It was at that moment that the stage was suddenly plunged in darkness.
It happened so quickly that the spectators hardly had time to utter a sound of stupefaction, for the gas at once lit up the stage again. But Christine Daae was no longer there!
What had become of her?
What was that miracle?
All exchanged glances without understanding, and the excitement at once reached its height.
Nor was the tension any less great on the stage itself.
Men rushed from the wings to the spot where Christine had been singing that very instant. The performance was interrupted amid the greatest disorder.
Where had Christine gone?
What witchcraft had snatched her, away before the eyes of thousands of enthusiastic onlookers and from the arms of Carolus Fonta himself?
It was as though the angels had really carried her up "to rest."
Raoul, still standing up in the amphitheater, had uttered a cry.
Count Philippe had sprung to his feet in his box.
People looked at the stage, at the count, at Raoul, and wondered if this curious event was connected in any way with the paragraph in that morning's paper.
But Raoul hurriedly left his seat, the count disappeared from his box and, while the curtain was lowered, the subscribers rushed to the door that led behind the scenes.
The rest of the audience waited amid an indescribable hubbub.
Every one spoke at once.
Every one tried to suggest an explanation of the extraordinary incident.
At last, the curtain rose slowly and Carolus Fonta stepped to the conductor's desk and, in a sad and serious voice, said:
"Ladies and gentlemen, an unprecedented event has taken place and thrown us into a state of the greatest alarm.
Our sister-artist, Christine Daae, has disappeared before our eyes and nobody can tell us how!"
Chapter XIV The Singular Attitude of a Safety-Pin
Behind the curtain, there was an indescribable crowd.
Artists, scene-shifters, dancers, supers, choristers, subscribers were all asking questions, shouting and hustling one another.
"What became of her?"
"She's run away."
"With the Vicomte de Chagny, of course!"
"No, with the count!"
"Ah, here's Carlotta!
Carlotta did the trick!"
"No, it was the ghost!"
And a few laughed, especially as a careful examination of the trap-doors and boards had put the idea of an accident out of the question.
Amid this noisy throng, three men stood talking in a low voice and with despairing gestures. They were Gabriel, the chorus-master; Mercier, the acting-manager; and Remy, the secretary.
They retired to a corner of the lobby by which the stage communicates with the wide passage leading to the foyer of the ballet. Here they stood and argued behind some enormous "properties."
"I knocked at the door," said Remy. "They did not answer.
Perhaps they are not in the office.
In any case, it's impossible to find out, for they took the keys with them."
"They" were obviously the managers, who had given orders, during the last entr'acte, that they were not to be disturbed on any pretext whatever. They were not in to anybody.
"All the same," exclaimed Gabriel, "a singer isn't run away with, from the middle of the stage, every day!"
"Did you shout that to them?" asked Mercier, impatiently.
"I'll go back again," said Remy, and disappeared at a run.
Thereupon the stage-manager arrived.
"Well, M. Mercier, are you coming?
What are you two doing here?
You're wanted, Mr. Acting-Manager."
"I refuse to know or to do anything before the commissary arrives," declared Mercier.
"I have sent for Mifroid.
We shall see when he comes!"
"And I tell you that you ought to go down to the organ at once."
"Not before the commissary comes."
"I've been down to the organ myself already."