M. de Chagny, who seemed to have recovered all his moral force from

hearing Christine's voice, explained to her, in a few hurried words,

the situation in which we and all the Opera were. He told her to turn

the scorpion at once.

There was a pause.

"Christine," I cried, "where are you?"

"By the scorpion."

"Don't touch it!"

The idea had come to me--for I knew my Erik--that the monster had

perhaps deceived the girl once more. Perhaps it was the scorpion that

would blow everything up. After all, why wasn't he there? The five

minutes were long past ... and he was not back... Perhaps he had taken

shelter and was waiting for the explosion! ... Why had he not

returned? ... He could not really expect Christine ever to consent to

become his voluntary prey! ... Why had he not returned?

"Don't touch the scorpion!" I said.

"Here he comes!" cried Christine. "I hear him! Here he is!"

We heard his steps approaching the Louis-Philippe room. He came up to

Christine, but did not speak. Then I raised my voice: "Erik! It is I! Do you know me?"

With extraordinary calmness, he at once replied: "So you are not dead in there? Well, then, see that you keep quiet."

I tried to speak, but he said coldly: "Not a word, daroga, or I shall blow everything up." And he added,

"The honor rests with mademoiselle ... Mademoiselle has not touched

the scorpion"--how deliberately he spoke!--"mademoiselle has not

touched the grasshopper"--with that composure!--"but it is not too late

to do the right thing. There, I open the caskets without a key, for I

am a trap-door lover and I open and shut what I please and as I please.

I open the little ebony caskets: mademoiselle, look at the little dears

inside. Aren't they pretty? If you turn the grasshopper,

mademoiselle, we shall all be blown up. There is enough gun-powder

under our feet to blow up a whole quarter of Paris. If you turn the

scorpion, mademoiselle, all that powder will be soaked and drowned.

Mademoiselle, to celebrate our wedding, you shall make a very handsome

present to a few hundred Parisians who are at this moment applauding a

poor masterpiece of Meyerbeer's ... you shall make them a present of

their lives ... For, with your own fair hands, you shall turn the

scorpion ... And merrily, merrily, we will be married!"

A pause; and then: "If, in two minutes, mademoiselle, you have not turned the scorpion, I

shall turn the grasshopper ... and the grasshopper, I tell you, HOPS

JOLLY HIGH!"




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