The Persian shook Erik by the arm: "Will you tell me if she is alive or dead."

"Why do you shake me like that?" asked Erik, making an effort to speak

more connectedly. "I tell you that I am going to die... Yes, I kissed

her alive ..."

"And now she is dead?"

"I tell you I kissed her just like that, on her forehead ... and she

did not draw back her forehead from my lips! ... Oh, she is a good

girl! ... As to her being dead, I don't think so; but it has nothing to

do with me ... No, no, she is not dead! And no one shall touch a hair

of her head! She is a good, honest girl, and she saved your life,

daroga, at a moment when I would not have given twopence for your

Persian skin. As a matter of fact, nobody bothered about you. Why

were you there with that little chap? You would have died as well as

he! My word, how she entreated me for her little chap! But I told her

that, as she had turned the scorpion, she had, through that very fact,

and of her own free will, become engaged to me and that she did not

need to have two men engaged to her, which was true enough.

"As for you, you did not exist, you had ceased to exist, I tell you,

and you were going to die with the other! ... Only, mark me, daroga,

when you were yelling like the devil, because of the water, Christine

came to me with her beautiful blue eyes wide open, and swore to me, as

she hoped to be saved, that she consented to be MY LIVING WIFE! ...

Until then, in the depths of her eyes, daroga, I had always seen my

dead wife; it was the first time I saw MY LIVING WIFE there. She was

sincere, as she hoped to be saved. She would not kill herself. It was

a bargain ... Half a minute later, all the water was back in the lake;

and I had a hard job with you, daroga, for, upon my honor, I thought

you were done for! ... However! ... There you were! ... It was

understood that I was to take you both up to the surface of the earth.

When, at last, I cleared the Louis-Philippe room of you, I came back

alone ..."

"What have you done with the Vicomte de Chagny?" asked the Persian,

interrupting him.

"Ah, you see, daroga, I couldn't carry HIM up like that, at once. ...

He was a hostage ... But I could not keep him in the house on the

lake, either, because of Christine; so I locked him up comfortably, I

chained him up nicely--a whiff of the Mazenderan scent had left him as

limp as a rag--in the Communists' dungeon, which is in the most

deserted and remote part of the Opera, below the fifth cellar, where no

one ever comes, and where no one ever hears you. Then I came back to

Christine, she was waiting for me."




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