Isidore Saack, who was small and weak like M. Moncharmin, saving his presence. There was a great uproar. People in the house shouted, That will do! Stop them! Hell kill him! Then, at last, M. Isidore Saack managed to run away. Then the ghost had not broken his leg? asked M. Moncharmin, a little vexed that his figure had made so little impression on Mame Giry. He did break it for him, sir, replied Mame Giry haughtily. He broke it for him on the grand staircase, which he ran down too fast, sir, and it will be long before the poor gentleman will be able to go up it again! Did the ghost tell you what he said in M. Manieras right ear? asked M. Moncharmin, with a gravity which he thought exceedingly humorous. No, sir, it was M. Maniera himself. So But you have spoken to the ghost, my good lady? As Im speaking to you now, my good sir! Mame Giry replied. And, when the ghost speaks to you, what does he say? Well, he tells me to bring him a footstool! This time, Richard burst out laughing, as did Moncharmin and Rmy, the secretary. Only the inspector, warned by experience, was careful not to laugh, while Mame Giry ventured to adopt an attitude that was positively threatening. Instead of laughing, she cried indignantly, youd do better to do as M. Poligny did, who found out for himself. Found out about what? asked Moncharmin, who had never been so much amused in his life. About the ghost, of course!  Look here  She suddenly calmed herself, feeling that this was a solemn moment in her life Look here, she repeated. They were playing La Juive. M. Poligny thought he would watch the performance from the ghosts box.  Well, when Lopold cries, Let us fly!you knowand Elazer stops them and says, Whither go ye?  well, M. PolignyI was watching him from the back of the next box, which was emptyM. Poligny got up and walked out quite stiffly, like a statue, and before I had time to ask him, Whither go ye? like Elazer, he was down the staircase, but without breaking his leg.  Still, that doesnt let us know how the Opera ghost came to ask you for a footstool, insisted M. Moncharmin. Well, from that evening, no one tried to take the ghosts private box from him. The manager gave orders that he was to have it at each performance. And, whenever he came, he asked me for a footstool. Tut, tut! A ghost asking for a footstool! Then this ghost of yours is a woman? No, the ghost is a man. How do you know? He has a mans voice, oh, such a lovely mans voice! This is what happens When he comes to the opera, its usually in the middle of the first act. He gives three little taps on the door of Box Five. The first time I heard those three taps, when I knew there was no one in the box, you can think how puzzled I was! I opened the door, listened, looked; nobody! And then I heard a voice say, Mame Julesmy poor husbands name was Julesa footstool, please. Saving your presence, gentlemen, it made me feel alloverish like. But the voice went on, Dont be frightened, Mame Jules, Im the Opera ghost! And the voice was so soft and kind that I hardly felt frightened. The voice was sitting in the corner chair, on the right, in the front row. Was there anyone in the box on the right of Box Five? asked Moncharmin. No; Box Seven, and Box Three, the one on the left, were both empty. The curtain had only just gone up. And what did you do? Well, I brought the footstool. Of course, it wasnt for himself he wanted it, but for his lady! But I never heard her nor saw her. Eh? What? So now the ghost is married! The eyes of the two managers traveled from Mame Giry to the inspector, who, standing behind the boxkeeper, was waving his arms to attract their attention. He tapped his forehead with a distressful forefinger, to convey his opinion that the widow Jules Giry was most certainly mad, a piece of pantomime which confirmed M. Richard in his determination to get rid of an inspector who kept a lunatic in his service. Meanwhile, the worthy lady went on about her ghost, now painting his generosity At the end of the performance, he always gives me two francs, sometimes five, sometimes even ten, when he has been many days without coming. Only, since people have begun to annoy him again, he gives me nothing at all.  Excuse me, my good woman, said Moncharmin, while Mame Giry tossed the feathers in her dingy hat at this persistent familiarity, excuse me, how does the ghost manage to give you your two francs? Why, he leaves them on the little shelf in the box, of course. I find them with the program, which I always give him. Some evenings, I find flowers in the box, a rose that must have dropped from his ladys bodice  for he brings a lady with him sometimes; one day, they left a fan behind them. Oh, the ghost left a fan, did he? And what did you do with it? Well, I brought it back to the box next night. Here the inspectors voice was raised. Youve broken the rules; I shall have to fine you, Mame Giry. Hold your tongue, you fool! muttered M. Firmin Richard. You brought back the fan. And then? Well, then, they took it away with them, sir; it was not there at the end of the performance; and in its place they left me a box of English sweets, which Im very fond of. Thats one of the ghosts pretty thoughts. That will do, Mame Giry. You can go. When Mame Giry had bowed herself out, with the dignity that never deserted her, the manager told the inspector that they had decided to dispense with that old madwomans services; and, when he had gone in his turn, they instructed the actingmanager to make up the inspectors accounts. Left alone, the managers told each other of the idea which they both had in mind, which was that they should look into that little matter of Box Five themselves. V The Enchanted Violin Christine Daa, owing to intrigues to which I will return later, did not immediately continue her triumph at the Opera. After the famous gala night, she sang once at the Duchess de Zurichs; but this was the last occasion on which she was heard in private. She refused, without plausible excuse, to appear at a charity concert to which she had promised her assistance. She acted throughout as though she were no longer the mistress of her own destiny and as though she feared a fresh triumph. She knew that the Comte de Chagny, to please his brother, had done his best on her behalf with M. Richard; and she wrote to thank him and also to ask him to cease speaking in her favor. Her reason for this curious attitude was never known. Some pretended that it was due to overweening pride; others spoke of her heavenly modesty. But people on the stage are not so modest as all that; and I think that I shall not be far from the truth if I ascribe her action simply to fear. Yes, I believe that Christine Daa was frightened by what had happened to her. I have a letter of Christines (it forms part of the Persians collection), relating to this period, which suggests a feeling of absolute dismay I dont know myself when I sing, writes the poor child. She showed herself nowhere; and the Vicomte de Chagny tried in vain to meet her. He wrote to her, asking to call upon her, but despaired of receiving a reply when, one morning, she sent him the following note Monsieur I have not forgotten the little boy who went into the sea to rescue my scarf. I feel that I must write to you today, when I am going to Perros, in fulfilment of a sacred duty. Tomorrow is the anniversary of the death of my poor father, whom you knew and who was very fond of you. He is buried there, with his violin, in the graveyard of the little church, at the bottom of the slope where we used to play as children, beside the road where, when we were a little bigger, we said goodbye for the last time. The Vicomte de Chagny hurriedly consulted a railway guide, dressed as quickly as he could, wrote a few lines for his valet to take to his brother and jumped into a cab which brought him to the Gare Montparnasse just in time to miss the morning train. He spent a dismal day in town and did not recover his spirits until the evening, when he was seated in his compartment in the Brittany express. He read Christines note over and over again, smelling its perfume, recalling the sweet pictures of his childhood, and spent the rest of that tedious night journey in feverish dreams that began and ended with Christine Daa. Day was breaking when he alighted at Lannion. He hurried to the diligence for PerrosGuirec. He was the only passenger. He questioned the driver and learned that, on the evening of the previous day, a young lady who looked like a Parisian had gone to Perros and put up at the inn known as the Setting Sun. The nearer he drew to her, the more fondly he remembered the story of the little Swedish singer. Most of the details are still unknown to the public. There was once, in a little markettown not far from Upsala, a peasant who lived there with his family, digging the earth during the week and singing in the choir on Sundays. This peasant had a little daughter to whom he taught the musical alphabet before she knew how to read. Daas father was a great musician, perhaps without knowing it. Not a fiddler throughout the length and breadth of Scandinavia played as he did. His reputation was widespread and he was always invited to set the couples dancing at weddings and other festivals. His wife died when Christine was entering upon her sixth year. Then the father, who cared only for his daughter and his music, sold his patch of ground and went to Upsala in search of fame and fortune. He found nothing but poverty. He returned to the country, wandering from fair to fair, strumming his Scandinavian melodies, while his child, who never left his side, listened to him in ecstasy or sang to his playing. One day, at Ljimby Fair, Professor Valrius heard them and took them to Gothenburg. He maintained that the father was the first violinist in the world and that the daughter had the making of a great artist. Her education and instruction were provided for. She made rapid progress and charmed everybody with her prettiness, her grace of manner and her genuine eagerness to please. When Valrius and his wife went to settle in France, they took Daa and Christine with them. Mamma Valrius treated Christine as her daughter. As for Daa, he began to pine away with homesickness. He never went out of doors in Paris, but lived in a sort of dream which he kept up with his violin. For hours at a time, he remained locked up in his bedroom with his daughter, fiddling and singing, very, very softly. Sometimes Mamma Valrius would come and listen behind the door, wipe away a tear and go downstairs again on tiptoe, sighing for her Scandinavian skies. Daa seemed not to recover his strength until the summer, when the whole family went to stay at PerrosGuirec, in a faraway corner of Brittany, where the sea was of the same color as in his own country. Often he would play his saddest tunes on the beach and pretend that the sea stopped its roaring to listen to them. And then he induced Mamma Valrius to indulge a queer whim of his. At the time of the pardons, or Breton pilgrimages, the village festival and dances, he went off with his fiddle, as in the old days, and was allowed to take his daughter with him for a week. They gave the smallest hamlets music to last them for a year and slept at night in a barn, refusing a bed at the inn, lying close together on the straw, as when they were so poor in Sweden. At the same time, they were very neatly dressed, made no collection, refused the halfpence offered them; and the people around could not understand the conduct of this rustic fiddler, who tramped the roads with that pretty child who sang like an angel from Heaven. They followed them from village to village. One day, a little boy, who was out with his governess, made her take a longer walk than he intended, for he could not tear himself from the little girl whose pure, sweet voice seemed to bind him to her. They came to the shore of an inlet which is