The Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux (bill gates best books .TXT) 📗

knew her; and also M. Isidore Saack, who had had a leg broken by the ghost!

“Indeed!” said Moncharmin, interrupting her. “Did the ghost break poor Isidore Saack’s leg?”

Mame Giry opened her eyes with astonishment at such ignorance. However, she consented to enlighten those two poor innocents. The thing had happened in M. Debienne and M. Poligny’s time, also in Box Five and also during a performance of Faust. Mame Giry coughed, cleared her throat⁠—it sounded as though she were preparing to sing the whole of Gounod’s score⁠—and began:

“It was like this, sir. That night, M. Maniera and his lady, the jewelers in the Rue Mogador, were sitting in the front of the box, with their great friend, M. Isidore Saack, sitting behind Mme. Maniera. Mephistopheles was singing”⁠—Mame Giry here burst into song herself⁠—“ ‘Catarina, while you play at sleeping,’ and then M. Maniera heard a voice in his right ear (his wife was on his left) saying, ‘Ha, ha! Julie’s not playing at sleeping!’ His wife happened to be called Julie. So M. Maniera turns to the right to see who was talking to him like that. Nobody there! He rubs his ear and asks himself if he’s dreaming. Then Mephistopheles went on with his serenade.⁠ ⁠… But, perhaps I’m boring you gentlemen?”

“No, no, go on.”

“You are too good, gentlemen,” with a smirk. “Well, then, Mephistopheles went on with his serenade”⁠—Mame Giry burst into song again⁠—“ ‘Saint, unclose thy portals holy and accord the bliss, to a mortal bending lowly, of a pardon-kiss.’ And then M. Maniera again hears the voice in his right ear, saying, this time, ‘Ha, ha! Julie wouldn’t mind according a kiss to Isidore!’ Then he turns round again, but, this time, to the left; and what do you think he sees? Isidore, who had taken his lady’s hand and was covering it with kisses through the little round place in the glove⁠—like this, gentlemen”⁠—rapturously kissing the bit of palm left bare in the middle of her thread gloves. “Then they had a lively time between them! Bang! Bang! M. Maniera, who was big and strong, like you, M. Richard, gave two blows to M. 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! He’ll 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. Maniera’s 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 I’m 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 Rémy, 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, “you’d 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 ghost’s box.⁠ ⁠… Well, when Léopold cries, ‘Let us fly!’⁠—you know⁠—and Eléazer stops them and says, ‘Whither go ye?’⁠ ⁠… well, M. Poligny⁠—I was watching him from the back of the next box, which was empty⁠—M. Poligny got up and walked out quite stiffly, like a statue, and before I had time to ask him, ‘Whither go ye?’ like Eléazer, he was down the staircase, but without breaking his leg.⁠ ⁠…”

“Still, that doesn’t 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 ghost’s 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 man’s voice, oh, such a lovely man’s voice! This is what happens: When he comes to the opera, it’s 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 Jules’⁠—my poor husband’s name was Jules⁠—‘a footstool, please.’ Saving your presence, gentlemen, it made me feel all-overish like. But the voice went on, ‘Don’t be frightened, Mame Jules, I’m 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 wasn’t 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 box-keeper, was waving his arms to attract their attention. He tapped his forehead with a distressful forefinger, to convey his opinion