, DIDN'T YOU SEE THAT IT WAS AN AFRICAN FOREST?\"\n\nAnd the monster laughed so loudly and hideously that we could no longer\ndistinguish Christine's supplicating cries!  The Vicomte de Chagny\nshouted and banged against the walls like a madman.  I could not\nrestrain him.  But we heard nothing except the monster's laughter, and\nthe monster himself can have heard nothing else.  And then there was\nthe sound of a body falling on the floor and being dragged along and a\ndoor slammed and then nothing, nothing more around us save the\nscorching silence of the south in the heart of a tropical forest!\n\n\n\nChapter XXIV  \"Barrels! ... Barrels! ... Any Barrels to Sell?\"\n\n\nTHE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED\n\nI have said that the room in which M. le Vicomte de Chagny and I were\nimprisoned was a regular hexagon, lined entirely with mirrors.  Plenty\nof these rooms have been seen since, mainly at exhibitions: they are\ncalled \"palaces of illusion,\" or some such name.  But the invention\nbelongs entirely to Erik, who built the first room of this kind under\nmy eyes, at the time of the rosy hours of Mazenderan.  A decorative\nobject, such as a column, for instance, was placed in one of the\ncorners and immediately produced a hall of a thousand columns; for,\nthanks to the mirrors, the real room was multiplied by six hexagonal\nrooms, each of which, in its turn, was multiplied indefinitely.  But\nthe little sultana soon tired of this infantile illusion, whereupon\nErik altered his invention into a \"torture-chamber.\" For the\narchitectural motive placed in one corner, he substituted an iron tree.\nThis tree, with its painted leaves, was absolutely true to life and was\nmade of iron so as to resist all the attacks of the \"patient\" who was\nlocked into the torture-chamber.  We shall see how the scene thus\nobtained was twice altered instantaneously into two successive other\nscenes, by means of the automatic rotation of the drums or rollers in\nthe corners.  These were divided into three sections, fitting into the\nangles of the mirrors and each supporting a decorative scheme that came\ninto sight as the roller revolved upon its axis.\n\nThe walls of this strange room gave the patient nothing to lay hold of,\nbecause, apart from the solid decorative object, they were simply\nfurnished with mirrors, thick enough to withstand any onslaught of the\nvictim, who was flung into the chamber empty-handed and barefoot.\n\nThere was no furniture.  The ceiling was capable of being lit up.  An\ningenious system of electric heating, which has since been imitated,\nallowed the temperature of the walls and room to be increased at will.\n\nI am giving all these details of a perfectly natural invention,\nproducing, with a few painted branches, the supernatural illusion of an\nequatorial forest blazing under the tropical sun, so that no one may\ndoubt the present balance of my brain or feel entitled to say that I am\nmad or lying or that I take him for a fool.[1]\n\nI now return to the facts where I left them.  When the ceiling lit up\nand the forest became visible around us, the viscount's stupefaction\nwas immense.  That impenetrable forest, with its innumerable trunks and\nbranches, threw him into a terrible state of consternation.  He passed\nhis hands over his forehead, as though to drive away a dream; his eyes\nblinked; and, for a moment, he forgot to listen.\n\nI have already said that the sight of the forest did not surprise me at\nall; and therefore I listened for the two of us to what was happening\nnext door.  Lastly, my attention was especially attracted, not so much\nto the scene, as to the mirrors that produced it.  These mirrors were\nbroken in parts.  Yes, they were marked and scratched; they had been\n\"starred,\" in spite of their solidity; and this proved to me that the\ntorture-chamber in which we now were HAD ALREADY SERVED A PURPOSE.\n\nYes, some wretch, whose feet were not bare like those of the victims of\nthe rosy hours of Mazenderan, had certainly fallen into this \"mortal\nillusion\" and, mad with rage, had kicked against those mirrors which,\nnevertheless, continued to reflect his agony.  And the branch of the\ntree on which he had put an end to his own sufferings was arranged in\nsuch a way that, before dying, he had seen, for his last consolation, a\nthousand men writhing in his company.\n\nYes, Joseph Buquet had undoubtedly been through all this!  Were we to\ndie as he had done?  I did not think so, for I knew that we had a few\nhours before us and that I could employ them to better purpose than\nJoseph Buquet was able to do.  After all, I was thoroughly acquainted\nwith most of Erik's \"tricks;\" and now or never was the time to turn my\nknowledge to account.\n\nTo begin with, I gave up every idea of returning to the passage that\nhad brought us to that accursed chamber.  I did not trouble about the\npossibility of working the inside stone that closed the passage; and\nthis for the simple reason that to do so was out of the question.  We\nhad dropped from too great a height into the torture-chamber; there was\nno furniture to help us reach that passage; not even the branch of the\niron tree, not even each other's shoulders were of any avail.\n\nThere was only one possible outlet, that opening into the\nLouis-Philippe room in which Erik and Christine Daae were.  But, though\nthis outlet looked like an ordinary door on Christine's side, it was\nabsolutely invisible to us.  We must therefore try to open it without\neven knowing where it was.\n\nWhen I was quite sure that there was no hope for us from Christine\nDaae's side, when I had heard the monster dragging the poor girl from\nthe Louis-Philippe room LEST SHE SHOULD INTERFERE WITH OUR TORTURES, I\nresolved to set to work without delay.\n\nBut I had first to calm M. de Chagny, who was already walking about\nlike a madman, uttering incoherent cries.  The snatches of conversation\nwhich he had caught between Christine and the monster had contributed\nnot a little to drive him beside himself: add to that the shock of the\nmagic forest and the scorching heat which was beginning to make the\nprespiration{sic} stream down his temples and you will have no\ndifficulty in understanding his state of mind.  He shouted Christine's\nname, brandished his pistol, knocked his forehead against the glass in\nhis endeavors to run down the glades of the illusive forest.  In short,\nthe torture was beginning to work its spell upon a brain unprepared for\nit.\n\nI did my best to induce the poor viscount to listen to reason.  I made\nhim touch the mirrors and the iron tree and the branches and explained\nto him, by optical laws, all the luminous imagery by which we were\nsurrounded and of which we need not allow ourselves to be the victims,\nlike ordinary, ignorant people.\n\n\"We are in a room, a little room; that is what you must keep saying to\nyourself.  And we shall leave the room as soon as we have found the\ndoor.\"\n\nAnd I promised him that, if he let me act, without disturbing me by\nshouting and walking up and down, I would discover the trick of the\ndoor in less than an hour's time.\n\nThen he lay flat on the floor, as one does in a wood, and declared that\nhe would wait until I found the door of the forest, as there was\nnothing better to do!  And he added that, from where he was, \"the view\nwas splendid!\"  The torture was working, in spite of all that I had\nsaid.\n\nMyself, forgetting the forest, I tackled a glass panel and began to\nfinger it in every direction, hunting for the weak point on which to\npress in order to turn the door in accordance with Erik's system of\npivots.  This weak point might be a mere speck on the glass, no larger\nthan a pea, under which the spring lay hidden.  I hunted and hunted.  I\nfelt as high as my hands could reach.  Erik was about the same height\nas myself and I thought that he would not have placed the spring higher\nthan suited his stature.\n\nWhile groping over the successive panels with the greatest care, I\nendeavored not to lose a minute, for I was feeling more and more\novercome with the heat and we were literally roasting in that blazing\nforest.\n\nI had been working like this for half an hour and had finished three\npanels, when, as ill-luck would have it, I turned round on hearing a\nmuttered exclamation from the viscount.\n\n\"I am stifling,\" he said.  \"All those mirrors are sending out an\ninfernal heat!  Do you think you will find that spring soon?  If you\nare much longer about it, we shall be roasted alive!\"\n\nI was not sorry to hear him talk like this.  He had not said a word of\nthe forest and I hoped that my companion's reason would hold out some\ntime longer against the torture.  But he added:\n\n\"What consoles me is that the monster has given Christine until eleven\nto-morrow evening.  If we can't get out of here and go to her\nassistance, at least we shall be dead before her!  Then Erik's mass can\nserve for all of us!\"\n\nAnd he gulped down a breath of hot air that nearly made him faint.\n\nAs I had not the same desperate reasons as M. le Vicomte for accepting\ndeath, I returned, after giving him a word of encouragement, to my\npanel, but I had made the mistake of taking a few steps while speaking\nand, in the tangle of the illusive forest, I was no longer able to find\nmy panel for certain!  I had to begin all over again, at random,\nfeeling, fumbling, groping.\n\nNow the fever laid hold of me in my turn ... for I found nothing,\nabsolutely nothing.  In the next room, all was silence.  We were quite\nlost in the forest, without an outlet, a compass, a guide or anything.\nOh, I knew what awaited us if nobody came to our aid ...  or if I did\nnot find the spring!  But, look as I might, I found nothing but\nbranches, beautiful branches that stood straight up before me, or\nspread gracefully over my head.  But they gave no shade.  And this was\nnatural enough, as we were in an equatorial forest, with the sun right\nabove our heads, an African forest.