The Phantom of the Opera
to be alarmed, with Mme. Valerius, at a disastrous adventure which will
remain dangerous so long as we have not unraveled its threads and of
which you will certainly end by being the victim, Christine."
At these words, Mamma Valerius tossed about in her bed.
"What does this mean?" she cried. "Is Christine in danger?"
"Yes, madame," said Raoul courageously, notwithstanding the signs which
Christine made to him.
"My God!" exclaimed the good, simple old woman, gasping for breath.
"You must tell me everything, Christine! Why did you try to reassure
me? And what danger is it, M. de Chagny?"
"An impostor is abusing her good faith."
"Is the Angel of Music an impostor?"
"She told you herself that there is no Angel of Music."
"But then what is it, in Heaven's name? You will be the death of me!"
"There is a terrible mystery around us, madame, around you, around
Christine, a mystery much more to be feared than any number of ghosts
or genii!"
Mamma Valerius turned a terrified face to Christine, who had already
run to her adopted mother and was holding her in her arms.
"Don't believe him, mummy, don't believe him," she repeated.
"Then tell me that you will never leave me again," implored the widow.
Christine was silent and Raoul resumed.
"That is what you must promise, Christine. It is the only thing that
can reassure your mother and me. We will undertake not to ask you a
single question about the past, if you promise us to remain under our
protection in future."
"That is an undertaking which I have not asked of you and a promise
which I refuse to make you!" said the young girl haughtily. "I am
mistress of my own actions, M. de Chagny: you have no right to control
them, and I will beg you to desist henceforth. As to what I have done
during the last fortnight, there is only one man in the world who has
the right to demand an account of me: my husband! Well, I have no
husband and I never mean to marry!"
She threw out her hands to emphasize her words and Raoul turned pale,
not only because of the words which he had heard, but because he had
caught sight of a plain gold ring on Christine's finger.
"You have no husband and yet you wear a wedding-ring."
He tried to seize her hand, but she swiftly drew it back.
"That's a present!" she said, blushing once more and vainly striving to
hide her embarrassment.
"Christine! As you have no husband, that ring can only have been given
by one who hopes to make you his wife! Why deceive us further? Why
torture me still more? That ring is a promise; and that promise has
been accepted!"
"That's what I said!" exclaimed the old lady.
"And what did she answer, madame?"
"What I chose," said Christine, driven to exasperation. "Don't you
think, monsieur, that this cross-examination has lasted long enough?
As far as I am concerned ..."
Raoul was afraid to let her finish her speech. He interrupted her:
"I beg your pardon for speaking as I did, mademoiselle. You know the
good intentions that make me meddle, just now, in matters which, you no
doubt think, have nothing to do with me. But allow me to tell you what
I have seen--and I have seen more than you suspect, Christine--or what
I thought I saw, for, to tell you the truth, I have sometimes been
inclined to doubt the evidence of my eyes."
"Well, what did you see, sir, or think you saw?"
"I saw your ecstasy AT THE SOUND OF THE VOICE, Christine: the voice
that came from the wall or the next room to yours ... yes, YOUR
ECSTASY! And that is what makes me alarmed on your behalf. You are
under a very dangerous spell. And yet it seems that you are aware of
the imposture, because you say to-day THAT THERE IS NO ANGEL OF MUSIC!
In that case, Christine, why did you follow him that time? Why did you
stand up, with radiant features, as though you were really hearing
angels? ... Ah, it is a very dangerous voice, Christine, for I myself,
when I heard it, was so much fascinated by it that you vanished before
my eyes without my seeing which way you passed! Christine, Christine,
in the name of Heaven, in the name of your father who is in Heaven now
and who loved you so dearly and who loved me too, Christine, tell us,
tell your benefactress and me, to whom does that voice belong? If you
do, we will save you in spite of yourself. Come, Christine, the name
of the man! The name of the man who had the audacity to put a ring on
your finger!"
"M. de Chagny," the girl declared coldly, "you shall never know!"
Thereupon, seeing the hostility with which her ward had addressed the
viscount, Mamma Valerius suddenly took Christine's part.
"And, if she does love that man, Monsieur le Vicomte, even then it is
no business of yours!"
"Alas, madame," Raoul humbly replied, unable to restrain his tears,
"alas, I believe that Christine really does love him! ... But it is not
only that which drives me to despair; for what I am not certain of,
madame, is that the man whom Christine loves is worthy of her love!"
"It is for me to be the judge of that, monsieur!" said Christine,
looking Raoul angrily in the face.
"When a man," continued Raoul, "adopts such romantic methods to entice
a young girl's affections. .."
"The man must be either a villain, or the girl a fool: is that it?"
"Christine!"
"Raoul, why do you condemn a man whom you have never seen, whom no one
knows and about whom you yourself know nothing?"
"Yes, Christine ... Yes ... I at least know the name that you thought
to keep from me for ever ... The name of your Angel of Music,
mademoiselle, is Erik!"
Christine at once betrayed herself. She turned as white as a sheet and
stammered: "Who told you?"
"You yourself!"
"How do you mean?"