still called Trestraou, but which now, I believe, harbors a casino or something of the sort. At that time, there was nothing but sky and sea and a stretch of golden beach. Only, there was also a high wind, which blew Christines scarf out to sea. Christine gave a cry and put out her arms, but the scarf was already far on the waves. Then she heard a voice say Its all right, Ill go and fetch your scarf out of the sea. And she saw a little boy running fast, in spite of the outcries and the indignant protests of a worthy lady in black. The little boy ran into the sea, dressed as he was, and brought her back her scarf. Boy and scarf were both soaked through. The lady in black made a great fuss, but Christine laughed merrily and kissed the little boy, who was none other than the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, staying at Lannion with his aunt. During the season, they saw each other and played together almost every day. At the aunts request, seconded by Professor Valrius, Daa consented to give the young viscount some violin lessons. In this way, Raoul learned to love the same airs that had charmed Christines childhood. They also both had the same calm and dreamy little cast of mind. They delighted in stories, in old Breton legends; and their favorite sport was to go and ask for them at the cottagedoors, like beggars Maam  or, Kind gentleman  have you a little story to tell us, please? And it seldom happened that they did not have one given them; for nearly every old Breton grandame has, at least once in her life, seen the korrigans dance by moonlight on the heather. But their great treat was, in the twilight, in the great silence of the evening, after the sun had set in the sea, when Daa came and sat down by them on the roadside and, in a low voice, as though fearing lest he should frighten the ghosts whom he evoked, told them the legends of the land of the North. And, the moment he stopped, the children would ask for more. There was one story that began A king sat in a little boat on one of those deep, still lakes that open like a bright eye in the midst of the Norwegian mountains  And another Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her hair was golden as the suns rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes. She wheedled her mother, was kind to her doll, took great care of her frock and her little red shoes and her fiddle, but most of all loved, when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music. While the old man told this story, Raoul looked at Christines blue eyes and golden hair; and Christine thought that Lotte was very lucky to hear the Angel of Music when she went to sleep. The Angel of Music played a part in all Daddy Daas tales; and he maintained that every great musician, every great artist received a visit from the Angel at least once in his life. Sometimes the Angel leans over their cradle, as happened to Lotte, and that is how there are little prodigies who play the fiddle at six better than men at fifty, which, you must admit, is very wonderful. Sometimes, the Angel comes much later, because the children are naughty and wont learn their lessons or practise their scales. And, sometimes, he does not come at all, because the children have a bad heart or a bad conscience. No one ever sees the Angel; but he is heard by those who are meant to hear him. He often comes when they least expect him, when they are sad and disheartened. Then their ears suddenly perceive celestial harmonies, a divine voice, which they remember all their lives. Persons who are visited by the Angel quiver with a thrill unknown to the rest of mankind. And they can not touch an instrument, or open their mouths to sing, without producing sounds that put all other human sounds to shame. Then people who do not know that the Angel has visited those persons say that they have genius. Little Christine asked her father if he had heard the Angel of Music. But Daddy Daa shook his head sadly; and then his eyes lit up, as he said You will hear him one day, my child! When I am in Heaven, I will send him to you! Daddy was beginning to cough at that time. Three years later, Raoul and Christine met again at Perros. Professor Valrius was dead, but his widow remained in France with Daddy Daa and his daughter, who continued to play the violin and sing, wrapping in their dream of harmony their kind patroness, who seemed henceforth to live on music alone. The young man, as he now was, had come to Perros on the chance of finding them and went straight to the house in which they used to stay. He first saw the old man; and then Christine entered, carrying the teatray. She flushed at the sight of Raoul, who went up to her and kissed her. She asked him a few questions, performed her duties as hostess prettily, took up the tray again and left the room. Then she ran into the garden and took refuge on a bench, a prey to feelings that stirred her young heart for the first time. Raoul followed her and they talked till the evening, very shyly. They were quite changed, cautious as two diplomatists, and told each other things that had nothing to do with their budding sentiments. When they took leave of each other by the roadside, Raoul, pressing a kiss on Christines trembling hand, said Mademoiselle, I shall never forget you! And he went away regretting his words, for he knew that Christine could not be the wife of the Vicomte de Chagny. As for Christine, she tried not to think of him and devoted herself wholly to her art. She made wonderful progress and those who heard her prophesied that she would be the greatest singer in the world. Meanwhile, the father died; and, suddenly, she seemed to have lost, with him, her voice, her soul and her genius. She retained just, but only just, enough of this to enter the conservatoire, where she did not distinguish herself at all, attending the classes without enthusiasm and taking a prize only to please old Mamma Valrius, with whom she continued to live. The first time that Raoul saw Christine at the Opera, he was charmed by the girls beauty and by the sweet images of the past which it evoked, but was rather surprised at the negative side of her art. He returned to listen to her. He followed her in the wings. He waited for her behind a Jacobs ladder. He tried to attract her attention. More than once, he walked after her to the door of her box, but she did not see him. She seemed, for that matter, to see nobody. She was all indifference. Raoul suffered, for she was very beautiful and he was shy and dared not confess his love, even to himself. And then came the lightningflash of the gala performance the heavens torn asunder and an angels voice heard upon earth for the delight of mankind and the utter capture of his heart. And then  and then there was that mans voice behind the doorYou must love me!and no one in the room.  Why did she laugh when he reminded her of the incident of the scarf? Why did she not recognize him? And why had she written to him?  Perros was reached at last. Raoul walked into the smoky sittingroom of the Setting Sun and at once saw Christine standing before him, smiling and showing no astonishment. So you have come, she said. I felt that I should find you here, when I came back from mass. Someone told me so, at the church. Who? asked Raoul, taking her little hand in his. Why, my poor father, who is dead. There was a silence; and then Raoul asked Did your father tell you that I love you, Christine, and that I can not live without you? Christine blushed to the eyes and turned away her head. In a trembling voice, she said Me? You are dreaming, my friend! And she burst out laughing, to put herself in countenance. Dont laugh, Christine; I am quite serious, Raoul answered. And she replied gravely I did not make you come to tell me such things as that. You made me come, Christine; you knew that your letter would not leave me indignant and that I should hasten to Perros. How can you have thought that, if you did not think I loved you? I thought you would remember our games here, as children, in which my father so often joined. I really dont know what I thought.  Perhaps I was wrong to write to you.  This anniversary and your sudden appearance in my room at the Opera, the other evening, reminded me of the time long past and made me write to you as the little girl that I then was.  There was something in Christines attitude that seemed to Raoul not natural. He did not feel any hostility in her; far from it the distressed affection shining in her eyes told him that. But why was this affection distressed? That was what he wished to know and what was irritating him. When you saw me in your dressingroom, was that the first time you noticed me, Christine? She was incapable of lying. No, she said, I had seen you several times in your brothers box. And also on the stage. I thought so! said Raoul, compressing his lips. But then why, when you saw me in your room, at your feet, reminding you that I had rescued your scarf from the sea, why did you answer as though you did not know me and also why did you laugh? The tone of these questions was so rough that Christine stared at Raoul without replying. The young man himself was aghast at the sudden quarrel which he had dared to raise at the very moment when he had resolved to speak words of gentleness, love and submission to Christine. A husband, a lover with all rights, would talk no differently to a wife, a mistress who had offended him. But he had gone too far and saw no other way out of the ridiculous position than to behave odiously. You dont answer! he said angrily and unhappily. Well, I will answer for you. It was because there was someone in the room who was in your way, Christine, someone that you did not wish to know that you could be interested in anyone else! If anyone was in my way, my friend, Christine broke in coldly, if anyone was in my way, that evening, it was yourself, since I told you to leave the room! Yes, so that you might remain with the other! What are you saying, monsieur? asked the girl excitedly. And to what other do you refer? To the man to whom you said, I sing only for you!  Tonight I gave you my soul and I am dead!  Christine seized Raouls arm and clutched it with a strength which no one would have suspected in so frail a creature. Then you were listening behind the door? Yes, because I love you  and I heard everything.  You heard what? And the young girl, becoming strangely calm, released Raouls arm. He said to you, Christine, you must love me!  At these words, a deathly pallor spread over Christines face, dark rings formed round her eyes, she staggered and seemed on the point of swooning. Raoul darted forward, with arms outstretched, but Christine had overcome her passing faintness and said, in a low voice Go on! Go on! Tell me all you heard! At an utter loss to understand, Raoul answered I heard him reply, when you said you had given him your soul, Your soul is a beautiful thing, child, and I thank you. No emperor ever received so fair a gift. The angels wept tonight.  