The precious days sped in this way; and Raoul and Christine, by

affecting excessive interest in outside matters, strove awkwardly to

hide from each other the one thought of their hearts. One fact was

certain, that Christine, who until then had shown herself the stronger

of the two, became suddenly inexpressibly nervous. When on their

expeditions, she would start running without reason or else suddenly

stop; and her hand, turning ice-cold in a moment, would hold the young

man back. Sometimes her eyes seemed to pursue imaginary shadows. She

cried, "This way," and "This way," and "This way," laughing a

breathless laugh that often ended in tears. Then Raoul tried to speak,

to question her, in spite of his promises. But, even before he had

worded his question, she answered feverishly: "Nothing ... I swear it is nothing."

Once, when they were passing before an open trapdoor on the stage,

Raoul stopped over the dark cavity.

"You have shown me over the upper part of your empire, Christine, but

there are strange stories told of the lower part. Shall we go down?"

She caught him in her arms, as though she feared to see him disappear

down the black hole, and, in a trembling voice, whispered: "Never! ... I will not have you go there! ... Besides, it's not mine

... EVERYTHING THAT IS UNDERGROUND BELONGS TO HIM!"

Raoul looked her in the eyes and said roughly: "So he lives down there, does he?"

"I never said so ... Who told you a thing like that? Come away! I

sometimes wonder if you are quite sane, Raoul ... You always take

things in such an impossible way ... Come along! Come!"

And she literally dragged him away, for he was obstinate and wanted to

remain by the trap-door; that hole attracted him.

Suddenly, the trap-door was closed and so quickly that they did not

even see the hand that worked it; and they remained quite dazed.

"Perhaps HE was there," Raoul said, at last.

She shrugged her shoulders, but did not seem easy.

"No, no, it was the 'trap-door-shutters.' They must do something, you

know ... They open and shut the trap-doors without any particular

reason ... It's like the 'door-shutters:' they must spend their time

somehow."

"But suppose it were HE, Christine?"

"No, no! He has shut himself up, he is working."

"Oh, really! He's working, is he?"

"Yes, he can't open and shut the trap-doors and work at the same time."

She shivered.

"What is he working at?"

"Oh, something terrible! ... But it's all the better for us... When

he's working at that, he sees nothing; he does not eat, drink, or

breathe for days and nights at a time ... he becomes a living dead man

and has no time to amuse himself with the trap-doors." She shivered

again. She was still holding him in her arms. Then she sighed and

said, in her turn: "Suppose it were HE!"




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