"Why do you think that you are safer in this room than on the stage?"
asked Raoul. "You heard him through the walls here, therefore he can
certainly hear us."
"No. He gave me his word not to be behind the walls of my dressing-room
again and I believe Erik's word. This room and my bedroom on the lake
are for me, exclusively, and not to be approached by him."
"How can you have gone from this room into that dark passage,
Christine? Suppose we try to repeat your movements; shall we?"
"It is dangerous, dear, for the glass might carry me off again; and,
instead of running away, I should be obliged to go to the end of the
secret passage to the lake and there call Erik."
"Would he hear you?"
"Erik will hear me wherever I call him. He told me so. He is a very
curious genius. You must not think, Raoul, that he is simply a man who
amuses himself by living underground. He does things that no other man
could do; he knows things which nobody in the world knows."
"Take care, Christine, you are making a ghost of him again!"
"No, he is not a ghost; he is a man of Heaven and earth, that is all."
"A man of Heaven and earth ... that is all! ... A nice way to speak of
him! ... And are you still resolved to run away from him?"
"Yes, to-morrow."
"To-morrow, you will have no resolve left!"
"Then, Raoul, you must run away with me in spite of myself; is that
understood?"
"I shall be here at twelve to-morrow night; I shall keep my promise,
whatever happens. You say that, after listening to the performance, he
is to wait for you in the dining-room on the lake?"
"Yes."
"And how are you to reach him, if you don't know how to go out by the
glass?"
"Why, by going straight to the edge of the lake."
Christine opened a box, took out an enormous key and showed it to Raoul.
"What's that?" he asked.
"The key of the gate to the underground passage in the Rue Scribe."
"I understand, Christine. It leads straight to the lake. Give it to
me, Christine, will you?"
"Never!" she said. "That would be treacherous!"
Suddenly Christine changed color. A mortal pallor overspread her
features.
"Oh heavens!" she cried. "Erik! Erik! Have pity on me!"
"Hold your tongue!" said Raoul. "You told me he could hear you!"
But the singer's attitude became more and more inexplicable. She wrung
her fingers, repeating, with a distraught air: "Oh, Heaven! Oh, Heaven!"
"But what is it? What is it?" Raoul implored.
"The ring ... the gold ring he gave me."