Christine carried her hand to her heart, a prey to indescribable emotion. Her eyes stared before her like a madwomans. Raoul was terrorstricken. But suddenly Christines eyes moistened and two great tears trickled, like two pearls, down her ivory cheeks. Christine! Raoul! The young man tried to take her in his arms, but she escaped and fled in great disorder. While Christine remained locked in her room, Raoul was at his wits end what to do. He refused to breakfast. He was terribly concerned and bitterly grieved to see the hours, which he had hoped to find so sweet, slip past without the presence of the young Swedish girl. Why did she not come to roam with him through the country where they had so many memories in common? He heard that she had had a mass said, that morning, for the repose of her fathers soul and spent a long time praying in the little church and on the fiddlers tomb. Then, as she seemed to have nothing more to do at Perros and, in fact, was doing nothing there, why did she not go back to Paris at once? Raoul walked away, dejectedly, to the graveyard in which the church stood and was indeed alone among the tombs, reading the inscriptions; but, when he turned behind the apse, he was suddenly struck by the dazzling note of the flowers that straggled over the white ground. They were marvelous red roses that had blossomed in the morning, in the snow, giving a glimpse of life among the dead, for death was all around him. It also, like the flowers, issued from the ground, which had flung back a number of its corpses. Skeletons and skulls by the hundred were heaped against the wall of the church, held in position by a wire that left the whole gruesome stack visible. Dead mens bones, arranged in rows, like bricks, to form the first course upon which the walls of the sacristy had been built. The door of the sacristy opened in the middle of that bony structure, as is often seen in old Breton churches. Raoul said a prayer for Daa and then, painfully impressed by all those eternal smiles on the mouths of skulls, he climbed the slope and sat down on the edge of the heath overlooking the sea. The wind fell with the evening. Raoul was surrounded by icy darkness, but he did not feel the cold. It was here, he remembered, that he used to come with little Christine to see the Korrigans dance at the rising of the moon. He had never seen any, though his eyes were good, whereas Christine, who was a little shortsighted, pretended that she had seen many. He smiled at the thought and then suddenly gave a start. A voice behind him said Do you think the Korrigans will come this evening? It was Christine. He tried to speak. She put her gloved hand on his mouth. Listen, Raoul. I have decided to tell you something serious, very serious.  Do you remember the legend of the Angel of Music? I do indeed, he said. I believe it was here that your father first told it to us. And it was here that he said, When I am in Heaven, my child, I will send him to you. Well, Raoul, my father is in Heaven, and I have been visited by the Angel of Music. I have no doubt of it, replied the young man gravely, for it seemed to him that his friend, in obedience to a pious thought, was connecting the memory of her father with the brilliancy of her last triumph. Christine appeared astonished at the Vicomte de Chagnys coolness How do you understand it? she asked, bringing her pale face so close to his that he might have thought that Christine was going to give him a kiss; but she only wanted to read his eyes in spite of the dark. I understand, he said, that no human being can sing as you sang the other evening without the intervention of some miracle. No professor on earth can teach you such accents as those. You have heard the Angel of Music, Christine. Yes, she said solemnly, in my dressingroom. That is where he comes to give me my lessons daily. In your dressingroom? he echoed stupidly. Yes, that is where I have heard him; and I have not been the only one to hear him. Who else heard him, Christine? You, my friend. I? I heard the Angel of Music? Yes, the other evening, it was he who was talking when you were listening behind the door. It was he who said, You must love me. But I then thought that I was the only one to hear his voice. Imagine my astonishment when you told me, this morning, that you could hear him too. Raoul burst out laughing. The first rays of the moon came and shrouded the two young people in their light. Christine turned on Raoul with a hostile air. Her eyes, usually so gentle, flashed fire. What are you laughing at? You think you heard a mans voice, I suppose? Well!  replied the young man, whose ideas began to grow confused in the face of Christines determined attitude. Its you, Raoul, who say that? You, an old playfellow of my own! A friend of my fathers! But you have changed since those days. What are you thinking of? I am an honest girl, M. le Vicomte de Chagny, and I dont lock myself up in my dressingroom with mens voices. If you had opened the door, you would have seen that there was nobody in the room! Thats true! I did open the door, when you were gone, and I found no one in the room. So you see!  Well? The viscount summoned up all his courage. Well, Christine, I think that somebody is making game of you. She gave a cry and ran away. He ran after her, but, in a tone of fierce anger, she called out Leave me! Leave me! And she disappeared. Raoul returned to the inn feeling very weary, very lowspirited and very sad. He was told that Christine had gone to her bedroom saying that she would not be down to dinner. Raoul dined alone, in a very gloomy mood. Then he went to his room and tried to read, went to bed and tried to sleep. There was no sound in the next room. The hours passed slowly. It was about halfpast eleven when he distinctly heard someone moving, with a light, stealthy step, in the room next to his. Then Christine had not gone to bed! Without troubling for a reason, Raoul dressed, taking care not to make a sound, and waited. Waited for what? How could he tell? But his heart thumped in his chest when he heard Christines door turn slowly on its hinges. Where could she be going, at this hour, when everyone was fast asleep at Perros? Softly opening the door, he saw Christines white form, in the moonlight, slipping along the passage. She went down the stairs and he leaned over the baluster above her. Suddenly he heard two voices in rapid conversation. He caught one sentence Dont lose the key. It was the landladys voice. The door facing the sea was opened and locked again. Then all was still. Raoul ran back to his room and threw back the window. Christines white form stood on the deserted quay. The first floor of the Setting Sun was at no great height and a tree growing against the wall held out its branches to Raouls impatient arms and enabled him to climb down unknown to the landlady. Her amazement, therefore, was all the greater when, the next morning, the young man was brought back to her half frozen, more dead than alive, and when she learned that he had been found stretched at full length on the steps of the high altar of the little church. She ran at once to tell Christine, who hurried down and, with the help of the landlady, did her best to revive him. He soon opened his eyes and was not long in recovering when he saw his friends charming face leaning over him. A few weeks later, when the tragedy at the Opera compelled the intervention of the public prosecutor, M. Mifroid, the commissary of police, examined the Vicomte de Chagny touching the events of the night at Perros. I quote the questions and answers as given in the official report pp. 150 et seq. Q. Did Mlle. Daa not see you come down from your room by the curious road which you selected? R. No, monsieur, no, although, when walking behind her, I took no pains to deaden the sound of my footsteps. In fact, I was anxious that she should turn round and see me. I realized that I had no excuse for following her and that this way of spying on her was unworthy of me. But she seemed not to hear me and acted exactly as though I were not there. She quietly left the quay and then suddenly walked quickly up the road. The churchclock had struck a quarter to twelve and I thought that this must have made her hurry, for she began almost to run and continued hastening until she came to the church. Q. Was the gate open? R. Yes, monsieur, and this surprised me, but did not seem to surprise Mlle. Daa. Q. Was there no one in the churchyard? R. I did not see anyone; and, if there had been, I must have seen him. The moon was shining on the snow and made the night quite light. Q. Was it possible for anyone to hide behind the tombstones? R. No, monsieur. They were quite small, poor tombstones, partly hidden under the snow, with their crosses just above the level of the ground. The only shadows were those of the crosses and ourselves. The church stood out quite brightly.


I never saw so clear a night. It was very fine and very cold and one could see everything. Q. Are you at all superstitious? R. No, monsieur, I am a practising Catholic. Q. In what condition of mind were you? R. Very healthy and peaceful, I assure you. Mlle. Daas curious action in going out at that hour had worried me at first; but, as soon as I saw her go to the churchyard, I thought that she meant to fulfil some pious duty on her fathers grave and I considered this so natural that I recovered all my calmness. I was only surprised that she had not heard me walking behind her, for my footsteps were quite audible on the hard snow. But she must have been taken up with her intentions and I resolved not to disturb her. She knelt down by her fathers grave, made the sign of the cross and began to pray. At that moment, it struck midnight. At the last stroke, I saw Mlle. Daa lift her eyes to the sky and stretch out her arms as though in ecstasy. I was wondering what the reason could be, when I myself raised my head and everything within me seemed drawn toward the invisible, which was playing the most perfect music! Christine and I knew that music; we had heard it as children. But it had never been executed with such divine art, even by M. Daa. I remembered all that Christine had told me of the Angel of Music. The air was The Resurrection of Lazarus, which old M. Daa used to play to us in his hours of melancholy and of faith. If Christines Angel had existed, he could not have played better, that night, on the late musicians violin. When the music stopped, I seemed to hear a noise from the skulls in the heap of bones; it was as though they were chuckling and I could not help shuddering. Q. Did it not occur to you that the musician might be hiding behind that very heap of bones? R. It was the one thought that did occur to me, monsieur, so much so that I omitted to follow Mlle. Daa, when she stood up and walked slowly to the gate. She was so much absorbed just then that I am not surprised that she did not see me. Q. Then what happened that you were found in the morning lying halfdead on the steps of the high altar? R. First a skull rolled to my feet  then another  then another.  