"By pitying him the other night, the night of the masked ball. When
you went to your dressing-room, did you not say, 'Poor Erik?' Well,
Christine, there was a poor Raoul who overheard you."
"This is the second time that you have listened behind the door, M. de
Chagny!"
"I was not behind the door ... I was in the dressing-room, in the inner
room, mademoiselle."
"Oh, unhappy man!" moaned the girl, showing every sign of unspeakable
terror. "Unhappy man! Do you want to be killed?"
"Perhaps."
Raoul uttered this "perhaps" with so much love and despair in his voice
that Christine could not keep back a sob. She took his hands and
looked at him with all the pure affection of which she was capable:
"Raoul," she said, "forget THE MAN'S VOICE and do not even remember its
name... You must never try to fathom the mystery of THE MAN'S VOICE."
"Is the mystery so very terrible?"
"There is no more awful mystery on this earth. Swear to me that you
will make no attempt to find out," she insisted. "Swear to me that you
will never come to my dressing-room, unless I send for you."
"Then you promise to send for me sometimes, Christine?"
"I promise."
"When?"
"To-morrow."
"Then I swear to do as you ask."
He kissed her hands and went away, cursing Erik and resolving to be
patient.
Chapter XI Above the Trap-Doors
The next day, he saw her at the Opera. She was still wearing the plain
gold ring. She was gentle and kind to him. She talked to him of the
plans which he was forming, of his future, of his career.
He told her that the date of the Polar expedition had been put forward
and that he would leave France in three weeks, or a month at latest.
She suggested, almost gaily, that he must look upon the voyage with
delight, as a stage toward his coming fame. And when he replied that
fame without love was no attraction in his eyes, she treated him as a
child whose sorrows were only short-lived.
"How can you speak so lightly of such serious things?" he asked.
"Perhaps we shall never see each other again! I may die during that
expedition."
"Or I," she said simply.
She no longer smiled or jested. She seemed to be thinking of some new
thing that had entered her mind for the first time. Her eyes were all
aglow with it.
"What are you thinking of, Christine?"
"I am thinking that we shall not see each other again ..."
"And does that make you so radiant?"
"And that, in a month, we shall have to say good-by for ever!"
"Unless, Christine, we pledge our faith and wait for each other for
ever."
She put her hand on his mouth.
"Hush, Raoul! ... You know there is no question of that ... And we
shall never be married: that is understood!"
She seemed suddenly almost unable to contain an overpowering gaiety.
She clapped her hands with childish glee. Raoul stared at her in
amazement.
"But ... but," she continued, holding out her two hands to Raoul, or
rather giving them to him, as though she had suddenly resolved to make
him a present of them, "but if we can not be married, we can ... we can
be engaged! Nobody will know but ourselves, Raoul. There have been
plenty of secret marriages: why not a secret engagement? ... We are
engaged, dear, for a month! In a month, you will go away, and I can be
happy at the thought of that month all my life long!"
She was enchanted with her inspiration. Then she became serious again.
"This," she said, "IS A HAPPINESS THAT WILL HARM NO ONE."
Raoul jumped at the idea. He bowed to Christine and said:
"Mademoiselle, I have the honor to ask for your hand."
"Why, you have both of them already, my dear betrothed! ... Oh, Raoul,
how happy we shall be! ... We must play at being engaged all day long."
It was the prettiest game in the world and they enjoyed it like the
children that they were. Oh, the wonderful speeches they made to each
other and the eternal vows they exchanged! They played at hearts as
other children might play at ball; only, as it was really their two
hearts that they flung to and fro, they had to be very, very handy to
catch them, each time, without hurting them.
One day, about a week after the game began, Raoul's heart was badly
hurt and he stopped playing and uttered these wild words:
"I shan't go to the North Pole!"
Christine, who, in her innocence, had not dreamed of such a
possibility, suddenly discovered the danger of the game and reproached
herself bitterly. She did not say a word in reply to Raoul's remark
and went straight home.
This happened in the afternoon, in the singer's dressing-room, where
they met every day and where they amused themselves by dining on three
biscuits, two glasses of port and a bunch of violets. In the evening,
she did not sing; and he did not receive his usual letter, though they
had arranged to write to each other daily during that month. The next
morning, he ran off to Mamma Valerius, who told him that Christine had
gone away for two days. She had left at five o'clock the day before.
Raoul was distracted. He hated Mamma Valerius for giving him such news
as that with such stupefying calmness. He tried to sound her, but the
old lady obviously knew nothing.
Christine returned on the following day. She returned in triumph. She
renewed her extraordinary success of the gala performance. Since the
adventure of the "toad," Carlotta had not been able to appear on the
stage. The terror of a fresh "co-ack" filled her heart and deprived
her of all her power of singing; and the theater that had witnessed her
incomprehensible disgrace had become odious to her. She contrived to
cancel her contract. Daae was offered the vacant place for the time.
She received thunders of applause in the Juive.
The viscount, who, of course, was present, was the only one to suffer
on hearing the thousand echoes of this fresh triumph; for Christine
still wore her plain gold ring. A distant voice whispered in the young
man's ear:
"She is wearing the ring again to-night; and you did not give it to