If you refuse, you will give FAUST to-night in a house with a curse
upon it. Take my advice and be warned in time. O. G.

"Look here, I'm getting sick of him, sick of him!" shouted Richard,
bringing his fists down on his office-table. Just then, Mercier, the acting-manager, entered. "Lachenel would like to see one of you gentlemen," he said. "He says
that his business is urgent and he seems quite upset." "Who's Lachenel?" asked Richard. "He's your stud-groom." "What do you mean? My stud-groom?" "Yes, sir," explained Mercier, "there are several grooms at the Opera
and M. Lachenel is at the head of them." "And what does this groom do?" "He has the chief management of the stable." "What stable?" "Why, yours, sir, the stable of the Opera." "Is there a stable at the Opera? Upon my word, I didn't know. Where
is it?" "In the cellars, on the Rotunda side. It's a very important
department; we have twelve horses." "Twelve horses! And what for, in Heaven's name?" "Why, we want trained horses for the processions in the Juive, The
Profeta and so on; horses 'used to the boards.' It is the grooms'
business to teach them. M. Lachenel is very clever at it. He used to
manage Franconi's stables." "Very well ... but what does he want?" "I don't know; I never saw him in such a state." "He can come in." M. Lachenel came in, carrying a riding-whip, with which he struck his
right boot in an irritable manner. "Good morning, M. Lachenel," said Richard, somewhat impressed. "To
what do we owe the honor of your visit?" "Mr. Manager, I have come to ask you to get rid of the whole stable." "What, you want to get rid of our horses?" "I'm not talking of the horses, but of the stablemen." "How many stablemen have you, M. Lachenel?" "Six stablemen! That's at least two too many." "These are 'places,'" Mercier interposed, "created and forced upon us
by the under-secretary for fine arts. They are filled by protegees of
the government and, if I may venture to ..."

"I don't care a hang for the government!" roared Richard. "We don't
need more than four stablemen for twelve horses." "Eleven," said the head riding-master, correcting him. "Twelve," repeated Richard. "Eleven," repeated Lachenel. "Oh, the acting-manager told me that you had twelve horses!" "I did have twelve, but I have only eleven since Cesar was stolen." And M. Lachenel gave himself a great smack on the boot with his whip. "Has Cesar been stolen?" cried the acting-manager. "Cesar, the white
horse in the Profeta?" "There are not two Cesars," said the stud-groom dryly. "I was ten
years at Franconi's and I have seen plenty of horses in my time. Well,
there are not two Cesars. And he's been stolen." "How?" "I don't know. Nobody knows. That's why I have come to ask you to
sack the whole stable." "What do your stablemen say?" "All sorts of nonsense. Some of them accuse the supers. Others
pretend that it's the acting-manager's doorkeeper ..."

"My doorkeeper? I'll answer for him as I would for myself!" protested
Mercier. "But, after all, M. Lachenel," cried Richard, "you must have some idea." "Yes, I have," M. Lachenel declared. "I have an idea and I'll tell you
what it is. There's no doubt about it in my mind." He walked up to the
two managers and whispered. "It's the ghost who did the trick!" Richard gave a jump. "What, you too! You too!" "How do you mean, I too? Isn't it natural, after what I saw?" "What did you see?" "I saw, as clearly as I now see you, a black shadow riding a white
horse that was as like Cesar as two peas!" "And did you run after them?" "I did and I shouted, but they were too fast for me and disappeared in
the darkness of the underground gallery." M. Richard rose. "That will do, M. Lachenel. You can go ...  We will
lodge a complaint against THE GHOST." "And sack my stable?" "Oh, of course! Good morning." M. Lachenel bowed and withdrew. Richard foamed at the mouth. "Settle that idiot's account at once, please." "He is a friend of the government representative's!" Mercier ventured
to say. "And he takes his vermouth at Tortoni's with Lagrene, Scholl and
Pertuiset, the lion-hunter," added Moncharmin. "We shall have the
whole press against us! He'll tell the story of the ghost; and
everybody will be laughing at our expense! We may as well be dead as
ridiculous!" "All right, say no more about it." At that moment the door opened. It must have been deserted by its
usual Cerberus, for Mme. Giry entered without ceremony, holding a
letter in her hand, and said hurriedly:

"I beg your pardon, excuse me, gentlemen, but I had a letter this
morning from the Opera ghost. He told me to come to you, that you had
something to ..."

She did not complete the sentence. She saw Firmin Richard's face; and
it was a terrible sight. He seemed ready to burst. He said nothing,
he could not speak. But suddenly he acted. First, his left arm seized
upon the quaint person of Mme. Giry and made her describe so unexpected
a semicircle that she uttered a despairing cry. Next, his right foot
imprinted its sole on the black taffeta of a skirt which certainly had
never before undergone a similar outrage in a similar place. The thing
happened so quickly that Mme. Giry, when in the passage, was still
quite bewildered and seemed not to understand. But, suddenly, she
understood; and the Opera rang with her indignant yells, her violent
protests and threats. About the same time, Carlotta, who had a small house of her own in the
Rue du Faubourg St. Honore, rang for her maid, who brought her letters
to her bed. Among them was an anonymous missive, written in red ink,
in a hesitating, clumsy hand, which ran:

If you appear to-night, you must be prepared for a great misfortune at
the moment when you open your mouth to sing ... a misfortune worse than
death. The letter took away Carlotta's appetite for breakfast. She pushed
back her chocolate, sat up in bed and thought hard. It was not the
first letter of the kind which she had received, but she never had one
couched in such threatening terms. She thought herself, at that time, the victim of a thousand jealous
attempts and went about saying that she had a secret enemy who had
sworn to ruin her. She pretended that a wicked plot was being hatched
against her, a cabal which would come to a head one of those days; but
she added that she was not the woman to be intimidated. The truth is that, if there was a cabal, it was led by Carlotta herself
against poor Christine, who had no suspicion of it. Carlotta had never
forgiven Christine for the triumph which she had achieved when taking
her place at a moment's notice. When Carlotta heard of the astounding
reception bestowed upon her understudy, she was at once cured of an
incipient attack of bronchitis and a bad fit of sulking against the
management and lost the slightest inclination to shirk her duties.