It was as if I were the mark of that ghastly game of bowls. And I had an idea that false step must have destroyed the balance of the structure behind which our musician was concealed. This surmise seemed to be confirmed when I saw a shadow suddenly glide along the sacristy wall. I ran up. The shadow had already pushed open the door and entered the church. But I was quicker than the shadow and caught hold of a corner of its cloak. At that moment, we were just in front of the high altar; and the moonbeams fell straight upon us through the stainedglass windows of the apse. As I did not let go of the cloak, the shadow turned round; and I saw a terrible deaths head, which darted a look at me from a pair of scorching eyes. I felt as if I were face to face with Satan; and, in the presence of this unearthly apparition, my heart gave way, my courage failed me  and I remember nothing more until I recovered consciousness at the Setting Sun. VI A Visit to Box Five We left M. Firmin Richard and M. Armand Moncharmin at the moment when they were deciding to look into that little matter of Box Five. Leaving behind them the broad staircase which leads from the lobby outside the managers offices to the stage and its dependencies, they crossed the stage, went out by the subscribers door and entered the house through the first little passage on the left. Then they made their way through the front rows of stalls and looked at Box Five on the grand tier. They could not see it well, because it was half in darkness and because great covers were flung over the red velvet of the ledges of all the boxes. They were almost alone in the huge, gloomy house; and a great silence surrounded them. It was the time when most of the stagehands go out for a drink. The staff had left the boards for the moment, leaving a scene half set. A few rays of light, a wan, sinister light, that seemed to have been stolen from an expiring luminary, fell through some opening or other upon an old tower that raised its pasteboard battlements on the stage; everything, in this deceptive light, adopted a fantastic shape. In the orchestra stalls, the drugget covering them looked like an angry sea, whose glaucous waves had been suddenly rendered stationary by a secret order from the storm phantom, who, as everybody knows, is called Adamastor. MM. Moncharmin and Richard were the shipwrecked mariners amid this motionless turmoil of a calico sea. They made for the left boxes, plowing their way like sailors who leave their ship and try to struggle to the shore. The eight great polished columns stood up in the dusk like so many huge piles supporting the threatening, crumbling, bigbellied cliffs whose layers were represented by the circular, parallel, waving lines of the balconies of the grand, first and second tiers of boxes. At the top, right on top of the cliff, lost in M. Lenepveus copper ceiling, figures grinned and grimaced, laughed and jeered at MM. Richard and Moncharmins distress. And yet these figures were usually very serious. Their names were Isis, Amphitrite, Hebe, Pandora, Psyche, Thetis, Pomona, Daphne, Clytie, Galatea and Arethusa. Yes, Arethusa herself and Pandora, whom we all know by her box, looked down upon the two new managers of the Opera, who ended by clutching at some piece of wreckage and from there stared silently at Box Five on the grand tier. I have said that they were distressed. At least, I presume so. M. Moncharmin, in any case, admits that he was impressed. To quote his own words, in his Memoirs This moonshine about the Opera ghost in which, since we first took over the duties of MM. Poligny and Debienne, we had been so nicely steepedMoncharmins style is not always irreproachablehad no doubt ended by blinding my imaginative and also my visual faculties. It may be that the exceptional surroundings in which we found ourselves, in the midst of an incredible silence, impressed us to an unusual extent. It may be that we were the sport of a kind of hallucination brought about by the semidarkness of the theater and the partial gloom that filled Box Five. At any rate, I saw and Richard also saw a shape in the box. Richard said nothing, nor I either. But we spontaneously seized each others hand. We stood like that for some minutes, without moving, with our eyes fixed on the same point; but the figure had disappeared. Then we went out and, in the lobby, communicated our impressions to each other and talked about the shape. The misfortune was that my shape was not in the least like Richards. I had seen a thing like a deaths head resting on the ledge of the box, whereas Richard saw the shape of an old woman who looked like Mame Giry. We soon discovered that we had really been the victims of an illusion, whereupon, without further delay and laughing like madmen, we ran to Box Five on the grand tier, went inside and found no shape of any kind. Box Five is just like all the other grand tier boxes. There is nothing to distinguish it from any of the others. M. Moncharmin and M. Richard, ostensibly highly amused and laughing at each other, moved the furniture of the box, lifted the cloths and the chairs and particularly examined the armchair in which the mans voice used to sit. But they saw that it was a respectable armchair, with no magic about it. Altogether, the box was the most ordinary box in the world, with its red hangings, its chairs, its carpet and its ledge covered in red velvet. After feeling the carpet in the most serious manner possible, and discovering nothing more here or anywhere else, they went down to the corresponding box on the pit tier below. In Box Five on the pit tier, which is just inside the first exit from the stalls on the left, they found nothing worth mentioning either. Those people are all making fools of us! Firmin Richard ended by exclaiming. It will be Faust on Saturday let us both see the performance from Box Five on the grand tier! VII Faust and What Followed On the Saturday morning, on reaching their office, the joint managers found a letter from O. G. worded in these terms My Dear Managers So it is to be war between us? If you still care for peace, here is my ultimatum. It consists of the four following conditions You must give me back my private box; and I wish it to be at my free disposal from henceforward. The part of Margarita shall be sung this evening by Christine Daa. Never mind about Carlotta; she will be ill. I absolutely insist upon the good and loyal services of Mme. Giry, my boxkeeper, whom you will reinstate in her functions forthwith. Let me know by a letter handed to Mme. Giry, who will see that it reaches me, that you accept, as your predecessors did, the conditions in my memorandumbook relating to my monthly allowance. I will inform you later how you are to pay it to me. If you refuse, you will give Faust tonight in a house with a curse upon it. Take my advice and be warned in time. O. G. Look here, Im getting sick of him, sick of him! shouted Richard, bringing his fists down on his officetable. Just then, Mercier, the actingmanager, entered. Lachenel would like to see one of you gentlemen, he said. He says that his business is urgent and he seems quite upset. Whos Lachenel? asked Richard. Hes your studgroom. What do you mean? My studgroom? Yes, sir, explained Mercier, there are several grooms at the Opera and M. Lachenel is at the head of them. And what does this groom do? He has the chief management of the stable. What stable? Why, yours, sir, the stable of the Opera. Is there a stable at the Opera? Upon my word, I didnt know. Where is it? In the cellars, on the Rotunda side. Its a very important department; we have twelve horses. Twelve horses! And what for, in Heavens name? Why, we want trained horses for the processions in the Juive, the Profeta and so on; horses used to the boards. It is the grooms business to teach them. M. Lachenel is very clever at it. He used to manage Franconis stables. Very well  but what does he want? I dont know; I never saw him in such a state. He can come in. M. Lachenel came in, carrying a ridingwhip, with which he struck his right boot in an irritable manner. Good morning, M. Lachenel, said Richard, somewhat impressed. To what do we owe the honor of your visit? Mr. Manager, I have come to ask you to get rid of the whole stable. What, you want to get rid of our horses? Im not talking of the horses, but of the stablemen. How many stablemen have you, M. Lachenel? Six. Six stablemen! Thats at least two too many. These are places,  Mercier interposed, created and forced upon us by the undersecretary for fine arts. They are filled by protges of the government and, if I may venture to  I dont care a hang for the government! roared Richard. We dont need more than four stablemen for twelve horses. Eleven, said the head ridingmaster, correcting him. Twelve, repeated Richard. Eleven, repeated Lachenel. Oh, the actingmanager told me that you had twelve horses! I did have twelve, but I have only eleven since Csar was stolen. And M. Lachenel gave himself a great smack on the boot with his whip. Has Csar been stolen? cried the actingmanager. Csar, the white horse in the Profeta? There are not two Csars, said the studgroom dryly. I was ten years at Franconis and I have seen plenty of horses in my time. Well, there are not two Csars. And hes been stolen. How? I dont know. Nobody knows. Thats why I have come to ask you to sack the whole stable. What do your stablemen say? All sorts of nonsense. Some of them accuse the supers. Others pretend that its the actingmanagers doorkeeper  My doorkeeper? Ill answer for him as I would for myself! protested Mercier. But, after all, M. Lachenel, cried Richard, you must have some idea. Yes, I have, M. Lachenel declared. I have an idea and Ill tell you what it is. Theres no doubt about it in my mind. He walked up to the two managers and whispered. Its the ghost who did the trick! Richard gave a jump. What, you too! You too! How do you mean, I too? Isnt it natural, after what I saw? What did you see? I saw, as clearly as I now see you, a black shadow riding a white horse that was as like Csar as two peas! And did you run after them? I did and I shouted, but they were too fast for me and disappeared in the darkness of the underground gallery. M. Richard rose. That will do, M. Lachenel. You can go.  We will lodge a complaint against the ghost. And sack my stable? Oh, of course! Good morning. M. Lachenel bowed and withdrew. Richard foamed at the mouth. Settle that idiots account at once, please. He is a friend of the government representatives! Mercier ventured to say. And he takes his vermouth at Tortonis with Lagrn, Scholl and Pertuiset, the lionhunter, added Moncharmin. We shall have the whole press against us! Hell tell the story of the ghost; and everybody will be laughing at our expense! We may as well be dead as ridiculous! All right, say no more about it. At that moment the door opened. It must have been deserted by its usual Cerberus, for Mame Giry entered without ceremony, holding a letter in her hand, and said hurriedly I beg your pardon, excuse me, gentlemen, but I had a letter this morning from the Opera ghost. He told me to come to you, that you had something to  She did not complete the sentence. She saw Firmin Richards face; and it was a terrible sight. He seemed ready to burst. He said nothing, he could not speak. But suddenly he acted. First, his left arm seized upon the quaint person of Mame Giry and made her describe so unexpected a semicircle that she uttered a despairing cry. Next, his right foot imprinted its sole on the black taffeta of a skirt which certainly had never before undergone a similar outrage in a similar place. The thing happened so quickly that Mame Giry, when in the passage, was still quite bewildered and seemed not to understand. But, suddenly, she understood; and the Opera rang with her indignant yells, her violent protests and threats. About the same time, Carlotta, who had a small house of her own in the Rue du Faubourg St. Honor, rang for her maid, who brought her letters to her bed. Among them was an anonymous missive, written in red ink, in a hesitating, clumsy hand, which ran If you appear tonight, you must be prepared for a great misfortune at the moment when you open your mouth to sing  a misfortune worse than death. The letter took away Carlottas appetite for breakfast. She pushed back her chocolate, sat up in bed and thought hard. It was not the first letter of the kind which she had received, but she never had one couched in such threatening terms. She thought herself, at that time, the victim of a thousand jealous attempts and went about saying that she had a secret enemy who had sworn to ruin her. She pretended that a wicked plot was being hatched against her, a cabal which would come to a head one of those days; but she added that she was not the woman to be intimidated. The truth is that, if there was a cabal, it was led by Carlotta herself against poor Christine, who had no suspicion of it. Carlotta had never forgiven Christine for the triumph which she had achieved when taking her place at a moments notice. When Carlotta heard of the astounding reception bestowed upon her understudy, she was at once cured of an incipient attack of bronchitis and a bad fit of sulking against the management and lost the slightest inclination to shirk her duties. From that time, she worked with all her might to smother her rival, enlisting the services of influential friends to persuade the managers not to give Christine an opportunity for a fresh triumph. Certain newspapers which had begun to extol the talent of