The Phantom of the Opera
meeting Gabriel's eye, said nothing.
However, Mercier felt his responsibility increased as the minutes
passed without the managers' appearing; and, at last, he could stand it
no longer.
"Look here, I'll go and hunt them out myself!"
Gabriel, turning very gloomy and serious, stopped him.
"Be careful what you're doing, Mercier! If they're staying in their
office, it's probably because they have to! O. G. has more than one
trick in his bag!"
But Mercier shook his head.
"That's their lookout! I'm going! If people had listened to me, the
police would have known everything long ago!"
And he went.
"What's everything?" asked Remy. "What was there to tell the police?
Why don't you answer, Gabriel? ... Ah, so you know something! Well,
you would do better to tell me, too, if you don't want me to shout out
that you are all going mad! ... Yes, that's what you are: mad!"
Gabriel put on a stupid look and pretended not to understand the
private secretary's unseemly outburst.
"What 'something' am I supposed to know?" he said. "I don't know what
you mean."
Remy began to lose his temper.
"This evening, Richard and Moncharmin were behaving like lunatics,
here, between the acts."
"I never noticed it," growled Gabriel, very much annoyed.
"Then you're the only one! ... Do you think that I didn't see them? ...
And that M. Parabise, the manager of the Credit Central, noticed
nothing? ... And that M. de La Borderie, the ambassador, has no eyes to
see with? ... Why, all the subscribers were pointing at our managers!"
"But what were our managers doing?" asked Gabriel, putting on his most
innocent air.
"What were they doing? You know better than any one what they were
doing! ... You were there! ... And you were watching them, you and
Mercier! ... And you were the only two who didn't laugh."
"I don't understand!"
Gabriel raised his arms and dropped them to his sides again, which
gesture was meant to convey that the question did not interest him in
the least. Remy continued:
"What is the sense of this new mania of theirs? WHY WON'T THEY HAVE
ANY ONE COME NEAR THEM NOW?"
"What? WON'T THEY HAVE ANY ONE COME NEAR THEM?"
"AND THEY WON'T LET ANY ONE TOUCH THEM!"
"Really? Have you noticed THAT THEY WON'T LET ANY ONE TOUCH THEM?
That is certainly odd!"
"Oh, so you admit it! And high time, too! And THEN, THEY WALK
BACKWARD!"
"BACKWARD! You have seen our managers WALK BACKWARD? Why, I thought
that only crabs walked backward!"
"Don't laugh, Gabriel; don't laugh!"
"I'm not laughing," protested Gabriel, looking as solemn as a judge.
"Perhaps you can tell me this, Gabriel, as you're an intimate friend of
the management: When I went up to M. Richard, outside the foyer,
during the Garden interval, with my hand out before me, why did M.
Moncharmin hurriedly whisper to me, 'Go away! Go away! Whatever you
do, don't touch M. le Directeur!' Am I supposed to have an infectious
disease?"
"It's incredible!"
"And, a little later, when M. de La Borderie went up to M. Richard,
didn't you see M. Moncharmin fling himself between them and hear him
exclaim, 'M. l'Ambassadeur I entreat you not to touch M. le Directeur'?"
"It's terrible! ... And what was Richard doing meanwhile?"
"What was he doing? Why, you saw him! He turned about, BOWED IN FRONT
OF HIM, THOUGH THERE WAS NOBODY IN FRONT OF HIM, AND WITHDREW BACKWARD."
"BACKWARD?"
"And Moncharmin, behind Richard, also turned about; that is, he
described a semicircle behind Richard and also WALKED BACKWARD! ... And
they went LIKE THAT to the staircase leading to the managers' office:
BACKWARD, BACKWARD, BACKWARD! ... Well, if they are not mad, will you
explain what it means?"
"Perhaps they were practising a figure in the ballet," suggested
Gabriel, without much conviction in his voice.
The secretary was furious at this wretched joke, made at so dramatic a
moment. He knit his brows and contracted his lips. Then he put his
mouth to Gabriel's ear:
"Don't be so sly, Gabriel. There are things going on for which you and
Mercier are partly responsible."
"What do you mean?" asked Gabriel.
"Christine Daae is not the only one who suddenly disappeared to-night."
"Oh, nonsense!"
"There's no nonsense about it. Perhaps you can tell me why, when
Mother Giry came down to the foyer just now, Mercier took her by the
hand and hurried her away with him?"
"Really?" said Gabriel, "I never saw it."
"You did see it, Gabriel, for you went with Mercier and Mother Giry to
Mercier's office. Since then, you and Mercier have been seen, but no
one has seen Mother Giry."
"Do you think we've eaten her?"
"No, but you've locked her up in the office; and any one passing the
office can hear her yelling, 'Oh, the scoundrels! Oh, the scoundrels!'"
At this point of this singular conversation, Mercier arrived, all out
of breath.
"There!" he said, in a gloomy voice. "It's worse than ever! ... I
shouted, 'It's a serious matter! Open the door! It's I, Mercier.' I
heard footsteps. The door opened and Moncharmin appeared. He was very
pale. He said, 'What do you want?' I answered, 'Some one has run away
with Christine Daae.' What do you think he said? 'And a good job,
too!' And he shut the door, after putting this in my hand."
Mercier opened his hand; Remy and Gabriel looked.
"The safety-pin!" cried Remy.
"Strange! Strange!" muttered Gabriel, who could not help shivering.
Suddenly a voice made them all three turn round.
"I beg your pardon, gentlemen. Could you tell me where Christine Daae
is?"
