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
her. She gave her soul again tonight and did not give it to you... If
she will not tell you what she has been doing the past two days ... you
must go and ask Erik!" He ran behind the scenes and placed himself in her way. She saw him
for her eyes were looking for him. She said:

"Quick! Quick! ... Come!" And she dragged him to her dressing-room. Raoul at once threw himself on his knees before her. He swore to her
that he would go and he entreated her never again to withhold a single
hour of the ideal happiness which she had promised him. She let her
tears flow. They kissed like a despairing brother and sister who have
been smitten with a common loss and who meet to mourn a dead parent. Suddenly, she snatched herself from the young man's soft and timid
embrace, seemed to listen to something, and, with a quick gesture,
pointed to the door. When he was on the threshold, she said, in so low
a voice that the viscount guessed rather than heard her words:

"To-morrow, my dear betrothed! And be happy, Raoul:  I sang for you
to-night!" He returned the next day. But those two days of absence had broken the
charm of their delightful make-believe.