Christine now interested themselves only in the fame of Carlotta. Lastly, in the theater itself, the celebrated, but heartless and soulless diva made the most scandalous remarks about Christine and tried to cause her endless minor unpleasantnesses. When Carlotta had finished thinking over the threat contained in the strange letter, she got up. We shall see, she said, adding a few oaths in her native Spanish with a very determined air. The first thing she saw, when looking out of her window, was a hearse. She was very superstitious; and the hearse and the letter convinced her that she was running the most serious dangers that evening. She collected all her supporters, told them that she was threatened at that evenings performance with a plot organized by Christine Daa and declared that they must play a trick upon that chit by filling the house with her, Carlottas, admirers. She had no lack of them, had she? She relied upon them to hold themselves prepared for any eventuality and to silence the adversaries, if, as she feared, they created a disturbance. M. Richards private secretary called to ask after the divas health and returned with the assurance that she was perfectly well and that, were she dying, she would sing the part of Margarita that evening. The secretary urged her, in his chiefs name, to commit no imprudence, to stay at home all day and to be careful of drafts; and Carlotta could not help, after he had gone, comparing this unusual and unexpected advice with the threats contained in the letter. It was five oclock when the post brought a second anonymous letter in the same hand as the first. It was short and said simply You have a bad cold. If you are wise, you will see that it is madness to try to sing tonight. Carlotta sneered, shrugged her handsome shoulders and sang two or three notes to reassure herself. Her friends were faithful to their promise. They were all at the Opera that night, but looked round in vain for the fierce conspirators whom they were instructed to suppress. The only unusual thing was the presence of M. Richard and M. Moncharmin in Box Five. Carlottas friends thought that, perhaps, the managers had wind, on their side, of the proposed disturbance and that they had determined to be in the house, so as to stop it then and there; but this was unjustifiable supposition, as the reader knows. M. Richard and M. Moncharmin were thinking of nothing but their ghost. Vain! In vain do I call, through my vigil weary, On creation and its Lord! Never reply will break the silence dreary! No sign! No single word! The famous baritone, Carolus Fonta, had hardly finished Doctor Fausts first appeal to the powers of darkness, when M. Firmin Richard, who was sitting in the ghosts own chair, the front chair on the right, leaned over to his partner and asked him chaffingly Well, has the ghost whispered a word in your ear yet? Wait, dont be in such a hurry, replied M. Armand Moncharmin, in the same gay tone. The performance has only begun and you know that the ghost does not usually come until the middle of the first act. The first act passed without incident, which did not surprise Carlottas friends, because Margarita does not sing in this act. As for the managers, they looked at each other, when the curtain fell. Thats one! said Moncharmin. Yes, the ghost is late, said Firmin Richard. Its not a bad house, said Moncharmin, for a house with a curse on it.  M. Richard smiled and pointed to a fat, rather vulgar woman, dressed in black, sitting in a stall in the middle of the auditorium with a man in a broadcloth frockcoat on either side of her. Who on earth are those?  asked Moncharmin.  Those, my dear fellow, are my concierge, her husband and her brother. Did you give them their tickets? I did.  My concierge had never been to the Operathis is the first timeand, as she is now going to come every night, I wanted her to have a good seat, before spending her time showing other people to theirs. Moncharmin asked what he meant and Richard answered that he had persuaded his concierge, in whom he had the greatest confidence, to come and take Mame Girys place. Yes, he would like to see if, with that woman instead of the old lunatic, Box Five would continue to astonish the natives? By the way, said Moncharmin, you know that Mother Giry is going to lodge a complaint against you. With whom? The ghost? The ghost! Moncharmin had almost forgotten him. However, that mysterious person did nothing to bring himself to the memory of the managers; and they were just saying so to each other for the second time, when the door of the box suddenly opened to admit the startled stagemanager. Whats the matter? they both asked, amazed at seeing him there at such a time. It seems theres a plot got up by Christine Daas friends against Carlotta. Carlottas furious. What on earth  ? said Richard, knitting his brows. But the curtain rose on the kermess scene and Richard made a sign to the stagemanager to go away. When the two were alone again, Moncharmin leaned over to Richard Then Daa has friends? he asked. Yes, she has. Whom? Richard glanced across at a box on the grand tier containing no one but two men. The Comte de Chagny? Yes, he spoke to me in her favor with such warmth that, if I had not known him to be Sorellis friend  Really? Really? said Moncharmin. And who is that pale young man beside him? Thats his brother, the viscount. He ought to be in his bed. He looks ill. The stage rang with gay song Red or white liquor, Coarse or fine! What can it matter, So we have wine? Students, citizens, soldiers, girls and matrons whirled lightheartedly before the inn with the figure of Bacchus for a sign. Siebel made her entrance. Christine Daa looked charming in her boys clothes; and Carlottas partisans expected to hear her greeted with an ovation which would have enlightened them as to the intentions of her friends. But nothing happened. On the other hand, when Margarita crossed the stage and sang the only two lines allotted her in this second act No, my lord, not a lady am I, nor yet a beauty, And do not need an arm to help me on my way, Carlotta was received with enthusiastic applause. It was so unexpected and so uncalled for that those who knew nothing about the rumors looked at one another and asked what was happening. And this act also was finished without incident. Then everybody said Of course, it will be during the next act. Some, who seemed to be better informed than the rest, declared that the row would begin with the ballad of the King of Thule and rushed to the subscribers entrance to warn Carlotta. The managers left the box during the entracte to find out more about the cabal of which the stagemanager had spoken; but they soon returned to their seats, shrugging their shoulders and treating the whole affair as silly. The first thing they saw, on entering the box, was a box of English sweets on the little shelf of the ledge. Who had put it there? They asked the boxkeepers, but none of them knew. Then they went back to the shelf and, next to the box of sweets, found an opera glass. They looked at each other. They had no inclination to laugh. All that Mme. Giry had told them returned to their memory  and then  and then  they seemed to feel a curious sort of draft around them.  They sat down in silence. The scene represented Margaritas garden Gentle flowrs in the dew, Be message from me  As she sang these first two lines, with her bunch of roses and lilacs in her hand, Christine, raising her head, saw the Vicomte de Chagny in his box; and, from that moment, her voice seemed less sure, less crystalclear than usual. Something seemed to deaden and dull her singing.  What a queer girl she is! said one of Carlottas friends in the stalls, almost aloud. The other day she was divine; and tonight shes simply bleating. She has no experience, no training. Gentle flowrs, lie ye there And tell her from me  The viscount put his head under his hands and wept. The count, behind him, viciously gnawed his mustache, shrugged his shoulders and frowned. For him, usually so cold and correct, to betray his inner feelings like that, by outward signs, the count must be very angry. He was. He had seen his brother return from a rapid and mysterious journey in an alarming state of health. The explanation that followed was unsatisfactory and the count asked Christine Daa for an appointment. She had the audacity to reply that she could not see either him or his brother.  Would she but deign to hear me And with one smile to cheer me  The little baggage! growled the count. And he wondered what she wanted. What she was hoping for.  She was a virtuous girl, she was said to have no friend, no protector of any sort.  That angel from the North must be very artful! Raoul, behind the curtain of his hands that veiled his boyish tears, thought only of the letter which he received on his return to Paris, where Christine, fleeing from Perros like a thief in the night, had arrived before him My Dear Little Playfellow You must have the courage not to see me again, not to speak of me again. If you love me just a little, do this for me, for me who will never forget you, my dear Raoul. My life depends upon it. Your life depends upon it. Your Little Christine. Thunders of applause. Carlotta made her entrance. I wish I could but know who was he That addressed me, If he was noble, or, at least, what his name is  When Margarita had finished singing the ballad of the King of Thule, she was loudly cheered and again when she came to the end of the jewel song Ah, the joy of past compare These jewels bright to wear!  Thenceforth, certain of herself, certain of her friends in the house, certain of her voice and her success, fearing nothing, Carlotta flung herself into her part without restraint of modesty.  She was no longer Margarita, she was Carmen. She was applauded all the more; and her dbut with Faust seemed about to bring her a new success, when suddenly  a terrible thing happened. Faust had knelt on one knee Let me gaze on the form below me, While from yonder ether blue Look how the star of eve, bright and tender, lingers oer me, To love thy beauty too! And Margarita replied Oh, how strange! Like a spell does the evening bind me! And a deep languid charm I feel without alarm With its melody enwind me And all my heart subdue. At that moment, at that identical moment, the terrible thing happened.  Carlotta croaked like a toad Coack! There was consternation on Carlottas face and consternation on the faces of all the audience. The two managers in their box could not suppress an exclamation of horror. Everyone felt that the thing was not natural, that there was witchcraft behind it. That toad smelt of brimstone. Poor, wretched, despairing, crushed Carlotta! The uproar in the house was indescribable. If the thing had happened to anyone but Carlotta, she would have been hooted. But everybody knew how perfect an instrument her voice was; and there was no display of anger, but only of horror and dismay, the sort of dismay which men would have felt if they had witnessed the catastrophe that broke the arms of the Venus de Milo.  And even then they would have seen  and understood  But here that toad was incomprehensible! So much so that, after some seconds spent in asking herself if she had really heard that note, that sound, that infernal noise issue from her throat, she tried to persuade herself that it was not so, that she was the victim of an illusion, an illusion of the ear, and not of an act of treachery on the part of her voice.  Meanwhile, in Box Five, Moncharmin and Richard had turned very pale. This extraordinary and inexplicable incident filled them with a dread which was the more mysterious inasmuch as for some little while, they had fallen within the direct influence of the ghost. They had felt his breath. Moncharmins hair stood on end. Richard wiped the perspiration from his forehead. Yes, the ghost was there, around them, behind them, beside them; they felt his presence without seeing him, they heard his breath, close, close, close to them!  