eyes belonged to a human being. ...He wanted to know everything. Then, patiently, calmly, he seized his revolver and took aim. He aimed a little above the two eyes. Surely, if they were eyes and if above those two eyes there was a forehead and if Raoul was not too clumsy...
The shot made a terrible din amid the silence of the slumbering house. And, while footsteps came hurrying along the passages, Raoul sat up with outstretched arm, ready to fire again, if need be.
This time, the two eyes had disappeared.
Servants appeared, carrying lights; Count Philippe, terribly anxious:
'What is it?'
'I think I have been dreaming,' replied the young man. 'I fired at two stars that kept me from sleeping.'
'You're raving! Are you ill? For God's sake, tell me, Raoul: what happened?'
And the count seized hold of the revolver.
'No, no, I'm not raving. .. Besides, we shall soon see...'
He got out of bed, put on a dressing-gown and slippers, took a light from the hands of a servant and, opening the window, stepped out on the balcony.
The count saw that the window had been pierced by a bullet at a man's height. Raoul was leaning over the balcony with his candle: 'Aha!' he said. 'Blood!...Blood!..... Here, there, more blood! ... That's a good thing! A ghost who bleeds is less dangerous!' he grinned.
'Raoul! Raoul! Raoul!'
The count was shaking him as though he were trying to waken a sleep-walker.
'But, my dear brother, I'm not asleep!' Raoul protested impatiently. 'You can see the blood for yourself. I thought I had been dreaming and firing at two stars. It was Erik's eyes...and here is his blood!...After all, perhaps I was wrong to shoot; and Christine is quite capable of never forgiving me....All this would not have happened if I had drawn the curtains before going to bed.'
'Raoul, have you suddenly gone mad? Wake up!'
'What, still? You would do better to help me find Erik...for, after all, a ghost who bleeds can always be found.'
The count's valet said:
'That is so, sir; there is blood on the balcony.'
The other man-servant brought a lamp, by the light of which they examined the balcony carefully. The marks of blood followed the rail till they reached a gutter-spout; then they went up the gutter-spout.
'My dear fellow,' said Count Philippe, 'you have fired at a cat.'
'The misfortune is,' said Raoul, with a grin, 'that it's quite possible. With Erik, you never know. Is it Erik? Is it the cat? Is it the ghost? No, with Erik, you can't tell!'
Raoul went on making this strange sort of remarks which corresponded so intimately and logically with the preoccupation of his brain and which, at the same time, tended to persuade many people that his mind was unhinged. The count himself was seized with this idea; and, later, the examining magistrate, on receiving the report of the commissary of police, came to the same conclusion.
'Who is Erik?' asked the count, pressing his brother's hand.
'He is my rival. And, if he's not dead, it's a pity.'
He dismissed the servants with a wave of the hand and the two Chagnys were left alone. But the men were not out of earshot before the count's valet heard Raoul say, distinctly and emphatically:
'I shall carry off Christine Daae to-night.'
This phrase was afterward repeated to M. Faure, the examining-magistrate. But no one ever knew exactly what passed between the two brothers at this interview. The servants declared that this was not their first quarrel. Their voices penetrated the wall; and it was always an actress called Christine Daae that was in question.
At breakfast--the early morning breakfast, which the count took in his study--Philippe sent for his brother. Raoul arrived silent and gloomy. The scene was a very short one. Philippe handed his brother a copy of the Epoque and said:
'Read that!'
The viscount read:
'The latest news in the Faubourg is that there is a promise of marriage between Mlle. Christine Daae, the opera-singer, and M. le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. If the gossips are to be credited, Count Philippe has sworn that, for the first time on record, the Chagnys shall not keep their promise. But, as love is all-powerful, at the Opera as-- and even more than--elsewhere, we wonder how Count Philippe intends to prevent the viscount, his brother, from leading the new Margarita to the altar. The two brothers are said to adore each other; but the count is curiously mistaken if he imagines that brotherly love will triumph over love pure and simple.'
'You see, Raoul,' said the count, 'you are making us ridiculous! That little girl has turned your head with her ghost-stories.'
The viscount had evidently repeated Christine's narrative to his brother, during the night. All that he now said was:
'Good-by, Philippe.'
'Have you quite made up your mind? You are going to-night? With her?'
No reply.
'Surely you will not do anything so foolish? I SHALL know how to prevent you!'
'Good-by, Philippe,' said the viscount again and left the room.
This scene was described to the examining-magistrate by the count himself, who did not see Raoul again until that evening, at the Opera, a few minutes before Christine's disappearance.
Raoul, in fact, devoted the whole day to his preparations for the flight. The horses, the carriage, the coachman, the provisions, the luggage, the money required for the journey, the road to be taken (he had resolved not to go by train, so as to throw the ghost off the scent): all this had to be settled and provided for; and it occupied him until nine o'clock at night.
At nine o'clock, a sort of traveling-barouche with the curtains of its windows close-down, took its place in the rank on the Rotunda side. It was drawn by two powerful horses driven by a coachman whose face was almost concealed in the long folds of a muffler. In front of this traveling-carriage were three broughams, belonging respectively to Carlotta, who had suddenly returned to Paris, to Sorelli and, at the head of the rank, to Comte Philippe de Chagny. No one left the barouche. The coachman remained on his box, and the three other coachmen remained on theirs.
A shadow in a long black cloak and a soft black felt hat passed along the pavement between the Rotunda and the carriages, examined the barouche carefully, went up to the horses and the coachman and then moved away without saying a word, The magistrate afterward believed that this shadow was that of the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny; but I do not agree, seeing that that evening, as every evening, the Vicomte de Chagny was wearing a tall hat, which hat, besides, was subsequently found. I am more inclined to think that the shadow was that of the ghost, who knew all about the whole affair, as the reader will soon perceive.
They were giving FAUST, as it happened, before a splendid house. The Faubourg was magnificently represented; and the paragraph in that morning's EPOQUE had already produced its effect, for all eyes were turned to the box in which Count Philippe sat alone, apparently in a very indifferent and careless frame of mind. The feminine element in the brilliant audience seemed curiously puzzled; and the viscount's absence gave rise to any amount of whispering behind the fans. Christine Daae met with a rather cold reception. That special audience could not forgive her for aiming so high.
The singer noticed this unfavorable attitude of a portion of the house and was confused by it.
The regular frequenters of the Opera, who pretended to know the truth about the viscount's love-story, exchanged significant smiles at certain passages in Margarita's part; and they made a show of turning and looking at Philippe de Chagny's box when Christine sang:
'I wish I could but know who was he That addressed me, If he was noble, or, at least, what his name is.'
The count sat with his chin on his hand and seemed to pay no attention to these manifestations. He kept his eyes fixed on the stage; but his thoughts appeared to be far away.
Christine lost her self-assurance more and more. She trembled. She felt on the verge of a breakdown....Carolus Fonta wondered if she was ill, if she could keep the stage until the end of the Garden Act. In