\n\nM. de Chagny and I had repeatedly taken off our coats and put them on\nagain, finding at one time that they made us feel still hotter and at\nanother that they protected us against the heat.  I was still making a\nmoral resistance, but M. de Chagny seemed to me quite \"gone.\" He\npretended that he had been walking in that forest for three days and\nnights, without stopping, looking for Christine Daae!  From time to\ntime, he thought he saw her behind the trunk of a tree, or gliding\nbetween the branches; and he called to her with words of supplication\nthat brought the tears to my eyes.  And then, at last:\n\n\"Oh, how thirsty I am!\" he cried, in delirious accents.\n\nI too was thirsty.  My throat was on fire.  And, yet, squatting on the\nfloor, I went on hunting, hunting, hunting for the spring of the\ninvisible door ... especially as it was dangerous to remain in the\nforest as evening drew nigh.  Already the shades of night were\nbeginning to surround us.  It had happened very quickly: night falls\nquickly in tropical countries ... suddenly, with hardly any twilight.\n\nNow night, in the forests of the equator, is always dangerous,\nparticularly when, like ourselves, one has not the materials for a fire\nto keep off the beasts of prey.  I did indeed try for a moment to break\noff the branches, which I would have lit with my dark lantern, but I\nknocked myself also against the mirrors and remembered, in time, that\nwe had only images of branches to do with.\n\nThe heat did not go with the daylight; on the contrary, it was now\nstill hotter under the blue rays of the moon.  I urged the viscount to\nhold our weapons ready to fire and not to stray from camp, while I went\non looking for my spring.\n\nSuddenly, we heard a lion roaring a few yards away.\n\n\"Oh,\" whispered the viscount, \"he is quite close! ... Don't you see\nhim? ... There ... through the trees ... in that thicket!  If he roars\nagain, I will fire! ...\"\n\nAnd the roaring began again, louder than before.  And the viscount\nfired, but I do not think that he hit the lion; only, he smashed a\nmirror, as I perceived the next morning, at daybreak.  We must have\ncovered a good distance during the night, for we suddenly found\nourselves on the edge of the desert, an immense desert of sand, stones\nand rocks.  It was really not worth while leaving the forest to come\nupon the desert.  Tired out, I flung myself down beside the viscount,\nfor I had had enough of looking for springs which I could not find.\n\nI was quite surprised--and I said so to the viscount--that we had\nencountered no other dangerous animals during the night.  Usually,\nafter the lion came the leopard and sometimes the buzz of the tsetse\nfly.  These were easily obtained effects; and I explained to M. de\nChagny that Erik imitated the roar of a lion on a long tabour or\ntimbrel, with an ass's skin at one end.  Over this skin he tied a\nstring of catgut, which was fastened at the middle to another similar\nstring passing through the whole length of the tabour.  Erik had only\nto rub this string with a glove smeared with resin and, according to\nthe manner in which he rubbed it, he imitated to perfection the voice\nof the lion or the leopard, or even the buzzing of the tsetse fly.\n\nThe idea that Erik was probably in the room beside us, working his\ntrick, made me suddenly resolve to enter into a parley with him, for we\nmust obviously give up all thought of taking him by surprise.  And by\nthis time he must be quite aware who were the occupants of his\ntorture-chamber. I called him:  \"Erik!  Erik!\"\n\nI shouted as loudly as I could across the desert, but there was no\nanswer to my voice.  All around us lay the silence and the bare\nimmensity of that stony desert.  What was to become of us in the midst\nof that awful solitude?\n\nWe were beginning literally to die of heat, hunger and thirst ...  of\nthirst especially.  At last, I saw M. de Chagny raise himself on his\nelbow and point to a spot on the horizon.  He had discovered an oasis!\n\nYes, far in the distance was an oasis ... an oasis with limpid water,\nwhich reflected the iron trees! ... Tush, it was the scene of the\nmirage ...  I recognized it at once ... the worst of the three! ... No\none had been able to fight against it ... no one...  I did my utmost to\nkeep my head AND NOT TO HOPE FOR WATER, because I knew that, if a man\nhoped for water, the water that reflected the iron tree, and if, after\nhoping for water, he struck against the mirror, then there was only one\nthing for him to do: to hang himself on the iron tree!\n\nSo I cried to M. de Chagny:\n\n\"It's the mirage! ... It's the mirage! ... Don't believe in the water!\n... It's another trick of the mirrors! ...\"\n\nThen he flatly told me to shut up, with my tricks of the mirrors, my\nsprings, my revolving doors and my palaces of illusions!  He angrily\ndeclared that I must be either blind or mad to imagine that all that\nwater flowing over there, among those splendid, numberless trees, was\nnot real water! ... And the desert was real!  ... And so was the\nforest! ... And it was no use trying to take him in ... he was an old,\nexperienced traveler ... he had been all over the place!\n\nAnd he dragged himself along, saying:  \"Water!  Water!\"\n\nAnd his mouth was open, as though he were drinking.\n\nAnd my mouth was open too, as though I were drinking.\n\nFor we not only saw the water, but WE HEARD IT! ... We heard it flow,\nwe heard it ripple! ... Do you understand that word \"ripple?\" ... IT IS\nA SOUND WHICH YOU HEAR WITH YOUR TONGUE!  ... You put your tongue out\nof your mouth to listen to it better!\n\nLastly--and this was the most pitiless torture of all--we heard the\nrain and it was not raining!  This was an infernal invention...  Oh, I\nknew well enough how Erik obtained it!  He filled with little stones a\nvery long and narrow box, broken up inside with wooden and metal\nprojections.  The stones, in falling, struck against these projections\nand rebounded from one to another; and the result was a series of\npattering sounds that exactly imitated a rainstorm.\n\nAh, you should have seen us putting out our tongues and dragging\nourselves toward the rippling river-bank! Our eyes and ears were full\nof water, but our tongues were hard and dry as horn!\n\nWhen we reached the mirror, M. de Chagny licked it ... and I also\nlicked the glass.\n\nIt was burning hot!\n\nThen we rolled on the floor with a hoarse cry of despair.  M. de Chagny\nput the one pistol that was still loaded to his temple; and I stared at\nthe Punjab lasso at the foot of the iron tree.  I knew why the iron\ntree had returned, in this third change of scene! ...  The iron tree\nwas waiting for me! ...\n\nBut, as I stared at the Punjab lasso, I saw a thing that made me start\nso violently that M. de Chagny delayed his attempt at suicide.  I took\nhis arm.  And then I caught the pistol from him ... and then I dragged\nmyself on my knees toward what I had seen.\n\nI had discovered, near the Punjab lasso, in a groove in the floor, a\nblack-headed nail of which I knew the use.  At last I had discovered\nthe spring!  I felt the nail ...  I lifted a radiant face to M. de\nChagny ...  The black-headed nail yielded to my pressure ...\n\nAnd then ...\n\nAnd then we saw not a door opened in the wall, but a cellar-flap\nreleased in the floor.  Cool air came up to us from the black hole\nbelow.  We stooped over that square of darkness as though over a limpid\nwell.  With our chins in the cool shade, we drank it in.  And we bent\nlower and lower over the trap-door. What could there be in that cellar\nwhich opened before us?  Water?  Water to drink?\n\nI thrust my arm into the darkness and came upon a stone and another\nstone ... a staircase ... a dark staircase leading into the cellar.\nThe viscount wanted to fling himself down the hole; but I, fearing a\nnew trick of the monster's, stopped him, turned on my dark lantern and\nwent down first.\n\nThe staircase was a winding one and led down into pitchy darkness.  But\noh, how deliciously cool were the darkness and the stairs?  The lake\ncould not be far away.\n\nWe soon reached the bottom.  Our eyes were beginning to accustom\nthemselves to the dark, to distinguish shapes around us ...  circular\nshapes ... on which I turned the light of my lantern.\n\nBarrels!\n\nWe were in Erik's cellar:  it was here that he must keep his wine and\nperhaps his drinking-water. I knew that Erik was a great lover of good\nwine.  Ah, there was plenty to drink here!\n\nM. de Chagny patted the round shapes and kept on saying:\n\n\"Barrels!  Barrels!  What a lot of barrels! ...\"\n\nIndeed, there was quite a number of them, symmetrically arranged in two\nrows, one on either side of us.  They were small barrels and I thought\nthat Erik must have selected them of that size to facilitate their\ncarriage to the house on the lake.\n\nWe examined them successively, to see if one of them had not a funnel,\nshowing that it had been tapped at some time or another.  But all the\nbarrels were hermetically closed.\n\nThen, after half lifting one to make sure it was full, we went on our\nknees and, with the blade of a small knife which I carried, I prepared\nto stave in the bung-hole.\n\nAt that moment, I seemed to hear, coming from very far, a sort of\nmonotonous chant which I knew well, from often hearing it in the\nstreets of Paris:\n\n\"Barrels! ... Barrels! ... Any barrels to sell?\"\n\nMy hand desisted from its work.  M. de Chagny had also heard.  He said:\n\n\"That's funny!  It sounds as if the barrel were singing!\"\n\nThe song was renewed, farther away:\n\n\"Barrels! ... Barrels! ... Any barrels to sell? ...\"\n\n\"Oh, I swear,\" said the viscount, \"that the tune dies away in the\nbarrel! ...\"\n\nWe stood up and went to look behind the barrel.\n\n\"It's inside,\" said M. de Chagny, \"it's inside!