In spite of the seriousness of the circumstances, the absurdity of the
question would have made them roar with laughter, if they had not
caught sight of a face so sorrow-stricken that they were at once seized
with pity. It was the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.
Chapter XV Christine! Christine!
Raoul's first thought, after Christine Daae's fantastic disappearance,
was to accuse Erik. He no longer doubted the almost supernatural
powers of the Angel of Music, in this domain of the Opera in which he
had set up his empire. And Raoul rushed on the stage, in a mad fit of
love and despair.
"Christine! Christine!" he moaned, calling to her as he felt that she
must be calling to him from the depths of that dark pit to which the
monster had carried her. "Christine! Christine!"
And he seemed to hear the girl's screams through the frail boards that
separated him from her. He bent forward, he listened, ... he wandered
over the stage like a madman. Ah, to descend, to descend into that pit
of darkness every entrance to which was closed to him, ... for the
stairs that led below the stage were forbidden to one and all that
night!
"Christine! Christine! ..."
People pushed him aside, laughing. They made fun of him. They thought
the poor lover's brain was gone!
By what mad road, through what passages of mystery and darkness known
to him alone had Erik dragged that pure-souled child to the awful
haunt, with the Louis-Philippe room, opening out on the lake?
"Christine! Christine! ... Why don't you answer? ... Are you alive?
..."
Hideous thoughts flashed through Raoul's congested brain. Of course,
Erik must have discovered their secret, must have known that Christine
had played him false. What a vengeance would be his!
And Raoul thought again of the yellow stars that had come, the night
before, and roamed over his balcony. Why had he not put them out for
good? There were some men's eyes that dilated in the darkness and
shone like stars or like cats' eyes. Certainly Albinos, who seemed to
have rabbits' eyes by day, had cats' eyes at night: everybody knew
that! ... Yes, yes, he had undoubtedly fired at Erik. Why had he not
killed him? The monster had fled up the gutter-spout like a cat or a
convict who--everybody knew that also--would scale the very skies, with
the help of a gutter-spout ... No doubt Erik was at that time
contemplating some decisive step against Raoul, but he had been wounded
and had escaped to turn against poor Christine instead.
Such were the cruel thoughts that haunted Raoul as he ran to the
singer's dressing-room.
"Christine! Christine!"
Bitter tears scorched the boy's eyelids as he saw scattered over the
furniture the clothes which his beautiful bride was to have worn at the
hour of their flight. Oh, why had she refused to leave earlier?
Why had she toyed with the threatening catastrophe? Why toyed with the
monster's heart? Why, in a final access of pity, had she insisted on
flinging, as a last sop to that demon's soul, her divine song:
"Holy angel, in Heaven blessed,
My spirit longs with thee to rest!"
Raoul, his throat filled with sobs, oaths and insults, fumbled
awkwardly at the great mirror that had opened one night, before his
eyes, to let Christine pass to the murky dwelling below. He pushed,
pressed, groped about, but the glass apparently obeyed no one but Erik
... Perhaps actions were not enough with a glass of the kind? Perhaps
he was expected to utter certain words? When he was a little boy, he
had heard that there were things that obeyed the spoken word!
Suddenly, Raoul remembered something about a gate opening into the Rue
Scribe, an underground passage running straight to the Rue Scribe from
the lake ... Yes, Christine had told him about that... And, when he
found that the key was no longer in the box, he nevertheless ran to the
Rue Scribe. Outside, in the street, he passed his trembling hands over
the huge stones, felt for outlets ... met with iron bars ... were those
they? ... Or these? ... Or could it be that air-hole? ... He plunged
his useless eyes through the bars ... How dark it was in there! ... He
listened ... All was silence! ... He went round the building ... and
came to bigger bars, immense gates! ... It was the entrance to the Cour
de l'Administration.
Raoul rushed into the doorkeeper's lodge.
"I beg your pardon, madame, could you tell me where to find a gate or
door, made of bars, iron bars, opening into the Rue Scribe ... and
leading to the lake? ... You know the lake I mean? ... Yes, the
underground lake ... under the Opera."
"Yes, sir, I know there is a lake under the Opera, but I don't know
which door leads to it. I have never been there!"
"And the Rue Scribe, madame, the Rue Scribe? Have you never been to
the Rue Scribe?"
The woman laughed, screamed with laughter! Raoul darted away, roaring
with anger, ran up-stairs, four stairs at a time, down-stairs, rushed
through the whole of the business side of the opera-house, found
himself once more in the light of the stage.
He stopped, with his heart thumping in his chest: suppose Christine
Daae had been found? He saw a group of men and asked:
"I beg your pardon, gentlemen. Could you tell me where Christine Daae
is?"
And somebody laughed.
At the same moment the stage buzzed with a new sound and, amid a crowd
of men in evening-dress, all talking and gesticulating together,
appeared a man who seemed very calm and displayed a pleasant face, all
pink and chubby-cheeked, crowned with curly hair and lit up by a pair
of wonderfully serene blue eyes. Mercier, the acting-manager, called
the Vicomte de Chagny's attention to him and said:
"This is the gentleman to whom you should put your question, monsieur.
Let me introduce Mifroid, the commissary of police."
"Ah, M. le Vicomte de Chagny! Delighted to meet you, monsieur," said
the commissary. "Would you mind coming with me? ... And now where are
the managers? ... Where are the managers?"
Mercier did not answer, and Remy, the secretary, volunteered the
information that the managers were locked up in their office and that