"My anger equaled my amazement. I rushed at the mask and tried to
snatch it away, so as to see the face of the voice. The man said, 'You
are in no danger, so long as you do not touch the mask.' And, taking me
gently by the wrists, he forced me into a chair and then went down on
his knees before me and said nothing more! His humility gave me back
some of my courage; and the light restored me to the realties of life.
However extraordinary the adventure might be, I was now surrounded by
mortal, visible, tangible things. The furniture, the hangings, the
candles, the vases and the very flowers in their baskets, of which I
could almost have told whence they came and what they cost, were bound
to confine my imagination to the limits of a drawing-room quite as
commonplace as any that, at least, had the excuse of not being in the
cellars of the Opera. I had, no doubt, to do with a terrible,
eccentric person, who, in some mysterious fashion, had succeeded in
taking up his abode there, under the Opera house, five stories below
the level of the ground. And the voice, the voice which I had
recognized under the mask, was on its knees before me, WAS A MAN! And
I began to cry... The man, still kneeling, must have understood the
cause of my tears, for he said, 'It is true, Christine! ... I am not an
Angel, nor a genius, nor a ghost ... I am Erik!'"
Christine's narrative was again interrupted. An echo behind them
seemed to repeat the word after her.
"Erik!"
What echo? ... They both turned round and saw that night had fallen.
Raoul made a movement as though to rise, but Christine kept him beside
her.
"Don't go," she said. "I want you to know everything HERE!"
"But why here, Christine? I am afraid of your catching cold."
"We have nothing to fear except the trap-doors, dear, and here we are
miles away from the trap-doors ... and I am not allowed to see you
outside the theater. This is not the time to annoy him. We must not
arouse his suspicion."
"Christine! Christine! Something tells me that we are wrong to wait
till to-morrow evening and that we ought to fly at once."
"I tell you that, if he does not hear me sing tomorrow, it will cause
him infinite pain."
"It is difficult not to cause him pain and yet to escape from him for
good."
"You are right in that, Raoul, for certainly he will die of my flight."
And she added in a dull voice, "But then it counts both ways ... for
we risk his killing us."
"Does he love you so much?"
"He would commit murder for me."