\"\n\nBut we heard nothing there and were driven to accuse the bad condition\nof our senses.  And we returned to the bung-hole. M. de Chagny put his\ntwo hands together underneath it and, with a last effort, I burst the\nbung.\n\n\"What's this?\" cried the viscount.  \"This isn't water!\"\n\nThe viscount put his two full hands close to my lantern ...  I stooped\nto look ... and at once threw away the lantern with such violence that\nit broke and went out, leaving us in utter darkness.\n\nWhat I had seen in M. de Chagny's hands ... was gun-powder!\n\n\n\n[1] It is very natural that, at the time when the Persian was writing,\nhe should take so many precautions against any spirit of incredulity on\nthe part of those who were likely to read his narrative.  Nowadays,\nwhen we have all seen this sort of room, his precautions would be\nsuperfluous.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXV  The Scorpion or the Grasshopper:  Which?\n\n\nTHE PERSIAN'S NARRATIVE CONCLUDED\n\nThe discovery flung us into a state of alarm that made us forget all\nour past and present sufferings.  We now knew all that the monster\nmeant to convey when he said to Christine Daae:\n\n\"Yes or no!  If your answer is no, everybody will be dead AND BURIED!\"\n\nYes, buried under the ruins of the Paris Grand Opera!\n\nThe monster had given her until eleven o'clock in the evening.  He had\nchosen his time well.  There would be many people, many \"members of the\nhuman race,\" up there, in the resplendent theater.  What finer retinue\ncould be expected for his funeral?  He would go down to the tomb\nescorted by the whitest shoulders in the world, decked with the richest\njewels.\n\nEleven o'clock to-morrow evening!\n\nWe were all to be blown up in the middle of the performance ...  if\nChristine Daae said no!\n\nEleven o'clock to-morrow evening! ...\n\nAnd what else could Christine say but no?  Would she not prefer to\nespouse death itself rather than that living corpse?  She did not know\nthat on her acceptance or refusal depended the awful fate of many\nmembers of the human race!\n\nEleven o'clock to-morrow evening!\n\nAnd we dragged ourselves through the darkness, feeling our way to the\nstone steps, for the light in the trap-door overhead that led to the\nroom of mirrors was now extinguished; and we repeated to ourselves:\n\n\"Eleven o'clock to-morrow evening!\"\n\nAt last, I found the staircase.  But, suddenly I drew myself up on the\nfirst step, for a terrible thought had come to my mind:\n\n\"What is the time?\"\n\nAh, what was the time? ... For, after all, eleven o'clock to-morrow\nevening might be now, might be this very moment!  Who could tell us the\ntime?  We seemed to have been imprisoned in that hell for days and days\n... for years ... since the beginning of the world.  Perhaps we should\nbe blown up then and there!  Ah, a sound!  A crack!  \"Did you hear\nthat? ... There, in the corner ... good heavens! ...  Like a sound of\nmachinery! ... Again! ... Oh, for a light! ...  Perhaps it's the\nmachinery that is to blow everything up! ...  I tell you, a cracking\nsound:  are you deaf?\"\n\nM. de Chagny and I began to yell like madmen.  Fear spurred us on.  We\nrushed up the treads of the staircase, stumbling as we went, anything\nto escape the dark, to return to the mortal light of the room of\nmirrors!\n\nWe found the trap-door still open, but it was now as dark in the room\nof mirrors as in the cellar which we had left.  We dragged ourselves\nalong the floor of the torture-chamber, the floor that separated us\nfrom the powder-magazine. What was the time?  We shouted, we called: M.\nde Chagny to Christine, I to Erik.  I reminded him that I had saved his\nlife.  But no answer, save that of our despair, of our madness: what\nwas the time?  We argued, we tried to calculate the time which we had\nspent there, but we were incapable of reasoning.  If only we could see\nthe face of a watch! ...  Mine had stopped, but M. de Chagny's was\nstill going ...  He told me that he had wound it up before dressing for\nthe Opera ...  We had not a match upon us ...  And yet we must know ...\nM. de Chagny broke the glass of his watch and felt the two hands... He\nquestioned the hands of the watch with his finger-tips, going by the\nposition of the ring of the watch ...  Judging by the space between the\nhands, he thought it might be just eleven o'clock!\n\nBut perhaps it was not the eleven o'clock of which we stood in dread.\nPerhaps we had still twelve hours before us!\n\nSuddenly, I exclaimed:  \"Hush!\"\n\nI seemed to hear footsteps in the next room.  Some one tapped against\nthe wall.  Christine Daae's voice said:\n\n\"Raoul!  Raoul!\"  We were now all talking at once, on either side of\nthe wall.  Christine sobbed; she was not sure that she would find M. de\nChagny alive.  The monster had been terrible, it seemed, had done\nnothing but rave, waiting for her to give him the \"yes\" which she\nrefused.  And yet she had promised him that \"yes,\" if he would take her\nto the torture-chamber. But he had obstinately declined, and had\nuttered hideous threats against all the members of the human race!  At\nlast, after hours and hours of that hell, he had that moment gone out,\nleaving her alone to reflect for the last time.\n\n\"Hours and hours?  What is the time now?  What is the time, Christine?\"\n\n\"It is eleven o'clock! Eleven o'clock, all but five minutes!\"\n\n\"But which eleven o'clock?\"\n\n\"The eleven o'clock that is to decide life or death! ... He told me so\njust before he went ...  He is terrible ...  He is quite mad: he tore\noff his mask and his yellow eyes shot flames! ... He did nothing but\nlaugh! ... He said, 'I give you five minutes to spare your blushes!\nHere,' he said, taking a key from the little bag of life and death,\n'here is the little bronze key that opens the two ebony caskets on the\nmantelpiece in the Louis-Philippe room...  In one of the caskets, you\nwill find a scorpion, in the other, a grasshopper, both very cleverly\nimitated in Japanese bronze: they will say yes or no for you.  If you\nturn the scorpion round, that will mean to me, when I return, that you\nhave said yes.  The grasshopper will mean no.'  And he laughed like a\ndrunken demon.  I did nothing but beg and entreat him to give me the\nkey of the torture-chamber, promising to be his wife if he granted me\nthat request ...  But he told me that there was no future need for that\nkey and that he was going to throw it into the lake! ...  And he again\nlaughed like a drunken demon and left me.  Oh, his last words were,\n'The grasshopper!  Be careful of the grasshopper!  A grasshopper does\nnot only turn:  it hops!  It hops!  And it hops jolly high!'\"\n\nThe five minutes had nearly elapsed and the scorpion and the\ngrasshopper were scratching at my brain.  Nevertheless, I had\nsufficient lucidity left to understand that, if the grasshopper were\nturned, it would hop ... and with it many members of the human race!\nThere was no doubt but that the grasshopper controlled an electric\ncurrent intended to blow up the powder-magazine!\n\nM. de Chagny, who seemed to have recovered all his moral force from\nhearing Christine's voice, explained to her, in a few hurried words,\nthe situation in which we and all the Opera were.  He told her to turn\nthe scorpion at once.\n\nThere was a pause.\n\n\"Christine,\" I cried, \"where are you?\"\n\n\"By the scorpion.\"\n\n\"Don't touch it!\"\n\nThe idea had come to me--for I knew my Erik--that the monster had\nperhaps deceived the girl once more.  Perhaps it was the scorpion that\nwould blow everything up.  After all, why wasn't he there?  The five\nminutes were long past ... and he was not back...  Perhaps he had taken\nshelter and was waiting for the explosion!  ... Why had he not\nreturned? ... He could not really expect Christine ever to consent to\nbecome his voluntary prey! ... Why had he not returned?\n\n\"Don't touch the scorpion!\"  I said.\n\n\"Here he comes!\" cried Christine.  \"I hear him!  Here he is!\"\n\nWe heard his steps approaching the Louis-Philippe room.  He came up to\nChristine, but did not speak.  Then I raised my voice:\n\n\"Erik!  It is I!  Do you know me?\"\n\nWith extraordinary calmness, he at once replied:\n\n\"So you are not dead in there?  Well, then, see that you keep quiet.\"\n\nI tried to speak, but he said coldly:\n\n\"Not a word, daroga, or I shall blow everything up.\"  And he added,\n\"The honor rests with mademoiselle ...  Mademoiselle has not touched\nthe scorpion\"--how deliberately he spoke!--\"mademoiselle has not\ntouched the grasshopper\"--with that composure!--\"but it is not too late\nto do the right thing.  There, I open the caskets without a key, for I\nam a trap-door lover and I open and shut what I please and as I please.\nI open the little ebony caskets: mademoiselle, look at the little dears\ninside.  Aren't they pretty?  If you turn the grasshopper,\nmademoiselle, we shall all be blown up.  There is enough gun-powder\nunder our feet to blow up a whole quarter of Paris.  If you turn the\nscorpion, mademoiselle, all that powder will be soaked and drowned.\nMademoiselle, to celebrate our wedding, you shall make a very handsome\npresent to a few hundred Parisians who are at this moment applauding a\npoor masterpiece of Meyerbeer's ... you shall make them a present of\ntheir lives ...  For, with your own fair hands, you shall turn the\nscorpion ...  And merrily, merrily, we will be married!\"\n\nA pause; and then:\n\n\"If, in two minutes, mademoiselle, you have not turned the scorpion, I\nshall turn the grasshopper ... and the grasshopper, I tell you, HOPS\nJOLLY HIGH!\"\n\nThe terrible silence began anew.  The Vicomte de Chagny, realizing that\nthere was nothing left to do but pray, went down on his knees and\nprayed.  As for me, my blood beat so fiercely that I had to take my\nheart in both hands, lest it should burst.  At last, we heard Erik's\nvoice:\n\n\"The two minutes are past ...  Good-by, mademoiselle...  Hop,\ngrasshopper!  \"Erik,\" cried Christine, \"do you swear to me, monster, do\nyou swear to me that the scorpion is the one to turn?\n\n\"Yes, to hop at our wedding.\"\n\n\"Ah, you see!  You said, to hop!\"\n\n\"At our wedding, ingenuous child! ... The scorpion opens the ball...\nBut that will do! ... You won't have the scorpion?  Then I turn the\ngrasshopper!\"\n\n\"Erik!\"\n\n\"Enough!\"\n\nI was crying out in concert with Christine.  M. de Chagny was still on\nhis knees, praying.\n\n\"Erik!  I have turned the scorpion!\"\n\nOh, the second through which we passed!\n\nWaiting!  Waiting to find ourselves in fragments, amid the roar and the\nruins!\n\nFeeling something crack beneath our feet, hearing an appalling hiss\nthrough the open trap-door, a hiss like the first sound of a rocket!\n\nIt came softly, at first, then louder, then very loud.  But it was not\nthe hiss of fire.  It was more like the hiss of water.  And now it\nbecame a gurgling sound:  \"Guggle!  Guggle!\"\n\nWe rushed to the trap-door. All our thirst, which vanished when the\nterror came, now returned with the lapping of the water.\n\nThe water rose in the cellar, above the barrels, the\npowder-barrels--\"Barrels! ...  Barrels!  Any barrels to sell?\"--and we\nwent down to it with parched throats.  It rose to our chins, to our\nmouths. And we drank.  We stood on the floor of the cellar and drank.\nAnd we went up the stairs again in the dark, step by step, went up with\nthe water.\n\nThe water came out of the cellar with us and spread over the floor of\nthe room.  If, this went on, the whole house on the lake would be\nswamped.  The floor of the torture-chamber had itself become a regular\nlittle lake, in which our feet splashed.  Surely there was water enough\nnow!  Erik must turn off the tap!\n\n\"Erik!  Erik!  That is water enough for the gunpowder!  Turn off the\ntap!  Turn off the scorpion!\"\n\nBut Erik did not reply.  We heard nothing but the water rising: it was\nhalf-way to our waists!\n\n\"Christine!\" cried M. de Chagny.  \"Christine!  The water is up to our\nknees!\"\n\nBut Christine did not reply ...  We heard nothing but the water rising.\n\nNo one, no one in the next room, no one to turn the tap, no one to turn\nthe scorpion!\n\nWe were all alone, in the dark, with the dark water that seized us and\nclasped us and froze us!\n\n\"Erik!  Erik!\"\n\n\"Christine!  Christine!\"\n\nBy this time, we had lost our foothold and were spinning round in the\nwater, carried away by an irresistible whirl, for the water turned with\nus and dashed us against the dark mirror, which thrust us back again;\nand our throats, raised above the whirlpool, roared aloud.\n\nWere we to die here, drowned in the torture-chamber? I had never seen\nthat.  Erik, at the time of the rosy hours of Mazenderan, had never\nshown me that, through the little invisible window.\n\n\"Erik!  Erik!\"  I cried.  \"I saved your life!  Remember! ... You were\nsentenced to death!  But for me, you would be dead now! ...  Erik!\"\n\nWe whirled around in the water like so much wreckage.  But, suddenly,\nmy straying hands seized the trunk of the iron tree!  I called M. de\nChagny, and we both hung to the branch of the iron tree.\n\nAnd the water rose still higher.\n\n\"Oh!  Oh!  Can you remember?  How much space is there between the\nbranch of the tree and the dome-shaped ceiling?  Do try to remember!\n...  After all, the water may stop, it must find its level! ... There,\nI think it is stopping! ... No, no, oh, horrible! ... Swim!  Swim for\nyour life!\"\n\nOur arms became entangled in the effort of swimming; we choked; we\nfought in the dark water; already we could hardly breathe the dark air\nabove the dark water, the air which escaped, which we could hear\nescaping through some vent-hole or other.\n\n\"Oh, let us turn and turn and turn until we find the air hole and then\nglue our mouths to it!\"\n\nBut I lost my strength; I tried to lay hold of the walls!  Oh, how\nthose glass walls slipped from under my groping fingers! ... We whirled\nround again! ... We began to sink!  ... One last effort! ... A last\ncry:  \"Erik! ... Christine! ...\"\n\n\"Guggle, guggle, guggle!\" in our ears.  \"Guggle!  Guggle!\"  At the\nbottom of the dark water, our ears went, \"Guggle!  Guggle!\"\n\nAnd, before losing consciousness entirely, I seemed to hear, between\ntwo guggles:\n\n\"Barrels!  Barrels!  Any barrels to sell?\"\n\n\n\nChapter XXVI  The End of the Ghost's Love Story\n\n\nThe previous chapter marks the conclusion of the written narrative\nwhich the Persian left behind him.\n\nNotwithstanding the horrors of a situation which seemed definitely to\nabandon them to their deaths, M. de Chagny and his companion were saved\nby the sublime devotion of Christine Daae.  And I had the rest of the\nstory from the lips of the daroga himself.\n\nWhen I went to see him, he was still living in his little flat in the\nRue de Rivoli, opposite the Tuileries.  He was very ill, and it\nrequired all my ardor as an historian pledged to the truth to persuade\nhim to live the incredible tragedy over again for my benefit.  His\nfaithful old servant Darius showed me in to him.  The daroga received\nme at a window overlooking the garden of the Tuileries.  He still had\nhis magnificent eyes, but his poor face looked very worn.  He had\nshaved the whole of his head, which was usually covered with an\nastrakhan cap; he was dressed in a long, plain coat and amused himself\nby unconsciously twisting his thumbs inside the sleeves; but his mind\nwas quite clear, and he told me his story with perfect lucidity.\n\nIt seems that, when he opened his eyes, the daroga found himself lying\non a bed.  M. de Chagny was on a sofa, beside the wardrobe.  An angel\nand a devil were watching over them.\n\nAfter the deceptions and illusions of the torture-chamber, the\nprecision of the details of that quiet little middle-class room seemed\nto have been invented for the express purpose of puzzling the mind of\nthe mortal rash enough to stray into that abode of living nightmare.\nThe wooden bedstead, the waxed mahogany chairs, the chest of drawers,\nthose brasses, the little square antimacassars carefully placed on the\nbacks of the chairs, the clock on the mantelpiece and the\nharmless-looking ebony caskets at either end, lastly, the whatnot\nfilled with shells, with red pin-cushions, with mother-of-pearl boats\nand an enormous ostrich-egg, the whole discreetly lighted by a shaded\nlamp standing on a small round table:  this collection of ugly,\npeaceable, reasonable furniture, AT THE BOTTOM OF THE OPERA CELLARS,\nbewildered the imagination more than all the late fantastic happenings.\n\nAnd the figure of the masked man seemed all the more formidable in this\nold-fashioned, neat and trim little frame.  It bent down over the\nPersian and said, in his ear:\n\n\"Are you better, daroga? ... You are looking at my furniture? ...  It\nis all that I have left of my poor unhappy mother.\"\n\nChristine Daae did not say a word:  she moved about noiselessly, like a\nsister of charity, who had taken a vow of silence.  She brought a cup\nof cordial, or of hot tea, he did not remember which.  The man in the\nmask took it from her hands and gave it to the Persian.  M. de Chagny\nwas still sleeping.\n\nErik poured a drop of rum into the daroga's cup and, pointing to the\nviscount, said:\n\n\"He came to himself long before we knew if you were still alive,\ndaroga.  He is quite well.  He is asleep.  We must not wake him.\"\n\nErik left the room for a moment, and the Persian raised himself on his\nelbow, looked around him and saw Christine Daae sitting by the\nfireside.  He spoke to her, called her, but he was still very weak and\nfell back on his pillow.  Christine came to him, laid her hand on his\nforehead and went away again.  And the Persian remembered that, as she\nwent, she did not give a glance at M. de Chagny, who, it is true, was\nsleeping peacefully; and she sat down again in her chair by the\nchimney-corner, silent as a sister of charity who had taken a vow of\nsilence.\n\nErik returned with some little bottles which he placed on the\nmantelpiece.  And, again in a whisper, so as not to wake M. de Chagny,\nhe said to the Persian, after sitting down and feeling his pulse:\n\n\"You are now saved, both of you.  And soon I shall take you up to the\nsurface of the earth, TO PLEASE MY WIFE.\"\n\nThereupon he rose, without any further explanation, and disappeared\nonce more.\n\nThe Persian now looked at Christine's quiet profile under the lamp.\nShe was reading a tiny book, with gilt edges, like a religious book.\nThere are editions of THE IMITATION that look like that.  The Persian\nstill had in his ears the natural tone in which the other had said, \"to\nplease my wife.\"  Very gently, he called her again; but Christine was\nwrapped up in her book and did not hear him.\n\nErik returned, mixed the daroga a draft and advised him not to speak to\n\"his wife\" again nor to any one, BECAUSE IT MIGHT BE VERY DANGEROUS TO\nEVERYBODY'S HEALTH.\n\nEventually, the Persian fell asleep, like M. de Chagny, and did not\nwake until he was in his own room, nursed by his faithful Darius, who\ntold him that, on the night before, he was found propped against the\ndoor of his flat, where he had been brought by a stranger, who rang the\nbell before going away.\n\nAs soon as the daroga recovered his strength and his wits, he sent to\nCount Philippe's house to inquire after the viscount's health.  The\nanswer was that the young man had not been seen and that Count Philippe\nwas dead.  His body was found on the bank of the Opera lake, on the\nRue-Scribe side.  The Persian remembered the requiem mass which he had\nheard from behind the wall of the torture-chamber, and had no doubt\nconcerning the crime and the criminal.  Knowing Erik as he did, he\neasily reconstructed the tragedy.  Thinking that his brother had run\naway with Christine Daae, Philippe had dashed in pursuit of him along\nthe Brussels Road, where he knew that everything was prepared for the\nelopement.  