They were sure that there were three people in the box.  They trembled.  They thought of running away.  They dared not.  They dared not make a movement or exchange a word that would have told the ghost that they knew that he was there!  What was going to happen? This happened. Coack! Their joint exclamation of horror was heard all over the house. They felt that they were smarting under the ghosts attacks. Leaning over the ledge of their box, they stared at Carlotta as though they did not recognize her. That infernal girl must have given the signal for some catastrophe. Ah, they were waiting for the catastrophe! The ghost had told them it would come! The house had a curse upon it! The two managers gasped and panted under the weight of the catastrophe. Richards stifled voice was heard calling to Carlotta Well, go on! No, Carlotta did not go on.  Bravely, heroically, she started afresh on the fatal line at the end of which the toad had appeared. An awful silence succeeded the uproar. Carlottas voice alone once more filled the resounding house I feel without alarm  The audience also felt, but not without alarm  I feel without alarm  I feel without alarmcoack! With its melody enwind mecoack! And all my heart subcoack! The toad also had started afresh! The house broke into a wild tumult. The two managers collapsed in their chairs and dared not even turn round; they had not the strength; the ghost was chuckling behind their backs! And, at last, they distinctly heard his voice in their right ears, the impossible voice, the mouthless voice, saying She is singing tonight to bring the chandelier down! With one accord, they raised their eyes to the ceiling and uttered a terrible cry. The chandelier, the immense mass of the chandelier was slipping down, coming toward them, at the call of that fiendish voice. Released from its hook, it plunged from the ceiling and came smashing into the middle of the stalls, amid a thousand shouts of terror. A wild rush for the doors followed. The papers of the day state that there were numbers wounded and one killed. The chandelier had crashed down upon the head of the wretched woman who had come to the Opera for the first time in her life, the one whom M. Richard had appointed to succeed Mame Giry, the ghosts boxkeeper, in her functions! She died on the spot and, the next morning, a newspaper appeared with this heading Two Hundred Kilos on the Head of a Concierge That was her sole epitaph! VIII The Mysterious Brougham That tragic evening was bad for everybody. Carlotta fell ill. As for Christine Daa, she disappeared after the performance. A fortnight elapsed during which she was seen neither at the Opera nor outside. Raoul, of course, was the first to be astonished at the prima donnas absence. He wrote to her at Mme. Valrius flat and received no reply. His grief increased and he ended by being seriously alarmed at never seeing her name on the program. Faust was played without her. One afternoon he went to the managers office to ask the reason of Christines disappearance. He found them both looking extremely worried. Their own friends did not recognize them they had lost all their gaiety and spirits. They were seen crossing the stage with hanging heads, careworn brows, pale cheeks, as though pursued by some abominable thought or a prey to some persistent sport of fate. The fall of the chandelier had involved them in no little responsibility; but it was difficult to make them speak about it. The inquest had ended in a verdict of accidental death, caused by the wear and tear of the chains by which the chandelier was hung from the ceiling; but it was the duty of both the old and the new managers to have discovered this wear and tear and to have remedied it in time. And I feel bound to say that MM.


Richard and Moncharmin at this time appeared so changed, so absentminded, so mysterious, so incomprehensible that many of the subscribers thought that some event even more horrible than the fall of the chandelier must have affected their state of mind. In their daily intercourse, they showed themselves very impatient, except with Mme. Giry, who had been reinstated in her functions. And their reception of the Vicomte de Chagny, when he came to ask about Christine, was anything but cordial. They merely told him that she was taking a holiday. He asked how long the holiday was for, and they replied curtly that it was for an unlimited period, as Mlle. Daa had requested leave of absence for reasons of health. Then she is ill! he cried. What is the matter with her? We dont know. Didnt you send the doctor of the Opera to see her? No, she did not ask for him; and, as we trust her, we took her word. Raoul left the building a prey to the gloomiest thoughts. He resolved, come what might, to go and inquire of Mamma Valrius. He remembered the strong phrases in Christines letter, forbidding him to make any attempt to see her. But what he had seen at Perros, what he had heard behind the dressingroom door, his conversation with Christine at the edge of the moor made him suspect some machination which, devilish though it might be, was none the less human. The girls highly strung imagination, her affectionate and credulous mind, the primitive education which had surrounded her childhood with a circle of legends, the constant brooding over her dead father and, above all, the state of sublime ecstasy into which music threw her from the moment that this art was made manifest to her in certain exceptional conditions, as in the churchyard at Perros; all this seemed to him to constitute a moral ground only too favorable for the malevolent designs of some mysterious and unscrupulous person. Of whom was Christine Daa the victim? This was the very reasonable question which Raoul put to himself as he hurried off to Mamma Valrius. He trembled as he rang at a little flat in the Rue NotreDamedesVictoires. The door was opened by the maid whom he had seen coming out of Christines dressingroom one evening. He asked if he could speak to Mme. Valrius. He was told that she was ill in bed and was not receiving visitors. Take in my card, please, he said. The maid soon returned and showed him into a small and scantily furnished drawingroom, in which portraits of Professor Valrius and old Daa hung on opposite walls. Madame begs monsieur le vicomte to excuse her, said the servant. She can only see him in her bedroom, because she can no longer stand on her poor legs. Five minutes later, Raoul was ushered into an illlit room where he at once recognized the good, kind face of Christines benefactress in the semidarkness of an alcove. Mamma Valrius hair was now quite white, but her eyes had grown no older; never, on the contrary, had their expression been so bright, so pure, so childlike. M. de Chagny! she cried gaily, putting out both her hands to her visitor. Ah, its Heaven that sends you here!  We can talk of her. This last sentence sounded very gloomily in the young mans ears. He at once asked Madame  where is Christine? And the old lady replied calmly She is with her good genius! What good genius? exclaimed poor Raoul. Why, the Angel of Music! The viscount dropped into a chair. Really? Christine was with the Angel of Music? And there lay Mamma Valrius in bed, smiling to him and putting her finger to her lips, to warn him to be silent! And she added You must not tell anybody! You can rely on me, said Raoul. He hardly knew what he was saying, for his ideas about Christine, already greatly confused, were becoming more and more entangled; and it seemed as if everything was beginning to turn around him, around the room, around that extraordinary good lady with the white hair and forgetmenot eyes. I know! I know I can! she said, with a happy laugh. But why dont you come near me, as you used to do when you were a little boy? Give me your hands, as when you brought me the story of little Lotte, which Daddy Daa had told you. I am very fond of you, M. Raoul, you know. And so is Christine too! She is fond of me! sighed the young man. He found a difficulty in collecting his thoughts and bringing them to bear on Mamma Valrius good genius, on the Angel of Music of whom Christine had spoken to him so strangely, on the deaths head which he had seen in a sort of nightmare on the high altar at Perros and also on the Opera ghost, whose fame had come to his ears one evening when he was standing behind the scenes, within hearing of a group of sceneshifters who were repeating the ghastly description which the hanged man, Joseph Buquet, had given of the ghost before his mysterious death. He asked in a low voice What makes you think that Christine is fond of me, madame? She used to speak of you every day. Really?  And what did she tell you? She told me that you had made her a proposal! And the good old lady began laughing wholeheartedly. Raoul sprang from his chair, flushing to the temples, suffering agonies. Whats this? Where are you going?  Sit down again at once, will you?  Do you think I will let you go like that?  If youre angry with me for laughing, I beg your pardon.  After all, what has happened isnt your fault.  Didnt you know?  Did you think that Christine was free?  Is Christine engaged to be married? the wretched Raoul asked, in a choking voice. Why no! Why no!  You know as well as I do that Christine couldnt marry, even if she wanted to!  But I dont know anything about it!  And why cant Christine marry? Because of the Angel of Music, of course!  I dont follow  Yes, he forbids her to!  He forbids her!  The Angel of Music forbids her to marry!  Oh, he forbids her  without forbidding her. Its like this he tells her that, if she got married, she would never hear him again. Thats all!  And that he would go away forever!  So, you understand, she cant let the Angel of Music go. Its quite natural. Yes, yes, echoed Raoul submissively, its quite natural. Besides, I thought Christine had told you all that, when she met you at Perros, where she went with her good genius. Oh, she went to Perros with her good genius, did she? That is to say, he arranged to meet her down there, in Perros churchyard, at Daas grave. He promised to play her The Resurrection of Lazarus on her fathers violin! Raoul de Chagny rose and, with a very authoritative air, pronounced these peremptory words Madame, you will have the goodness to tell me where that genius lives. The old lady did not seem surprised at this indiscreet command. She raised her eyes and said In Heaven! Such simplicity baffled him. He did not know what to say in the presence of this candid and perfect faith in a genius who came down nightly from Heaven to haunt the dressingrooms at the Opera. He now realized the possible state of mind of a girl brought up between a superstitious fiddler and a visionary old lady and he shuddered when he thought of the consequences of it all. Is Christine still a good girl? he asked suddenly, in spite of himself. I swear it, as I hope to be saved! exclaimed the old woman, who, this time, seemed to be incensed. And, if you doubt it, sir, I dont know what you are here for! Raoul tore at his gloves. How long has she known this genius?  About three months.  Yes, its quite three months since he began to give her lessons. The viscount threw up his arms with a gesture of despair. The genius gives her lessons!  