From that time, she worked with all her might to "smother" her rival,
enlisting the services of influential friends to persuade the managers
not to give Christine an opportunity for a fresh triumph. Certain
newspapers which had begun to extol the talent of Christine now
interested themselves only in the fame of Carlotta. Lastly, in the
theater itself, the celebrated, but heartless and soulless diva made
the most scandalous remarks about Christine and tried to cause her
endless minor unpleasantnesses. When Carlotta had finished thinking over the threat contained in the
strange letter, she got up. "We shall see," she said, adding a few oaths in her native Spanish with
a very determined air. The first thing she saw, when looking out of her window, was a hearse. She was very superstitious; and the hearse and the letter convinced her
that she was running the most serious dangers that evening. She
collected all her supporters, told them that she was threatened at that
evening's performance with a plot organized by Christine Daae and
declared that they must play a trick upon that chit by filling the
house with her, Carlotta's, admirers. She had no lack of them, had
she? She relied upon them to hold themselves prepared for any
eventuality and to silence the adversaries, if, as she feared, they
created a disturbance. M. Richard's private secretary called to ask after the diva's health
and returned with the assurance that she was perfectly well and that,
"were she dying," she would sing the part of Margarita that evening. The secretary urged her, in his chief's name, to commit no imprudence,
to stay at home all day and to be careful of drafts; and Carlotta could
not help, after he had gone, comparing this unusual and unexpected
advice with the threats contained in the letter. It was five o'clock when the post brought a second anonymous letter in
the same hand as the first. It was short and said simply:

You have a bad cold. If you are wise, you will see that it is madness
to try to sing to-night. Carlotta sneered, shrugged her handsome shoulders and sang two or three
notes to reassure herself. Her friends were faithful to their promise. They were all at the Opera
that night, but looked round in vain for the fierce conspirators whom
they were instructed to suppress. The only unusual thing was the
presence of M. Richard and M. Moncharmin in Box Five. Carlotta's
friends thought that, perhaps, the managers had wind, on their side, of
the proposed disturbance and that they had determined to be in the
house, so as to stop it then and there; but this was unjustifiable
supposition, as the reader knows. M. Richard and M. Moncharmin were
thinking of nothing but their ghost. "Vain! In vain do I call, through my vigil weary, On creation and its
Lord! Never reply will break the silence dreary! No sign! No single
word!" The famous baritone, Carolus Fonta, had hardly finished Doctor Faust's
first appeal to the powers of darkness, when M. Firmin Richard, who was
sitting in the ghost's own chair, the front chair on the right, leaned
over to his partner and asked him chaffingly:

"Well, has the ghost whispered a word in your ear yet?" "Wait, don't be in such a hurry," replied M. Armand Moncharmin, in the
same gay tone. "The performance has only begun and you know that the
ghost does not usually come until the middle of the first act." The first act passed without incident, which did not surprise
Carlotta's friends, because Margarita does not sing in this act. As
for the managers, they looked at each other, when the curtain fell. "That's one!" said Moncharmin. "Yes, the ghost is late," said Firmin Richard. "It's not a bad house," said Moncharmin, "for 'a house with a curse on
it.'" M. Richard smiled and pointed to a fat, rather vulgar woman, dressed in
black, sitting in a stall in the middle of the auditorium with a man in
a broadcloth frock-coat on either side of her. "Who on earth are 'those?'" asked Moncharmin. "'Those,' my dear fellow, are my concierge, her husband and her
brother." "Did you give them their tickets?" "I did ... My concierge had never been to the Opera--this is, the first
time--and, as she is now going to come every night, I wanted her to
have a good seat, before spending her time showing other people to
theirs." Moncharmin asked what he meant and Richard answered that he had
persuaded his concierge, in whom he had the greatest confidence, to
come and take Mme. Giry's place. Yes, he would like to see if, with
that woman instead of the old lunatic, Box Five would continue to
astonish the natives? "By the way," said Moncharmin, "you know that Mother Giry is going to
lodge a complaint against you." "With whom? The ghost?" The ghost! Moncharmin had almost forgotten him. However, that
mysterious person did nothing to bring himself to the memory of the
managers; and they were just saying so to each other for the second
time, when the door of the box suddenly opened to admit the startled
stage-manager. "What's the matter?" they both asked, amazed at seeing him there at
such a time. "It seems there's a plot got up by Christine Daae's friends against
Carlotta. Carlotta's furious." "What on earth ... ?" said Richard, knitting his brows. But the curtain rose on the kermess scene and Richard made a sign to
the stage-manager to go away. When the two were alone again,
Moncharmin leaned over to Richard:

"Then Daae has friends?" he asked. "Yes, she has." "Whom?" Richard glanced across at a box on the grand tier containing no one but
two men. "The Comte de Chagny?" "Yes, he spoke to me in her favor with such warmth that, if I had not
known him to be Sorelli's friend ..."

"Really? Really?" said Moncharmin. "And who is that pale young man
beside him?" "That's his brother, the viscount." "He ought to be in his bed. He looks ill."

The stage rang with gay song:

            "Red or white liquor,
            Coarse or fine! What can it matter,
            So we have wine?" Students, citizens, soldiers, girls and matrons whirled light-heartedly
before the inn with the figure of Bacchus for a sign. Siebel made her
entrance. Christine Daae looked charming in her boy's clothes; and
Carlotta's partisans expected to hear her greeted with an ovation which
would have enlightened them as to the intentions of her friends. But
nothing happened. On the other hand, when Margarita crossed the stage and sang the only
two lines allotted her in this second act:

         "No, my lord, not a lady am I, nor yet a beauty,
         And do not need an arm to help me on my way,"

Carlotta was received with enthusiastic applause. It was so unexpected
and so uncalled for that those who knew nothing about the rumors looked
at one another and asked what was happening. And this act also was
finished without incident. Then everybody said:  "Of course, it will be during the next act."