Failing to find the pair, he hurried back to the Opera,\nremembered Raoul's strange confidence about his fantastic rival and\nlearned that the viscount had made every effort to enter the cellars of\nthe theater and that he had disappeared, leaving his hat in the prima\ndonna's dressing-room beside an empty pistol-case. And the count, who\nno longer entertained any doubt of his brother's madness, in his turn\ndarted into that infernal underground maze.  This was enough, in the\nPersian's eyes, to explain the discovery of the Comte de Chagny's\ncorpse on the shore of the lake, where the siren, Erik's siren, kept\nwatch.\n\nThe Persian did not hesitate.  He determined to inform the police.  Now\nthe case was in the hands of an examining-magistrate called Faure, an\nincredulous, commonplace, superficial sort of person, (I write as I\nthink), with a mind utterly unprepared to receive a confidence of this\nkind.  M. Faure took down the daroga's depositions and proceeded to\ntreat him as a madman.\n\nDespairing of ever obtaining a hearing, the Persian sat down to write.\nAs the police did not want his evidence, perhaps the press would be\nglad of it; and he had just written the last line of the narrative I\nhave quoted in the preceding chapters, when Darius announced the visit\nof a stranger who refused his name, who would not show his face and\ndeclared simply that he did not intend to leave the place until he had\nspoken to the daroga.\n\nThe Persian at once felt who his singular visitor was and ordered him\nto be shown in.  The daroga was right.  It was the ghost, it was Erik!\n\nHe looked extremely weak and leaned against the wall, as though he were\nafraid of falling.  Taking off his hat, he revealed a forehead white as\nwax.  The rest of the horrible face was hidden by the mask.\n\nThe Persian rose to his feet as Erik entered.\n\n\"Murderer of Count Philippe, what have you done with his brother and\nChristine Daae?\"\n\nErik staggered under this direct attack, kept silent for a moment,\ndragged himself to a chair and heaved a deep sigh.  Then, speaking in\nshort phrases and gasping for breath between the words:\n\n\"Daroga, don't talk to me ... about Count Philippe ...  He was dead ...\nby the time ... I left my house ... he was dead ... when ...  the siren\nsang ...  It was an ... accident ... a sad ... a very sad ... accident.\nHe fell very awkwardly ... but simply and naturally ...  into the lake!\n...\"\n\n\"You lie!\" shouted the Persian.\n\nErik bowed his head and said:\n\n\"I have not come here ... to talk about Count Philippe ...  but to tell\nyou that ... I am going ... to die...\"\n\n\"Where are Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae?\"\n\n\"I am going to die.\"\n\n\"Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae?\"\n\n\"Of love ... daroga ... I am dying ... of love ... That is how it is\n... loved her so! ... And I love her still ... daroga ... and I am\ndying of love for her, I ... I tell you! ... If you knew how beautiful\nshe was ...  when she let me kiss her ... alive ... It was the first\n... time, daroga, the first ... time I ever kissed a woman ...  Yes,\nalive ...  I kissed her alive ... and she looked as beautiful as if she\nhad been dead!\"\n\nThe Persian shook Erik by the arm:\n\n\"Will you tell me if she is alive or dead.\"\n\n\"Why do you shake me like that?\" asked Erik, making an effort to speak\nmore connectedly.  \"I tell you that I am going to die...  Yes, I kissed\nher alive ...\"\n\n\"And now she is dead?\"\n\n\"I tell you I kissed her just like that, on her forehead ...  and she\ndid not draw back her forehead from my lips! ... Oh, she is a good\ngirl! ... As to her being dead, I don't think so; but it has nothing to\ndo with me ...  No, no, she is not dead!  And no one shall touch a hair\nof her head!  She is a good, honest girl, and she saved your life,\ndaroga, at a moment when I would not have given twopence for your\nPersian skin.  As a matter of fact, nobody bothered about you.  Why\nwere you there with that little chap?  You would have died as well as\nhe!  My word, how she entreated me for her little chap!  But I told her\nthat, as she had turned the scorpion, she had, through that very fact,\nand of her own free will, become engaged to me and that she did not\nneed to have two men engaged to her, which was true enough.\n\n\"As for you, you did not exist, you had ceased to exist, I tell you,\nand you were going to die with the other! ... Only, mark me, daroga,\nwhen you were yelling like the devil, because of the water, Christine\ncame to me with her beautiful blue eyes wide open, and swore to me, as\nshe hoped to be saved, that she consented to be MY LIVING WIFE! ...\nUntil then, in the depths of her eyes, daroga, I had always seen my\ndead wife; it was the first time I saw MY LIVING WIFE there.  She was\nsincere, as she hoped to be saved.  She would not kill herself.  It was\na bargain ...  Half a minute later, all the water was back in the lake;\nand I had a hard job with you, daroga, for, upon my honor, I thought\nyou were done for! ...  However! ... There you were! ... It was\nunderstood that I was to take you both up to the surface of the earth.\nWhen, at last, I cleared the Louis-Philippe room of you, I came back\nalone ...\"\n\n\"What have you done with the Vicomte de Chagny?\" asked the Persian,\ninterrupting him.\n\n\"Ah, you see, daroga, I couldn't carry HIM up like that, at once.  ...\nHe was a hostage ...  But I could not keep him in the house on the\nlake, either, because of Christine; so I locked him up comfortably, I\nchained him up nicely--a whiff of the Mazenderan scent had left him as\nlimp as a rag--in the Communists' dungeon, which is in the most\ndeserted and remote part of the Opera, below the fifth cellar, where no\none ever comes, and where no one ever hears you.  Then I came back to\nChristine, she was waiting for me.\"\n\nErik here rose solemnly.  Then he continued, but, as he spoke, he was\novercome by all his former emotion and began to tremble like a leaf:\n\n\"Yes, she was waiting for me ... waiting for me erect and alive, a\nreal, living bride ... as she hoped to be saved ...  And, when I ...\ncame forward, more timid than ... a little child, she did not run away\n... no, no ... she stayed ... she waited for me ...  I even believe ...\ndaroga ... that she put out her forehead ... a little ... oh, not much\n... just a little ...  like a living bride ...  And ... and ... I ...\nkissed her! ...  I! ... I! ... I! ... And she did not die! ... Oh, how\ngood it is, daroga, to kiss somebody on the forehead! ... You can't\ntell! ...  But I!  I! ... My mother, daroga, my poor, unhappy mother\nwould never ... let me kiss her ...  She used to run away ... and throw\nme my mask!  ... Nor any other woman ... ever, ever! ... Ah, you can\nunderstand, my happiness was so great, I cried.  And I fell at her\nfeet, crying ... and I kissed her feet ... her little feet ... crying.\nYou're crying, too, daroga ... and she cried also ... the angel cried!\n...\" Erik sobbed aloud and the Persian himself could not retain his\ntears in the presence of that masked man, who, with his shoulders\nshaking and his hands clutched at his chest, was moaning with pain and\nlove by turns.\n\n\"Yes, daroga ... I felt her tears flow on my forehead ... on mine,\nmine! ... They were soft ... they were sweet! ... They trickled under\nmy mask ... they mingled with my tears in my eyes ... yes ... they\nflowed between my lips ...  Listen, daroga, listen to what I did ...  I\ntore off my mask so as not to lose one of her tears ... and she did not\nrun away! ... And she did not die! ...  She remained alive, weeping\nover me, with me.  We cried together!  I have tasted all the happiness\nthe world can offer!\"\n\nAnd Erik fell into a chair, choking for breath:\n\n\"Ah, I am not going to die yet ... presently I shall ... but let me\ncry! ... Listen, daroga ... listen to this ...  While I was at her feet\n... I heard her say, 'Poor, unhappy Erik!' ...  AND SHE TOOK MY HAND!\n... I had become no more, you know, than a poor dog ready to die for\nher ...  I mean it, daroga! ...  I held in my hand a ring, a plain gold\nring which I had given her ... which she had lost ... and which I had\nfound again ...  a wedding-ring, you know ...  I slipped it into her\nlittle hand and said, 'There! ... Take it! ... Take it for you ... and\nhim!  ... It shall be my wedding-present a present from your poor,\nunhappy Erik ...  I know you love the boy ... don't cry any more!  ...\nShe asked me, in a very soft voice, what I meant ...  Then I made her\nunderstand that, where she was concerned, I was only a poor dog, ready\nto die for her ... but that she could marry the young man when she\npleased, because she had cried with me and mingled her tears with mine!\n...\"\n\nErik's emotion was so great that he had to tell the Persian not to look\nat him, for he was choking and must take off his mask.  The daroga went\nto the window and opened it.  His heart was full of pity, but he took\ncare to keep his eyes fixed on the trees in the Tuileries gardens, lest\nhe should see the monster's face.\n\n\"I went and released the young man,\" Erik continued, \"and told him to\ncome with me to Christine ...  They kissed before me in the\nLouis-Philippe room ...  Christine had my ring ...  I made Christine\nswear to come back, one night, when I was dead, crossing the lake from\nthe Rue-Scribe side, and bury me in the greatest secrecy with the gold\nring, which she was to wear until that moment.  ... I told her where\nshe would find my body and what to do with it...  Then Christine kissed\nme, for the first time, herself, here, on the forehead--don't look,\ndaroga!--here, on the forehead ... on my forehead, mine--don't look,\ndaroga!--and they went off together...  Christine had stopped crying\n...  I alone cried ...  Daroga, daroga, if Christine keeps her promise,\nshe will come back soon! ...