And where, pray? Now that she has gone away with him, I cant say; but, up to a fortnight ago, it was in Christines dressingroom. It would be impossible in this little flat. The whole house would hear them. Whereas, at the Opera, at eight oclock in the morning, there is no one about, do you see! Yes, I see! I see! cried the viscount. And he hurriedly took leave of Mme. Valrius, who asked herself if the young nobleman was not a little off his head. He walked home to his brothers house in a pitiful state. He could have struck himself, banged his head against the walls! To think that he had believed in her innocence, in her purity! The Angel of Music! He knew him now! He saw him! It was beyond a doubt some unspeakable tenor, a goodlooking jackanapes, who mouthed and simpered as he sang! He thought himself as absurd and as wretched as could be. Oh, what a miserable, little, insignificant, silly young man was M. le Vicomte de Chagny! thought Raoul furiously. And she, what a bold and damnable sly creature! His brother was waiting for him and Raoul fell into his arms, like a child. The count consoled him, without asking for explanations; and Raoul would certainly have long hesitated before telling him the story of the Angel of Music. His brother suggested taking him out to dinner. Overcome as he was with despair, Raoul would probably have refused any invitation that evening, if the count had not, as an inducement, told him that the lady of his thoughts had been seen, the night before, in company of the other sex in the Bois. At first, the viscount refused to believe; but he received such exact details that he ceased protesting. She had been seen, it appeared, driving in a brougham, with the window down. She seemed to be slowly taking in the icy night air. There was a glorious moon shining. She was recognized beyond a doubt. As for her companion, only his shadowy outline was distinguished leaning back in the dark. The carriage was going at a walking pace in a lonely drive behind the grand stand at Longchamp. Raoul dressed in frantic haste, prepared to forget his distress by flinging himself, as people say, into the vortex of pleasure. Alas, he was a very sorry guest and, leaving his brother early, found himself, by ten oclock in the evening, in a cab, behind the Longchamp racecourse. It was bitterly cold. The road seemed deserted and very bright under the moonlight. He told the driver to wait for him patiently at the corner of a near turning and, hiding himself as well as he could, stood stamping his feet to keep warm. He had been indulging in this healthy exercise for half an hour or so, when a carriage turned the corner of the road and came quietly in his direction, at a walking pace. As it approached, he saw that a woman was leaning her head from the window. And, suddenly, the moon shed a pale gleam over her features. Christine! The sacred name of his love had sprung from his heart and his lips. He could not keep it back.  He would have given anything to withdraw it, for that name, proclaimed in the stillness of the night, had acted as though it were the preconcerted signal for a furious rush on the part of the whole turnout, which dashed past him before he could put into execution his plan of leaping at the horses heads. The carriage window had been closed and the girls face had disappeared. And the brougham, behind which he was now running, was no more than a black spot on the white road. He called out again Christine! No reply. And he stopped in the midst of the silence. With a lackluster eye, he stared down that cold, desolate road and into the pale, dead night. Nothing was colder than his heart, nothing half so dead he had loved an angel and now he despised a woman! Raoul, how that little fairy of the North has trifled with you! Was it really, was it really necessary to have so fresh and young a face, a forehead so shy and always ready to cover itself with the pink blush of modesty in order to pass in the lonely night, in a carriage and pair, accompanied by a mysterious lover? Surely there should be some limit to hypocrisy and lying!  She had passed without answering his cry.  And he was thinking of dying; and he was twenty years old!  His valet found him in the morning sitting on his bed. He had not undressed and the servant feared, at the sight of his face, that some disaster had occurred. Raoul snatched his letters from the mans hands. He had recognized Christines paper and handwriting. She said Dear Go to the masked ball at the Opera on the night after tomorrow. At twelve oclock, be in the little room behind the chimneyplace of the big crushroom. Stand near the door that leads to the Rotunda. Dont mention this appointment to anyone on earth. Wear a white domino and be carefully masked. As you love me, do not let yourself be recognized. Christine. IX At the Masked Ball The envelope was covered with mud and unstamped. It bore the words To be handed to M. le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, with the address in pencil. It must have been flung out in the hope that a passerby would pick up the note and deliver it, which was what happened. The note had been picked up on the pavement of the Place de lOpera. Raoul read it over again with fevered eyes. No more was needed to revive his hope. The somber picture which he had for a moment imagined of a Christine forgetting her duty to herself made way for his original conception of an unfortunate, innocent child, the victim of imprudence and exaggerated sensibility. To what extent, at this time, was she really a victim? Whose prisoner was she? Into what whirlpool had she been dragged? He asked himself these questions with a cruel anguish; but even this pain seemed endurable beside the frenzy into which he was thrown at the thought of a lying and deceitful Christine. What had happened? What influence had she undergone? What monster had carried her off and by what means?  By what means indeed but that of music? He knew Christines story. After her fathers death, she acquired a distaste of everything in life, including her art. She went through the conservatoire like a poor soulless singingmachine. And, suddenly, she awoke as though through the intervention of a god. The Angel of Music appeared upon the scene! She sang Margarita in Faust and triumphed!  The Angel of Music!  For three months the Angel of Music had been giving Christine lessons.  Ah, he was a punctual singingmaster!  And now he was taking her for drives in the Bois!  Raouls fingers clutched at his flesh, above his jealous heart. In his inexperience, he now asked himself with terror what game the girl was playing? Up to what point could an operasinger make a fool of a goodnatured young man, quite new to love? O misery!  Thus did Raouls thoughts fly from one extreme to the other. He no longer knew whether to pity Christine or to curse her; and he pitied and cursed her turn and turn about. At all events, he bought a white domino. The hour of the appointment came at last. With his face in a mask trimmed with long, thick lace, looking like a pierrot in his white wrap, the viscount thought himself very ridiculous. Men of the world do not go to the Opera ball in fancydress! It was absurd. One thought, however, consoled the viscount he would certainly never be recognized! This ball was an exceptional affair, given some time before Shrovetide, in honor of the anniversary of the birth of a famous draftsman; and it was expected to be much gayer, noisier, more Bohemian than the ordinary masked ball. Numbers of artists had arranged to go, accompanied by a whole cohort of models and pupils, who, by midnight, began to create a tremendous din. Raoul climbed the grand staircase at five minutes to twelve, did not linger to look at the motley dresses displayed all the way up the marble steps, one of the richest settings in the world, allowed no facetious mask to draw him into a war of wits, replied to no jests and shook off the bold familiarity of a number of couples who had already become a trifle too gay. Crossing the big crushroom and escaping from a mad whirl of dancers in which he was caught for a moment, he at last entered the room mentioned in Christines letter. He found it crammed; for this small space was the point where all those who were going to supper in the Rotunda crossed those who were returning from taking a glass of champagne. The fun, here, waxed fast and furious. Raoul leaned against a doorpost and waited. He did not wait long. A black domino passed and gave a quick squeeze to the tips of his fingers. He understood that it was she and followed her Is that you, Christine? he asked, between his teeth. The black domino turned round promptly and raised her finger to her lips, no doubt to warn him not to mention her name again. Raoul continued to follow her in silence. He was afraid of losing her, after meeting her again in such strange circumstances. His grudge against her was gone. He no longer doubted that she had nothing to reproach herself with, however peculiar and inexplicable her conduct might seem. He was ready to make any display of clemency, forgiveness or cowardice. He was in love. And, no doubt, he would soon receive a very natural explanation of her curious absence. The black domino turned back from time to time to see if the white domino was still following. As Raoul once more passed through the great crushroom, this time in the wake of his guide, he could not help noticing a group crowding round a person whose disguise, eccentric air and gruesome appearance were causing a sensation. It was a man dressed all in scarlet, with a huge hat and feathers on the top of a wonderful deaths head. From his shoulders hung an immense redvelvet cloak, which trailed along the floor like a kings train; and on this cloak was embroidered, in gold letters, which everyone read and repeated aloud, Dont touch me! I am Red Death stalking abroad! Then one, greatly daring, did try to touch him  but a skeleton hand shot out of a crimson sleeve and violently seized the rash ones wrist; and he, feeling the clutch of the knucklebones, the furious grasp of Death, uttered a cry of pain and terror. When Red Death released him at last, he ran away like a very madman, pursued by the jeers of the bystanders. It was at this moment that Raoul passed in front of the funereal masquerader, who had just happened to turn in his direction. And he nearly exclaimed The deaths head of PerrosGuirec! He had recognized him!  He wanted to dart forward, forgetting Christine; but the black domino, who also seemed a prey to some strange excitement, caught him by the arm and dragged him from the crushroom, far from the mad crowd through which Red Death was stalking.  The black domino kept on turning back and, apparently, on two occasions saw something that startled her, for she hurried her pace and Raouls as though they were being pursued. They went up two floors. Here, the stairs and corridors were almost deserted. The black domino opened the door of a private box and beckoned to the white domino to follow her. Then Christine, whom he recognized by the sound of her voice, closed the door behind them and warned him, in a whisper, to remain at the back of the box and on no account to show himself. Raoul took off his mask. Christine kept hers on. And, when Raoul was about to ask her to remove it, he was surprised to see her put her ear to the partition and listen eagerly for a sound outside. Then she opened the door ajar, looked out into the corridor and, in a low voice, said He must have gone up higher. Suddenly she exclaimed He is coming down again! She tried to close the door, but Raoul prevented her; for he had seen, on the top step of the staircase that led to the floor above, a red foot, followed by another  and slowly, majestically, the whole scarlet dress of Red Death met his eyes. And he once more saw the deaths head of PerrosGuirec. Its he! he exclaimed. This time, he shall not escape me!  But Christine had slammed the door at the moment when Raoul was on the point of rushing out. He tried to push her aside. Whom do you mean by he? she asked, in a changed voice. Who shall not escape you? Raoul tried to overcome the girls resistance by force, but she repelled him with a strength which he would not have suspected in her. He understood, or thought he understood, and at once lost his temper. Who? he repeated angrily. Why, he, the man who hides behind that hideous mask of death!  