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

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 today 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 Valérius 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 forever.⁠ ⁠… 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?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Then I swear to do as you ask.”

He kissed her hands and went away, cursing Erik and resolving to be patient.

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 goodbye forever!”

“Unless, Christine, we pledge our faith and wait for each other forever.”

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