\"\n\nThe Persian asked him no questions.  He was quite reassured as to the\nfate of Raoul Chagny and Christine Daae; no one could have doubted the\nword of the weeping Erik that night.\n\nThe monster resumed his mask and collected his strength to leave the\ndaroga.  He told him that, when he felt his end to be very near at\nhand, he would send him, in gratitude for the kindness which the\nPersian had once shown him, that which he held dearest in the world:\nall Christine Daae's papers, which she had written for Raoul's benefit\nand left with Erik, together with a few objects belonging to her, such\nas a pair of gloves, a shoe-buckle and two pocket-handkerchiefs. In\nreply to the Persian's questions, Erik told him that the two young\npeople, at soon as they found themselves free, had resolved to go and\nlook for a priest in some lonely spot where they could hide their\nhappiness and that, with this object in view, they had started from\n\"the northern railway station of the world.\"  Lastly, Erik relied on\nthe Persian, as soon as he received the promised relics and papers, to\ninform the young couple of his death and to advertise it in the EPOQUE.\n\nThat was all.  The Persian saw Erik to the door of his flat, and Darius\nhelped him down to the street.  A cab was waiting for him.  Erik\nstepped in; and the Persian, who had gone back to the window, heard him\nsay to the driver:\n\n\"Go to the Opera.\"\n\nAnd the cab drove off into the night.\n\nThe Persian had seen the poor, unfortunate Erik for the last time.\nThree weeks later, the Epoque published this advertisement:\n\n\"Erik is dead.\"\n\n\n\nEpilogue.\n\n\nI have now told the singular, but veracious story of the Opera ghost.\nAs I declared on the first page of this work, it is no longer possible\nto deny that Erik really lived.  There are to-day so many proofs of his\nexistence within the reach of everybody that we can follow Erik's\nactions logically through the whole tragedy of the Chagnys.\n\nThere is no need to repeat here how greatly the case excited the\ncapital.  The kidnapping of the artist, the death of the Comte de\nChagny under such exceptional conditions, the disappearance of his\nbrother, the drugging of the gas-man at the Opera and of his two\nassistants: what tragedies, what passions, what crimes had surrounded\nthe idyll of Raoul and the sweet and charming Christine! ... What had\nbecome of that wonderful, mysterious artist of whom the world was\nnever, never to hear again? ... She was represented as the victim of a\nrivalry between the two brothers; and nobody suspected what had really\nhappened, nobody understood that, as Raoul and Christine had both\ndisappeared, both had withdrawn far from the world to enjoy a happiness\nwhich they would not have cared to make public after the inexplicable\ndeath of Count Philippe ...  They took the train one day from \"the\nnorthern railway station of the world.\" ... Possibly, I too shall take\nthe train at that station, one day, and go and seek around thy lakes, O\nNorway, O silent Scandinavia, for the perhaps still living traces of\nRaoul and Christine and also of Mamma Valerius, who disappeared at the\nsame time! ... Possibly, some day, I shall hear the lonely echoes of\nthe North repeat the singing of her who knew the Angel of Music! ...\n\nLong after the case was pigeonholed by the unintelligent care of M. le\nJuge d'Instruction Faure, the newspapers made efforts, at intervals, to\nfathom the mystery.  One evening paper alone, which knew all the gossip\nof the theaters, said:\n\n\"We recognize the touch of the Opera ghost.\"\n\nAnd even that was written by way of irony.\n\nThe Persian alone knew the whole truth and held the main proofs, which\ncame to him with the pious relics promised by the ghost.  It fell to my\nlot to complete those proofs with the aid of the daroga himself.  Day\nby day, I kept him informed of the progress of my inquiries; and he\ndirected them.  He had not been to the Opera for years and years, but\nhe had preserved the most accurate recollection of the building, and\nthere was no better guide than he possible to help me discover its most\nsecret recesses.  He also told me where to gather further information,\nwhom to ask; and he sent me to call on M. Poligny, at a moment when the\npoor man was nearly drawing his last breath.  I had no idea that he was\nso very ill, and I shall never forget the effect which my questions\nabout the ghost produced upon him.  He looked at me as if I were the\ndevil and answered only in a few incoherent sentences, which showed,\nhowever--and that was the main thing--the extent of the perturbation\nwhich O. G., in his time, had brought into that already very restless\nlife (for M. Poligny was what people call a man of pleasure).\n\nWhen I came and told the Persian of the poor result of my visit to M.\nPoligny, the daroga gave a faint smile and said:\n\n\"Poligny never knew how far that extraordinary blackguard of an Erik\nhumbugged him.\"--The Persian, by the way, spoke of Erik sometimes as a\ndemigod and sometimes as the lowest of the low--\"Poligny was\nsuperstitious and Erik knew it.  Erik knew most things about the public\nand private affairs of the Opera.  When M. Poligny heard a mysterious\nvoice tell him, in Box Five, of the manner in which he used to spend\nhis time and abuse his partner's confidence, he did not wait to hear\nany more.  Thinking at first that it was a voice from Heaven, he\nbelieved himself damned; and then, when the voice began to ask for\nmoney, he saw that he was being victimized by a shrewd blackmailer to\nwhom Debienne himself had fallen a prey.  Both of them, already tired\nof management for various reasons, went away without trying to\ninvestigate further into the personality of that curious O. G., who had\nforced such a singular memorandum-book upon them.  They bequeathed the\nwhole mystery to their successors and heaved a sigh of relief when they\nwere rid of a business that had puzzled them without amusing them in\nthe least.\"\n\nI then spoke of the two successors and expressed my surprise that, in\nhis Memoirs of a Manager, M. Moncharmin should describe the Opera\nghost's behavior at such length in the first part of the book and\nhardly mention it at all in the second.  In reply to this, the Persian,\nwho knew the MEMOIRS as thoroughly as if he had written them himself,\nobserved that I should find the explanation of the whole business if I\nwould just recollect the few lines which Moncharmin devotes to the\nghost in the second part aforesaid.  I quote these lines, which are\nparticularly interesting because they describe the very simple manner\nin which the famous incident of the twenty-thousand francs was closed:\n\n\"As for O. G., some of whose curious tricks I have related in the first\npart of my Memoirs, I will only say that he redeemed by one spontaneous\nfine action all the worry which he had caused my dear friend and\npartner and, I am bound to say, myself.  He felt, no doubt, that there\nare limits to a joke, especially when it is so expensive and when the\ncommissary of police has been informed, for, at the moment when we had\nmade an appointment in our office with M. Mifroid to tell him the whole\nstory, a few days after the disappearance of Christine Daae, we found,\non Richard's table, a large envelope, inscribed, in red ink, \"WITH O.\nG.'S COMPLIMENTS.\"  It contained the large sum of money which he had\nsucceeded in playfully extracting, for the time being, from the\ntreasury.  Richard was at once of the opinion that we must be content\nwith that and drop the business.  I agreed with Richard.  All's well\nthat ends well.  What do you say, O. G.?\"\n\nOf course, Moncharmin, especially after the money had been restored,\ncontinued to believe that he had, for a short while, been the butt of\nRichard's sense of humor, whereas Richard, on his side, was convinced\nthat Moncharmin had amused himself by inventing the whole of the affair\nof the Opera ghost, in order to revenge himself for a few jokes.\n\nI asked the Persian to tell me by what trick the ghost had taken\ntwenty-thousand francs from Richard's pocket in spite of the\nsafety-pin. He replied that he had not gone into this little detail,\nbut that, if I myself cared to make an investigation on the spot, I\nshould certainly find the solution to the riddle in the managers'\noffice by remembering that Erik had not been nicknamed the trap-door\nlover for nothing.  I promised the Persian to do so as soon as I had\ntime, and I may as well tell the reader at once that the results of my\ninvestigation were perfectly satisfactory; and I hardly believed that I\nshould ever discover so many undeniable proofs of the authenticity of\nthe feats ascribed to the ghost.\n\nThe Persian's manuscript, Christine Daae's papers, the statements made\nto me by the people who used to work under MM. Richard and Moncharmin,\nby little Meg herself (the worthy Madame Giry, I am sorry to say, is no\nmore) and by Sorelli, who is now living in retirement at Louveciennes:\nall the documents relating to the existence of the ghost, which I\npropose to deposit in the archives of the Opera, have been checked and\nconfirmed by a number of important discoveries of which I am justly\nproud.  I have not been able to find the house on the lake, Erik having\nblocked up all the secret entrances.[1]  On the other hand, I have\ndiscovered the secret passage of the Communists, the planking of which\nis falling to pieces in parts, and also the trap-door through which\nRaoul and the Persian penetrated into the cellars of the opera-house.\nIn the Communists' dungeon, I noticed numbers of initials traced on the\nwalls by the unfortunate people confined in it; and among these were an\n\"R\" and a \"C.\" R. C.: Raoul de Chagny.  The letters are there to this\nday.