We dragged ourselves
along the floor of the torture-chamber, the floor that separated us
from the powder-magazine. What was the time? We shouted, we called: M.
de Chagny to Christine, I to Erik. I reminded him that I had saved his
life. But no answer, save that of our despair, of our madness: what
was the time? We argued, we tried to calculate the time which we had
spent there, but we were incapable of reasoning. If only we could see
the face of a watch! ... Mine had stopped, but M. de Chagny's was
still going ... He told me that he had wound it up before dressing for
the Opera ...  We had not a match upon us ...  And yet we must know ...
M. de Chagny broke the glass of his watch and felt the two hands... He
questioned the hands of the watch with his finger-tips, going by the
position of the ring of the watch ...  Judging by the space between the
hands, he thought it might be just eleven o'clock! But perhaps it was not the eleven o'clock of which we stood in dread. Perhaps we had still twelve hours before us! Suddenly, I exclaimed:  "Hush!" I seemed to hear footsteps in the next room. Some one tapped against
the wall. Christine Daae's voice said:

"Raoul! Raoul!" We were now all talking at once, on either side of
the wall. Christine sobbed; she was not sure that she would find M. de
Chagny alive. The monster had been terrible, it seemed, had done
nothing but rave, waiting for her to give him the "yes" which she
refused. And yet she had promised him that "yes," if he would take her
to the torture-chamber. But he had obstinately declined, and had
uttered hideous threats against all the members of the human race! At
last, after hours and hours of that hell, he had that moment gone out,
leaving her alone to reflect for the last time. "Hours and hours? What is the time now? What is the time, Christine?" "It is eleven o'clock! Eleven o'clock, all but five minutes!" "But which eleven o'clock?" "The eleven o'clock that is to decide life or death! ... He told me so
just before he went ... He is terrible ... He is quite mad: he tore
off his mask and his yellow eyes shot flames! ... He did nothing but
laugh! ... He said, 'I give you five minutes to spare your blushes! Here,' he said, taking a key from the little bag of life and death,
'here is the little bronze key that opens the two ebony caskets on the
mantelpiece in the Louis-Philippe room... In one of the caskets, you
will find a scorpion, in the other, a grasshopper, both very cleverly
imitated in Japanese bronze: they will say yes or no for you. If you
turn the scorpion round, that will mean to me, when I return, that you
have said yes. The grasshopper will mean no.' And he laughed like a
drunken demon. I did nothing but beg and entreat him to give me the
key of the torture-chamber, promising to be his wife if he granted me
that request ... But he told me that there was no future need for that
key and that he was going to throw it into the lake! ...  And he again
laughed like a drunken demon and left me. Oh, his last words were,
'The grasshopper! Be careful of the grasshopper! A grasshopper does
not only turn:  it hops! It hops! And it hops jolly high!'" The five minutes had nearly elapsed and the scorpion and the
grasshopper were scratching at my brain. Nevertheless, I had
sufficient lucidity left to understand that, if the grasshopper were
turned, it would hop ... and with it many members of the human race! There was no doubt but that the grasshopper controlled an electric
current intended to blow up the powder-magazine! M. de Chagny, who seemed to have recovered all his moral force from
hearing Christine's voice, explained to her, in a few hurried words,
the situation in which we and all the Opera were. He told her to turn
the scorpion at once. There was a pause. "Christine," I cried, "where are you?" "By the scorpion." "Don't touch it!" The idea had come to me--for I knew my Erik--that the monster had
perhaps deceived the girl once more. Perhaps it was the scorpion that
would blow everything up. After all, why wasn't he there? The five
minutes were long past ... and he was not back...  Perhaps he had taken
shelter and was waiting for the explosion! ... Why had he not
returned? ... He could not really expect Christine ever to consent to
become his voluntary prey! ... Why had he not returned? "Don't touch the scorpion!" I said. "Here he comes!" cried Christine. "I hear him! Here he is!" We heard his steps approaching the Louis-Philippe room. He came up to
Christine, but did not speak. Then I raised my voice:

"Erik! It is I! Do you know me?" With extraordinary calmness, he at once replied:

"So you are not dead in there? Well, then, see that you keep quiet." I tried to speak, but he said coldly:

"Not a word, daroga, or I shall blow everything up." And he added,
"The honor rests with mademoiselle ...  Mademoiselle has not touched
the scorpion"--how deliberately he spoke!--"mademoiselle has not
touched the grasshopper"--with that composure!--"but it is not too late
to do the right thing. There, I open the caskets without a key, for I
am a trap-door lover and I open and shut what I please and as I please. I open the little ebony caskets: mademoiselle, look at the little dears
inside. Aren't they pretty? If you turn the grasshopper,
mademoiselle, we shall all be blown up. There is enough gun-powder
under our feet to blow up a whole quarter of Paris. If you turn the
scorpion, mademoiselle, all that powder will be soaked and drowned. Mademoiselle, to celebrate our wedding, you shall make a very handsome
present to a few hundred Parisians who are at this moment applauding a
poor masterpiece of Meyerbeer's ... you shall make them a present of
their lives ...  For, with your own fair hands, you shall turn the
scorpion ...  And merrily, merrily, we will be married!" A pause; and then:

"If, in two minutes, mademoiselle, you have not turned the scorpion, I
shall turn the grasshopper ... and the grasshopper, I tell you, HOPS
JOLLY HIGH!" The terrible silence began anew. The Vicomte de Chagny, realizing that
there was nothing left to do but pray, went down on his knees and
prayed. As for me, my blood beat so fiercely that I had to take my
heart in both hands, lest it should burst. At last, we heard Erik's
voice:

"The two minutes are past ...  Good-by, mademoiselle... Hop,
grasshopper! "Erik," cried Christine, "do you swear to me, monster, do
you swear to me that the scorpion is the one to turn? "Yes, to hop at our wedding." "Ah, you see! You said, to hop!" "At our wedding, ingenuous child! ... The scorpion opens the ball... But that will do! ... You won't have the scorpion? Then I turn the
grasshopper!" "Erik!" "Enough!" I was crying out in concert with Christine. M. de Chagny was still on
his knees, praying. "Erik! I have turned the scorpion!" Oh, the second through which we passed! Waiting! Waiting to find ourselves in fragments, amid the roar and the
ruins!