"But why don't
you come near me, as you used to do when you were a little boy? Give
me your hands, as when you brought me the story of little Lotte, which
Daddy Daae had told you. I am very fond of you, M. Raoul, you know. And so is Christine too!" "She is fond of me!" sighed the young man. He found a difficulty in
collecting his thoughts and bringing them to bear on Mamma Valerius'
"good genius," on the Angel of Music of whom Christine had spoken to
him so strangely, on the death's head which he had seen in a sort of
nightmare on the high altar at Perros and also on the Opera ghost,
whose fame had come to his ears one evening when he was standing behind
the scenes, within hearing of a group of scene-shifters who were
repeating the ghastly description which the hanged man, Joseph Buquet,
had given of the ghost before his mysterious death. He asked in a low voice:  "What makes you think that Christine is fond
of me, madame?" "She used to speak of you every day." "Really? ... And what did she tell you?" "She told me that you had made her a proposal!" And the good old lady began laughing wholeheartedly. Raoul sprang from
his chair, flushing to the temples, suffering agonies. "What's this? Where are you going? Sit down again at once, will you? ... Do you think I will let you go like that? ... If you're angry with
me for laughing, I beg your pardon... After all, what has happened
isn't your fault... Didn't you know? ... Did you think that Christine
was free? ..."

"Is Christine engaged to be married?" the wretched Raoul asked, in a
choking voice. "Why no! Why no! ... You know as well as I do that Christine couldn't
marry, even if she wanted to!" "But I don't know anything about it! ... And why can't Christine marry?" "Because of the Angel of Music, of course! ..."

"I don't follow ..."

"Yes, he forbids her to! ..."

"He forbids her! ... The Angel of Music forbids her to marry!" "Oh, he forbids her ... without forbidding her. It's like this: he
tells her that, if she got married, she would never hear him again. That's all! ... And that he would go away for ever! ... So, you
understand, she can't let the Angel of Music go. It's quite natural." "Yes, yes," echoed Raoul submissively, "it's quite natural." "Besides, I thought Christine had told you all that, when she met you
at Perros, where she went with her good genius." "Oh, she went to Perros with her good genius, did she?" "That is to say, he arranged to meet her down there, in Perros
churchyard, at Daae's grave. He promised to play her The Resurrection
of Lazarus on her father's violin!" Raoul de Chagny rose and, with a very authoritative air, pronounced
these peremptory words:

"Madame, you will have the goodness to tell me where that genius lives." The old lady did not seem surprised at this indiscreet command. She
raised her eyes and said:

"In Heaven!" Such simplicity baffled him. He did not know what to say in the
presence of this candid and perfect faith in a genius who came down
nightly from Heaven to haunt the dressing-rooms at the Opera. He now realized the possible state of mind of a girl brought up between
a superstitious fiddler and a visionary old lady and he shuddered when
he thought of the consequences of it all. "Is Christine still a good girl?" he asked suddenly, in spite of
himself. "I swear it, as I hope to be saved!" exclaimed the old woman, who, this
time, seemed to be incensed. "And, if you doubt it, sir, I don't know
what you are here for!" Raoul tore at his gloves. "How long has she known this 'genius?'" "About three months ... Yes, it's quite three months since he began to
give her lessons." The viscount threw up his arms with a gesture of despair. "The genius gives her lessons! ... And where, pray?" "Now that she has gone away with him, I can't say; but, up to a
fortnight ago, it was in Christine's dressing-room. It would be
impossible in this little flat. The whole house would hear them. Whereas, at the Opera, at eight o'clock in the morning, there is no one
about, do you see!" "Yes, I see! I see!" cried the viscount. And he hurriedly took leave of Mme. Valerius, who asked herself if the
young nobleman was not a little off his head. He walked home to his brother's house in a pitiful state. He could
have struck himself, banged his head against the walls! To think that
he had believed in her innocence, in her purity! The Angel of Music! He knew him now! He saw him! It was beyond a doubt some unspeakable
tenor, a good-looking jackanapes, who mouthed and simpered as he sang! He thought himself as absurd and as wretched as could be. Oh, what a
miserable, little, insignificant, silly young man was M. le Vicomte de
Chagny! thought Raoul, furiously. And she, what a bold and damnable
sly creature! His brother was waiting for him and Raoul fell into his arms, like a
child. The count consoled him, without asking for explanations; and
Raoul would certainly have long hesitated before telling him the story
of the Angel of Music. His brother suggested taking him out to dinner. Overcome as he was with despair, Raoul would probably have refused any
invitation that evening, if the count had not, as an inducement, told
him that the lady of his thoughts had been seen, the night before, in
company of the other sex in the Bois. At first, the viscount refused
to believe; but he received such exact details that he ceased
protesting. She had been seen, it appeared, driving in a brougham,
with the window down. She seemed to be slowly taking in the icy night
air. There was a glorious moon shining. She was recognized beyond a
doubt. As for her companion, only his shadowy outline was
distinguished leaning back in the dark. The carriage was going at a
walking pace in a lonely drive behind the grand stand at Longchamp. Raoul dressed in frantic haste, prepared to forget his distress by
flinging himself, as people say, into "the vortex of pleasure." Alas,
he was a very sorry guest and, leaving his brother early, found
himself, by ten o'clock in the evening, in a cab, behind the Longchamp
race-course. It was bitterly cold. The road seemed deserted and very bright under
the moonlight. He told the driver to wait for him patiently at the
corner of a near turning and, hiding himself as well as he could, stood
stamping his feet to keep warm. He had been indulging in this healthy
exercise for half an hour or so, when a carriage turned the corner of
the road and came quietly in his direction, at a walking pace. As it approached, he saw that a woman was leaning her head from the
window. And, suddenly, the moon shed a pale gleam over her features. "Christine!" The sacred name of his love had sprung from his heart and his lips. He
could not keep it back...