\n\nIf the reader will visit the Opera one morning and ask leave to stroll\nwhere he pleases, without being accompanied by a stupid guide, let him\ngo to Box Five and knock with his fist or stick on the enormous column\nthat separates this from the stage-box. He will find that the column\nsounds hollow.  After that, do not be astonished by the suggestion that\nit was occupied by the voice of the ghost:  there is room inside the\ncolumn for two men.  If you are surprised that, when the various\nincidents occurred, no one turned round to look at the column, you must\nremember that it presented the appearance of solid marble, and that the\nvoice contained in it seemed rather to come from the opposite side,\nfor, as we have seen, the ghost was an expert ventriloquist.\n\nThe column was elaborately carved and decorated with the sculptor's\nchisel; and I do not despair of one day discovering the ornament that\ncould be raised or lowered at will, so as to admit of the ghost's\nmysterious correspondence with Mme. Giry and of his generosity.\n\nHowever, all these discoveries are nothing, to my mind, compared with\nthat which I was able to make, in the presence of the acting-manager,\nin the managers' office, within a couple of inches from the desk-chair,\nand which consisted of a trap-door, the width of a board in the\nflooring and the length of a man's fore-arm and no longer; a trap-door\nthat falls back like the lid of a box; a trap-door through which I can\nsee a hand come and dexterously fumble at the pocket of a swallow-tail\ncoat.\n\nThat is the way the forty-thousand francs went! ...  And that also is\nthe way by which, through some trick or other, they were returned.\n\nSpeaking about this to the Persian, I said:\n\n\"So we may take it, as the forty-thousand francs were returned, that\nErik was simply amusing himself with that memorandum-book of his?\"\n\n\"Don't you believe it!\" he replied.  \"Erik wanted money.  Thinking\nhimself without the pale of humanity, he was restrained by no scruples\nand he employed his extraordinary gifts of dexterity and imagination,\nwhich he had received by way of compensation for his extraordinary\nuglinesss, to prey upon his fellow-men. His reason for restoring the\nforty-thousand francs, of his own accord, was that he no longer wanted\nit.  He had relinquished his marriage with Christine Daae.  He had\nrelinquished everything above the surface of the earth.\"\n\nAccording to the Persian's account, Erik was born in a small town not\nfar from Rouen.  He was the son of a master-mason. He ran away at an\nearly age from his father's house, where his ugliness was a subject of\nhorror and terror to his parents.  For a time, he frequented the fairs,\nwhere a showman exhibited him as the \"living corpse.\" He seems to have\ncrossed the whole of Europe, from fair to fair, and to have completed\nhis strange education as an artist and magician at the very\nfountain-head of art and magic, among the Gipsies.  A period of Erik's\nlife remained quite obscure.  He was seen at the fair of\nNijni-Novgorod, where he displayed himself in all his hideous glory.\nHe already sang as nobody on this earth had ever sung before; he\npractised ventriloquism and gave displays of legerdemain so\nextraordinary that the caravans returning to Asia talked about it\nduring the whole length of their journey.  In this way, his reputation\npenetrated the walls of the palace at Mazenderan, where the little\nsultana, the favorite of the Shah-in-Shah, was boring herself to death.\nA dealer in furs, returning to Samarkand from Nijni-Novgorod, told of\nthe marvels which he had seen performed in Erik's tent.  The trader was\nsummoned to the palace and the daroga of Mazenderan was told to\nquestion him.  Next the daroga was instructed to go and find Erik.  He\nbrought him to Persia, where for some months Erik's will was law.  He\nwas guilty of not a few horrors, for he seemed not to know the\ndifference between good and evil.  He took part calmly in a number of\npolitical assassinations; and he turned his diabolical inventive powers\nagainst the Emir of Afghanistan, who was at war with the Persian\nempire.  The Shah took a liking to him.\n\nThis was the time of the rosy hours of Mazenderan, of which the\ndaroga's narrative has given us a glimpse.  Erik had very original\nideas on the subject of architecture and thought out a palace much as a\nconjuror contrives a trick-casket. The Shah ordered him to construct an\nedifice of this kind.  Erik did so; and the building appears to have\nbeen so ingenious that His Majesty was able to move about in it unseen\nand to disappear without a possibility of the trick's being discovered.\nWhen the Shah-in-Shah found himself the possessor of this gem, he\nordered Erik's yellow eyes to be put out.  But he reflected that, even\nwhen blind, Erik would still be able to build so remarkable a house for\nanother sovereign; and also that, as long as Erik was alive, some one\nwould know the secret of the wonderful palace.  Erik's death was\ndecided upon, together with that of all the laborers who had worked\nunder his orders.  The execution of this abominable decree devolved\nupon the daroga of Mazenderan.  Erik had shown him some slight services\nand procured him many a hearty laugh.  He saved Erik by providing him\nwith the means of escape, but nearly paid with his head for his\ngenerous indulgence.\n\nFortunately for the daroga, a corpse, half-eaten by the birds of prey,\nwas found on the shore of the Caspian Sea, and was taken for Erik's\nbody, because the daroga's friends had dressed the remains in clothing\nthat belonged to Erik.  The daroga was let off with the loss of the\nimperial favor, the confiscation of his property and an order of\nperpetual banishment.  As a member of the Royal House, however, he\ncontinued to receive a monthly pension of a few hundred francs from the\nPersian treasury; and on this he came to live in Paris.\n\nAs for Erik, he went to Asia Minor and thence to Constantinople, where\nhe entered the Sultan's employment.  In explanation of the services\nwhich he was able to render a monarch haunted by perpetual terrors, I\nneed only say that it was Erik who constructed all the famous\ntrap-doors and secret chambers and mysterious strong-boxes which were\nfound at Yildiz-Kiosk after the last Turkish revolution.  He also\ninvented those automata, dressed like the Sultan and resembling the\nSultan in all respects,[2] which made people believe that the\nCommander of the Faithful was awake at one place, when, in reality, he\nwas asleep elsewhere.\n\nOf course, he had to leave the Sultan's service for the same reasons\nthat made him fly from Persia:  he knew too much.  Then, tired of his\nadventurous, formidable and monstrous life, he longed to be some one\n\"like everybody else.\"  And he became a contractor, like any ordinary\ncontractor, building ordinary houses with ordinary bricks.  He tendered\nfor part of the foundations in the Opera.  His estimate was accepted.\nWhen he found himself in the cellars of the enormous playhouse, his\nartistic, fantastic, wizard nature resumed the upper hand.  Besides,\nwas he not as ugly as ever?  He dreamed of creating for his own use a\ndwelling unknown to the rest of the earth, where he could hide from\nmen's eyes for all time.\n\nThe reader knows and guesses the rest.  It is all in keeping with this\nincredible and yet veracious story.  Poor, unhappy Erik!  Shall we pity\nhim?  Shall we curse him?  He asked only to be \"some one,\" like\neverybody else.  But he was too ugly!  And he had to hide his genius OR\nUSE IT TO PLAY TRICKS WITH, when, with an ordinary face, he would have\nbeen one of the most distinguished of mankind!  He had a heart that\ncould have held the empire of the world; and, in the end, he had to\ncontent himself with a cellar.  Ah, yes, we must needs pity the Opera\nghost.\n\nI have prayed over his mortal remains, that God might show him mercy\nnotwithstanding his crimes.  Yes, I am sure, quite sure that I prayed\nbeside his body, the other day, when they took it from the spot where\nthey were burying the phonographic records.  It was his skeleton.  I\ndid not recognize it by the ugliness of the head, for all men are ugly\nwhen they have been dead as long as that, but by the plain gold ring\nwhich he wore and which Christine Daae had certainly slipped on his\nfinger, when she came to bury him in accordance with her promise.\n\nThe skeleton was lying near the little well, in the place where the\nAngel of Music first held Christine Daae fainting in his trembling\narms, on the night when he carried her down to the cellars of the\nopera-house.\n\nAnd, now, what do they mean to do with that skeleton?  Surely they will\nnot bury it in the common grave! ... I say that the place of the\nskeleton of the Opera ghost is in the archives of the National Academy\nof Music.  It is no ordinary skeleton.\n\n\n\n[1] Even so, I am convinced that it would be easy to reach it by\ndraining the lake, as I have repeatedly requested the Ministry of Fine\nArts to do.  I was speaking about it to M. Dujardin-Beaumetz, the\nunder-secretary for fine arts, only forty-eight hours before the\npublication of this book.  Who knows but that the score of DON JUAN\nTRIUMPHANT might yet be discovered in the house on the lake?\n\n[2] See the interview of the special correspondent of the MATIN, with\nMohammed-Ali Bey, on the day after the entry of the Salonika troops\ninto Constantinople.\n\n\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nThe Paris Opera House\n\n\nTHE SCENE OF GASTON LEROUX'S NOVEL, \"THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA\"\n\nThat Mr. Leroux has used, for the scene of his story, the Paris Opera\nHouse as it really is and has not created a building out of his\nimagination, is shown by this interesting description of it taken from\nan article which appeared in Scribner's Magazine in 1879, a short time\nafter the building was completed:\n\n\"The new Opera House, commenced under the Empire and finished under the\nRepublic, is the most complete building of the kind in the world and in\nmany respects the most beautiful.  