He had heard A MAN'S VOICE in the dressing-room, saying, in a curiously masterful tone:
"Christine, you must love me!"
And Christine's voice, infinitely sad and trembling, as though accompanied by tears, replied:
"How can you talk like that? WHEN I SING ONLY FOR YOU!"
Raoul leaned against the panel to ease his pain.
His heart, which had seemed gone for ever, returned to his breast and was throbbing loudly. The whole passage echoed with its beating and Raoul's ears were deafened.
Surely, if his heart continued to make such a noise, they would hear it inside, they would open the door and the young man would be turned away in disgrace.
What a position for a Chagny! To be caught listening behind a door!
He took his heart in his two hands to make it stop.
The man's voice spoke again:
"Are you very tired?"
"Oh, to-night I gave you my soul and I am dead!" Christine replied.
"Your soul is a beautiful thing, child," replied the grave man's voice, "and I thank you.
No emperor ever received so fair a gift. THE ANGELS WEPT TONIGHT."
Raoul heard nothing after that.
Nevertheless, he did not go away, but, as though he feared lest he should be caught, he returned to his dark corner, determined to wait for the man to leave the room.
At one and the same time, he had learned what love meant, and hatred.
He knew that he loved. He wanted to know whom he hated.
To his great astonishment, the door opened and Christine Daae appeared, wrapped in furs, with her face hidden in a lace veil, alone.
She closed the door behind her, but Raoul observed that she did not lock it. She passed him.
He did not even follow her with his eyes, for his eyes were fixed on the door, which did not open again.
When the passage was once more deserted, he crossed it, opened the door of the dressing-room, went in and shut the door.
He found himself in absolute darkness.
The gas had been turned out.
"There is some one here!" said Raoul, with his back against the closed door, in a quivering voice. "What are you hiding for?"
All was darkness and silence.
Raoul heard only the sound of his own breathing.
He quite failed to see that the indiscretion of his conduct was exceeding all bounds.
"You shan't leave this until I let you!" he exclaimed.
"If you don't answer, you are a coward!
But I'll expose you!"
And he struck a match.
The blaze lit up the room.
There was no one in the room!
Raoul, first turning the key in the door, lit the gas-jets. He went into the dressing-closet, opened the cupboards, hunted about, felt the walls with his moist hands.
Nothing!
"Look here!" he said, aloud. "Am I going mad?"
He stood for ten minutes listening to the gas flaring in the silence of the empty room; lover though he was, he did not even think of stealing a ribbon that would have given him the perfume of the woman he loved.
He went out, not knowing what he was doing nor where he was going.
At a given moment in his wayward progress, an icy draft struck him in the face. He found himself at the bottom of a staircase, down which, behind him, a procession of workmen were carrying a sort of stretcher, covered with a white sheet.
"Which is the way out, please?" he asked of one of the men.
"Straight in front of you, the door is open.
But let us pass."
Pointing to the stretcher, he asked mechanically:
"What's that?"
The workmen answered: "'That' is Joseph Buquet, who was found in the third cellar, hanging between a farm-house and a scene from the ROI DE LAHORE."
He took off his hat, fell back to make room for the procession and went out.
Chapter III The Mysterious Reason
During this time, the farewell ceremony was taking place.
I have already said that this magnificent function was being given on the occasion of the retirement of M. Debienne and M. Poligny, who had determined to "die game," as we say nowadays.