The evil genius of the churchyard at Perros!  Red Death!  In a word, madam, your friend  your Angel of Music!  But I shall snatch off his mask, as I shall snatch off my own; and, this time, we shall look each other in the face, he and I, with no veil and no lies between us; and I shall know whom you love and who loves you! He burst into a mad laugh, while Christine gave a disconsolate moan behind her velvet mask. With a tragic gesture, she flung out her two arms, which fixed a barrier of white flesh against the door. In the name of our love, Raoul, you shall not pass!  He stopped. What had she said?  In the name of their love?  Never before had she confessed that she loved him. And yet she had had opportunities enough.  Pooh, her only object was to gain a few seconds!  She wished to give the Red Death time to escape.  And, in accents of childish hatred, he said You lie, madam, for you do not love me and you have never loved me! What a poor fellow I must be to let you mock and flout me as you have done! Why did you give me every reason for hope, at Perros  for honest hope, madam, for I am an honest man and I believed you to be an honest woman, when your only intention was to deceive me! Alas, you have deceived us all! You have taken a shameful advantage of the candid affection of your benefactress herself, who continues to believe in your sincerity while you go about the Opera ball with Red Death!  I despise you!  And he burst into tears. She allowed him to insult her. She thought of but one thing, to keep him from leaving the box. You will beg my pardon, one day, for all those ugly words, Raoul, and when you do I shall forgive you! He shook his head. No, no, you have driven me mad! When I think that I had only one object in life to give my name to an opera wench! Raoul!  How can you? I shall die of shame! No, dear, live! said Christines grave and changed voice. And  goodbye. Goodbye, Raoul  The boy stepped forward, staggering as he went. He risked one more sarcasm Oh, you must let me come and applaud you from time to time! I shall never sing again, Raoul!  Really? he replied, still more satirically. So he is taking you off the stage I congratulate you!  But we shall meet in the Bois, one of these evenings! Not in the Bois nor anywhere, Raoul you shall not see me again  May one ask at least to what darkness you are returning?  For what hell are you leaving, mysterious lady  or for what paradise? I came to tell you, dear, but I cant tell you now  you would not believe me! You have lost faith in me, Raoul; it is finished! She spoke in such a despairing voice that the lad began to feel remorse for his cruelty. But look here! he cried. Cant you tell me what all this means!  You are free, there is no one to interfere with you.  You go about Paris.  You put on a domino to come to the ball.  Why do you not go home?  What have you been doing this past fortnight?  What is this tale about the Angel of Music, which you have been telling Mamma Valrius? Someone may have taken you in, played upon your innocence. I was a witness of it myself, at Perros  but you know what to believe now! You seem to me quite sensible, Christine. You know what you are doing.  And meanwhile Mamma Valrius lies waiting for you at home and appealing to your good genius!  Explain yourself, Christine, I beg of you! Anyone might have been deceived as I was. What is this farce? Christine simply took off her mask and said Dear, it is a tragedy! Raoul now saw her face and could not restrain an exclamation of surprise and terror. The fresh complexion of former days was gone. A mortal pallor covered those features, which he had known so charming and so gentle, and sorrow had furrowed them with pitiless lines and traced dark and unspeakably sad shadows under her eyes. My dearest! My dearest! he moaned, holding out his arms. You promised to forgive me  Perhaps!  Some day, perhaps! she said, resuming her mask; and she went away, forbidding him, with a gesture, to follow her. He tried to disobey her; but she turned round and repeated her gesture of farewell with such authority that he dared not move a step. He watched her till she was out of sight. Then he also went down among the crowd, hardly knowing what he was doing, with throbbing temples and an aching heart; and, as he crossed the dancingfloor, he asked if anybody had seen Red Death. Yes, everyone had seen Red Death; but Raoul could not find him; and, at two oclock in the morning, he turned down the passage, behind the scenes, that led to Christine Daas dressingroom. His footsteps took him to that room where he had first known suffering. He tapped at the door. There was no answer. He entered, as he had entered when he looked everywhere for the mans voice. The room was empty. A gasjet was burning, turned down low. He saw some writingpaper on a little desk. He thought of writing to Christine, but he heard steps in the passage. He had only time to hide in the inner room, which was separated from the dressingroom by a curtain. Christine entered, took off her mask with a weary movement and flung it on the table. She sighed and let her pretty head fall into her two hands. What was she thinking of? Of Raoul? No, for Raoul heard her murmur Poor Erik! At first, he thought he must be mistaken. To begin with, he was persuaded that, if anyone was to be pitied, it was he, Raoul. It would have been quite natural if she had said, Poor Raoul, after what had happened between them. But, shaking her head, she repeated Poor Erik! What had this Erik to do with Christines sighs and why was she pitying Erik when Raoul was so unhappy? Christine began to write, deliberately, calmly and so placidly that Raoul, who was still trembling from the effects of the tragedy that separated them, was painfully impressed. What coolness! he said to himself. She wrote on, filling two, three, four sheets. Suddenly, she raised her head and hid the sheets in her bodice.  She seemed to be listening.  Raoul also listened.  Whence came that strange sound, that distant rhythm?  A faint singing seemed to issue from the walls  yes, it was as though the walls themselves were singing!  The song became plainer  the words were now distinguishable  he heard a voice, a very beautiful, very soft, very captivating voice  but, for all its softness, it remained a male voice.  The voice came nearer and nearer  it came through the wall  it approached  and now the voice was in the room, in front of Christine. Christine rose and addressed the voice, as though speaking to someone Here I am, Erik, she said. I am ready. But you are late. Raoul, peeping from behind the curtain, could not believe his eyes, which showed him nothing. Christines face lit up. A smile of happiness appeared upon her bloodless lips, a smile like that of sick people when they receive the first hope of recovery. The voice without a body went on singing; and certainly Raoul had never in his life heard anything more absolutely and heroically sweet, more gloriously insidious, more delicate, more powerful, in short, more irresistibly triumphant. He listened to it in a fever and he now began to understand how Christine Daa was able to appear one evening, before the stupefied audience, with accents of a beauty hitherto unknown, of a superhuman exaltation, while doubtless still under the influence of the mysterious and invisible master. The voice was singing the Weddingnight Song from Romeo and Juliet. Raoul saw Christine stretch out her arms to the voice as she had done, in Perros churchyard, to the invisible violin playing The Resurrection of Lazarus. And nothing could describe the passion with which the voice sang Fate links thee to me forever and a day! The strains went through Raouls heart. Struggling against the charm that seemed to deprive him of all his will and all his energy and of almost all his lucidity at the moment when he needed them most, he succeeded in drawing back the curtain that hid him and he walked to where Christine stood. She herself was moving to the back of the room, the whole wall of which was occupied by a great mirror that reflected her image, but not his, for he was just behind her and entirely covered by her. Fate links thee to me forever and a day! Christine walked toward her image in the glass and the image came toward her. The two Christinesthe real one and the reflectionended by touching; and Raoul put out his arms to clasp the two in one embrace. But, by a sort of dazzling miracle that sent him staggering, Raoul was suddenly flung back, while an icy blast swept over his face; he saw, not two, but four, eight, twenty Christines spinning round him, laughing at him and fleeing so swiftly that he could not touch one of them. At last, everything stood still again; and he saw himself in the glass. But Christine had disappeared. He rushed up to the glass. He struck at the walls. Nobody! And meanwhile the room still echoed with a distant passionate singing Fate links thee to me forever and a day! Which way, which way had Christine gone?  Which way would she return?  Would she return? Alas, had she not declared to him that everything was finished? And was the voice not repeating Fate links thee to me forever and a day! To me? To whom? Then, worn out, beaten, emptybrained, he sat down on the chair which Christine had just left. Like her, he let his head fall into his hands. When he raised it, the tears were streaming down his young cheeks, real, heavy tears like those which jealous children shed, tears that wept for a sorrow which was in no way fanciful, but which is common to all the lovers on earth and which he expressed aloud Who is this Erik? he said. X Forget the Name of the Mans Voice The day after Christine had vanished before his eyes in a sort of dazzlement that still made him doubt the evidence of his senses, M. le Vicomte de Chagny called to inquire at Mamma Valrius. He came upon a charming picture. Christine herself was seated by the bedside of the old lady, who was sitting up against the pillows, knitting. The pink and white had returned to the young girls cheeks. The dark rings round her eyes had disappeared. Raoul no longer recognized the tragic face of the day before. If the veil of melancholy over those adorable features had not still appeared to the young man as the last trace of the weird drama in whose toils that mysterious child was struggling, he could have believed that Christine was not its heroine at all. She rose, without showing any emotion, and offered him her hand. But Raouls stupefaction was so great that he stood there dumbfounded, without a gesture, without a word. Well, M. de Chagny, exclaimed Mamma Valrius, dont you know our Christine? Her good genius has sent her back to us! Mamma! the girl broke in promptly, while a deep blush mantled to her eyes. I thought, mamma, that there was to be no more question of that!  You know there is no such thing as the Angel of Music! But, child, he gave you lessons for three months! Mamma, I have promised to explain everything to you one of these days; and I hope to do so  but you have promised me, until that day, to be silent and to ask me no more questions whatever! Provided that you promised never to leave me again! But have you promised that, Christine? Mamma, all this can not interest M. de Chagny. On the contrary, mademoiselle, said the young man, in a voice which he tried to make firm and brave, but which still trembled, anything that concerns you interests me to an extent which perhaps you will one day understand. I do not deny that my surprise equals my pleasure at finding you with your adopted mother and that, after what happened between us yesterday, after what you said and what I was able to guess, I hardly expected to see you here so soon. I should be the first to delight at your return, if you were not so bent on preserving a secrecy that may be fatal to you  and I have been your friend too long not to be alarmed, with Mme.