But perhaps it was not the eleven o'clock of which we stood in dread.
Perhaps we had still twelve hours before us!
Suddenly, I exclaimed: "Hush!"
I seemed to hear footsteps in the next room. Some one tapped against
the wall. Christine Daae's voice said: "Raoul! Raoul!" We were now all talking at once, on either side of
the wall. Christine sobbed; she was not sure that she would find M. de
Chagny alive. The monster had been terrible, it seemed, had done
nothing but rave, waiting for her to give him the "yes" which she
refused. And yet she had promised him that "yes," if he would take her
to the torture-chamber. But he had obstinately declined, and had
uttered hideous threats against all the members of the human race! At
last, after hours and hours of that hell, he had that moment gone out,
leaving her alone to reflect for the last time.
"Hours and hours? What is the time now? What is the time, Christine?"
"It is eleven o'clock! Eleven o'clock, all but five minutes!"
"But which eleven o'clock?"
"The eleven o'clock that is to decide life or death! ... He told me so
just before he went ... He is terrible ... He is quite mad: he tore
off his mask and his yellow eyes shot flames! ... He did nothing but
laugh! ... He said, 'I give you five minutes to spare your blushes!
Here,' he said, taking a key from the little bag of life and death,
'here is the little bronze key that opens the two ebony caskets on the
mantelpiece in the Louis-Philippe room... In one of the caskets, you
will find a scorpion, in the other, a grasshopper, both very cleverly
imitated in Japanese bronze: they will say yes or no for you. If you
turn the scorpion round, that will mean to me, when I return, that you
have said yes. The grasshopper will mean no.' And he laughed like a
drunken demon. I did nothing but beg and entreat him to give me the
key of the torture-chamber, promising to be his wife if he granted me
that request ... But he told me that there was no future need for that
key and that he was going to throw it into the lake! ... And he again
laughed like a drunken demon and left me. Oh, his last words were,
'The grasshopper! Be careful of the grasshopper! A grasshopper does
not only turn: it hops! It hops! And it hops jolly high!'"
The five minutes had nearly elapsed and the scorpion and the
grasshopper were scratching at my brain. Nevertheless, I had
sufficient lucidity left to understand that, if the grasshopper were
turned, it would hop ... and with it many members of the human race!
There was no doubt but that the grasshopper controlled an electric
current intended to blow up the powder-magazine!