"Oh! Oh! Can you remember?
How much space is there between the branch of the tree and the dome-shaped ceiling?
Do try to remember! ...
After all, the water may stop, it must find its level! ...
There, I think it is stopping! ...
No, no, oh, horrible! ...
Swim!
Swim for your life!"
Our arms became entangled in the effort of swimming; we choked; we fought in the dark water; already we could hardly breathe the dark air above the dark water, the air which escaped, which we could hear escaping through some vent-hole or other.
"Oh, let us turn and turn and turn until we find the air hole and then glue our mouths to it!"
But I lost my strength; I tried to lay hold of the walls!
Oh, how those glass walls slipped from under my groping fingers! ... We whirled round again! ...
We began to sink! ...
One last effort! ...
A last cry:
"Erik! ...
Christine! ..."
"Guggle, guggle, guggle!" in our ears. "Guggle! Guggle!" At the bottom of the dark water, our ears went, "Guggle! Guggle!"
And, before losing consciousness entirely, I seemed to hear, between two guggles:
"Barrels!
Barrels!
Any barrels to sell?"
Chapter XXVI The End of the Ghost's Love Story
The previous chapter marks the conclusion of the written narrative which the Persian left behind him.
Notwithstanding the horrors of a situation which seemed definitely to abandon them to their deaths, M. de Chagny and his companion were saved by the sublime devotion of Christine Daae.
And I had the rest of the story from the lips of the daroga himself.
When I went to see him, he was still living in his little flat in the Rue de Rivoli, opposite the Tuileries.
He was very ill, and it required all my ardor as an historian pledged to the truth to persuade him to live the incredible tragedy over again for my benefit.
His faithful old servant Darius showed me in to him.
The daroga received me at a window overlooking the garden of the Tuileries.
He still had his magnificent eyes, but his poor face looked very worn.
He had shaved the whole of his head, which was usually covered with an astrakhan cap; he was dressed in a long, plain coat and amused himself by unconsciously twisting his thumbs inside the sleeves; but his mind was quite clear, and he told me his story with perfect lucidity.
It seems that, when he opened his eyes, the daroga found himself lying on a bed.
M. de Chagny was on a sofa, beside the wardrobe.
An angel and a devil were watching over them.
After the deceptions and illusions of the torture-chamber, the precision of the details of that quiet little middle-class room seemed to have been invented for the express purpose of puzzling the mind of the mortal rash enough to stray into that abode of living nightmare.
The wooden bedstead, the waxed mahogany chairs, the chest of drawers, those brasses, the little square antimacassars carefully placed on the backs of the chairs, the clock on the mantelpiece and the harmless-looking ebony caskets at either end, lastly, the whatnot filled with shells, with red pin-cushions, with mother-of-pearl boats and an enormous ostrich-egg, the whole discreetly lighted by a shaded lamp standing on a small round table: this collection of ugly, peaceable, reasonable furniture, AT THE BOTTOM OF THE OPERA CELLARS, bewildered the imagination more than all the late fantastic happenings.
And the figure of the masked man seemed all the more formidable in this old-fashioned, neat and trim little frame.
It bent down over the Persian and said, in his ear:
"Are you better, daroga? ...
You are looking at my furniture? ...
It is all that I have left of my poor unhappy mother."
Christine Daae did not say a word: she moved about noiselessly, like a sister of charity, who had taken a vow of silence. She brought a cup of cordial, or of hot tea, he did not remember which. The man in the mask took it from her hands and gave it to the Persian.
M. de Chagny was still sleeping.
Erik poured a drop of rum into the daroga's cup and, pointing to the viscount, said:
"He came to himself long before we knew if you were still alive, daroga. He is quite well.
He is asleep.
We must not wake him."
Erik left the room for a moment, and the Persian raised himself on his elbow, looked around him and saw Christine Daae sitting by the fireside.
He spoke to her, called her, but he was still very weak and fell back on his pillow.