No European capital possesses an\nopera house so comprehensive in plan and execution, and none can boast\nan edifice equally vast and splendid.\n\n\"The site of the Opera House was chosen in 1861.  It was determined to\nlay the foundation exceptionally deep and strong.  It was well known\nthat water would be met with, but it was impossible to foresee at what\ndepth or in what quantity it would be found.  Exceptional depth also\nwas necessary, as the stage arrangements were to be such as to admit a\nscene fifty feet high to be lowered on its frame.  It was therefore\nnecessary to lay a foundation in a soil soaked with water which should\nbe sufficiently solid to sustain a weight of 22,000,000 pounds, and at\nthe same time to be perfectly dry, as the cellars were intended for the\nstorage of scenery and properties.  While the work was in progress, the\nexcavation was kept free from water by means of eight pumps, worked by\nsteam power, and in operation, without interruption, day and night,\nfrom March second to October thirteenth.  The floor of the cellar was\ncovered with a layer of concrete, then with two coats of cement,\nanother layer of concrete and a coat of bitumen.  The wall includes an\nouter wall built as a coffer-dam, a brick wall, a coat of cement, and a\nwall proper, a little over a yard thick.  After all this was done the\nwhole was filled with water, in order that the fluid, by penetrating\ninto the most minute interstices, might deposit a sediment which would\nclose them more surely and perfectly than it would be possible to do by\nhand.  Twelve years elapsed before the completion of the building, and\nduring that time it was demonstrated that the precautions taken secured\nabsolute impermeability and solidity.\n\n\"The events of 1870 interrupted work just as it was about to be\nprosecuted most vigorously, and the new Opera House was put to new and\nunexpected uses.  During the siege, it was converted into a vast\nmilitary storehouse and filled with a heterogeneous mass of goods.\nAfter the siege the building fell into the hands of the Commune and the\nroof was turned into a balloon station.  The damage done, however, was\nslight.\n\n\"The fine stone employed in the construction was brought from quarries\nin Sweden, Scotland, Italy, Algeria, Finland, Spain, Belgium and\nFrance.  While work on the exterior was in progress, the building was\ncovered in by a wooden shell, rendered transparent by thousands of\nsmall panes of glass.  In 1867 a swarm of men, supplied with hammers\nand axes, stripped the house of its habit, and showed in all its\nsplendor the great structure.  No picture can do justice to the rich\ncolors of the edifice or to the harmonious tone resulting from the\nskilful use of many diverse materials.  The effect of the frontage is\ncompleted by the cupola of the auditorium, topped with a cap of bronze\nsparingly adorned with gilding.  Farther on, on a level with the towers\nof Notre-Dame, is the gable end of the roof of the stage, a 'Pegasus',\nby M. Lequesne, rising at either end of the roof, and a bronze group by\nM. Millet, representing 'Apollo lifting his golden lyre', commanding\nthe apex.  Apollo, it may here be mentioned, is useful as well as\nornamental, for his lyre is tipped with a metal point which does duty\nas a lightning-rod, and conducts the fluid to the body and down the\nnether limbs of the god.\n\n\"The spectator, having climbed ten steps and left behind him a gateway,\nreaches a vestibule in which are statues of Lully, Rameau, Gluck, and\nHandel.  Ten steps of green Swedish marble lead to a second vestibule\nfor ticket-sellers. Visitors who enter by the pavilion reserved for\ncarriages pass through a hallway where ticket offices are situated.\nThe larger number of the audience, before entering the auditorium,\ntraverse a large circular vestibule located exactly beneath it.  The\nceiling of this portion of the building is upheld by sixteen fluted\ncolumns of Jura stone, with white marble capitals, forming a portico.\nHere servants are to await their masters, and spectators may remain\nuntil their carriages are summoned.  The third entrance, which is quite\ndistinct from the others, is reserved for the Executive.  The section\nof the building set aside for the use of the Emperor Napoleon was to\nhave included an antechamber for the bodyguards; a salon for the\naides-de-camp; a large salon and a smaller one for the Empress; hat and\ncloak rooms, etc.  Moreover, there were to be in close proximity to the\nentrance, stables for three coaches, for the outriders' horses, and for\nthe twenty-one horsemen acting as an escort; a station for a squad of\ninfantry of thirty-one men and ten cent-gardes, and a stable for the\nhorses of the latter; and, besides, a salon for fifteen or twenty\ndomestics.  Thus arrangements had to be made to accommodate in this\npart of the building about one hundred persons, fifty horses, and\nhalf-a-dozen carriages.  The fall of the Empire suggested some changes,\nbut ample provision still exists for emergencies.\n\n\"Its novel conception, perfect fitness, and rare splendor of material,\nmake the grand stairway unquestionably one of the most remarkable\nfeatures of the building.  It presents to the spectator, who has just\npassed through the subscribers' pavilion, a gorgeous picture.  From\nthis point he beholds the ceiling formed by the central landing; this\nand the columns sustaining it, built of Echaillon stone, are\nhoneycombed with arabesques and heavy with ornaments; the steps are of\nwhite marble, and antique red marble balusters rest on green marble\nsockets and support a balustrade of onyx.  To the right and to the left\nof this landing are stairways to the floor, on a plane with the first\nrow of boxes.  On this floor stand thirty monolith columns of\nSarrancolin marble, with white marble bases and capitals.  Pilasters of\npeach-blossom and violet stone are against the corresponding walls.\nMore than fifty blocks had to be extracted from the quarry to find\nthirty perfect monoliths.\n\n\"The foyer de la danse has particular interest for the habitues of the\nOpera.  It is a place of reunion to which subscribers to three\nperformances a week are admitted between the acts in accordance with a\nusage established in 1870.  Three immense looking-glasses cover the\nback wall of the FOYER, and a chandelier with one hundred and seven\nburners supplies it with light.  The paintings include twenty oval\nmedallions, in which are portrayed the twenty danseuses of most\ncelebrity since the opera has existed in France, and four panels by M.\nBoulanger, typifying 'The War Dance', 'The Rustic Dance', 'The Dance of\nLove' and 'The Bacchic Dance.' While the ladies of the ballet receive\ntheir admirers in this foyer, they can practise their steps.\nVelvet-cushioned bars have to this end been secured at convenient\npoints, and the floor has been given the same slope as that of the\nstage, so that the labor expended may be thoroughly profitable to the\nperformance. The singers' foyer, on the same floor, is a much less\nlively resort than the foyer de la danse, as vocalists rarely leave\ntheir dressing-rooms before they are summoned to the stage.  Thirty\npanels with portraits of the artists of repute in the annals of the\nOpera adorn this foyer.\n\n\"Some estimate ... may be arrived at by sitting before the concierge an\nhour or so before the representation commences.  First appear the stage\ncarpenters, who are always seventy, and sometimes, when L'Africaine,\nfor example, with its ship scene, is the opera, one hundred and ten\nstrong.  Then come stage upholsterers, whose sole duty is to lay\ncarpets, hang curtains, etc.; gas-men, and a squad of firemen.\nClaqueurs, call-boys, property-men, dressers, coiffeurs,\nsupernumeraries, and artists, follow.  The supernumeraries number about\none hundred; some are hired by the year, but the 'masses' are generally\nrecruited at the last minute and are generally working-men who seek to\nadd to their meagre earnings.  There are about a hundred choristers,\nand about eighty musicians.\n\n\"Next we behold equeries, whose horses are hoisted on the stage by\nmeans of an elevator; electricians who manage the light-producing\nbatteries; hydrauliciens to take charge of the water-works in ballets\nlike La Source; artificers who prepare the conflagration in Le Profeta;\nflorists who make ready Margarita's garden, and a host of minor\nemployees.  This personnel is provided for as follows:  Eighty\ndressing-rooms are reserved for the artists, each including a small\nantechamber, the dressing-room proper, and a little closet.  Besides\nthese apartments, the Opera has a dressing-room for sixty male, and\nanother for fifty female choristers; a third for thirty-four male\ndancers; four dressing-rooms for twenty female dancers of different\ngrades; a dressing-room for one hundred and ninety supernumeraries,\netc.\"\n\nA few figures taken from the article will suggest the enormous capacity\nand the perfect convenience of the house.  \"There are 2,531 doors and\n7,593 keys; 14 furnaces and grates heat the house; the gaspipes if\nconnected would form a pipe almost 16 miles long; 9 reservoirs, and two\ntanks hold 22,222 gallons of water and distribute their contents\nthrough 22,829 2-5 feet of piping; 538 persons have places assigned\nwherein to change their attire.  The musicians have a foyer with 100\nclosets for their instruments.\"\n\nThe author remarks of his visit to the Opera House that it \"was almost\nas bewildering as it was agreeable.  Giant stairways and colossal\nhalls, huge frescoes and enormous mirrors, gold and marble, satin and\nvelvet, met the eye at every turn.\"\n\nIn a recent letter Mr. Andre Castaigne, whose remarkable pictures\nillustrate the text, speaks of a river or lake under the Opera House\nand mentions the fact that there are now also three metropolitan\nrailway tunnels, one on top of the other."