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Take a look in a book and let's see what we can find take a chapter by chapter, one by one at a time So many adventures and mountains we can climb Take it word for word, line by line we fight at a time.

Video welcome to Bite at a Time Books, where we read you your favorite classics one byte at a time.

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Wherever you listen to podcasts today, we'll be continuing the Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Lero.

Chapter Five The Enchanted Violin christine Dale, owing to intrigues to which I will return later, did not immediately continue her triumph at the opera after the famous gala night, she sang once at the Duchess deserts, but this was the last occasion on which she was heard in private.

She refused, without plausible excuse, to appear at a charity concert to which she had promised her assistance.

She acted throughout as though she were no longer the mistress of her own destiny, and as though she feared a fresh triumph.

She knew that the Count Deshagni, to please his brother, had done his best on her behalf with Monsieur Richard, and she wrote to thank him and also to ask him to cease speaking in her favor.

Her reason for this curious attitude was never known.

Some pretended that it was due to overweening pride, others spoke of her heavenly modesty.

But people on this stage are not so modest as all that.

And I think that I shall not be far from the truth if I ascribe her action simply to fear.

Yes, I believe that Christine Daie was frightened by what had happened to her.

I have a letter of Christine's.

It forms part of the Persian s collection relating to this period, which suggests a feeling of absolute dismay.

I don't know myself when I sing, writes the poor child.

She showed herself nowhere, and the vikomt de xiang Mi tried in vain to meet her.

He wrote to her, asking to call upon her, but despaired of receiving a reply, when one morning she sent him the following note monsieur, I've not forgotten the little boy who went into the sea to rescue my scarf.

I feel that I must write to you today when I'm going to Paris in fulfillment of a sacred duty.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the death of my poor father whom you knew and who was very fond of you.

He's buried there with his violin in the graveyard of the little church at the bottom of the slope where we used to play as children beside the road where, when we were a little bigger, we said goodbye for the last time.

Vaikomt de Xiangi hurriedly consulted a railway guide dressed as quickly as he could, rode a few lines for his valet to take his brother and jumped into a cab which brought him to the Ghirmont Parnasy just in time to miss the morning train.

He spent a dismal day in town and did not recover his spirits until the evening when he was seated in his compartment in the Britney Express.

He read Christine's note over and over again, smelling its perfume, recalling the sweet pictures of his childhood and spent the rest of that tedious night journey in feverish dreams that began and ended with Christine dale day was breaking.

When he alighted at Lanyan he hurried to the Diligence for Paris Georak.

He was the only passenger.

He questioned the driver and learned that on the evening of the previous day a young lady who looked like a Parisian had gone to Paris and put up at the inn known as the Setting Sun.

The nearer he drew to her, the more fondly he remembered the story of the little Swedish singer.

Most of the details are still unknown to the public.

There was once in a little market town not far from Upsala, a peasant who lived there with his family, digging the earth during the week and singing in the choir on Sundays.

This peasant had a little daughter to whom he taught the musical alphabet before she knew how to read.

Daie's father was a great musician, perhaps without knowing it, not a fiddler throughout the length and breadth of Scandinavia played as he did.

His reputation was widespread and he was always invited to set the couple's dancing at weddings and other festivals.

His wife died when Christine was entering upon her 6th year.

Then the father, who cared only for his daughter and his music sold his patch of ground and went to Upsala in search of fame and fortune.

He found nothing but poverty.

He returned to the country, wandering from fair to fair, strumming his Scandinavian melodies while his child, who never left his side listened to him in ecstasy or sang to his playing.

One day at Linjen.

Be fair.

Professor Valerius heard them and took them to Gothenburg.

He maintained that the father was the first violinist in the world and that the daughter had the making of a great artist.

Her education and instruction were provided for she made rapid progress and charmed everybody with her prettiness her grace of manner and her genuine eagerness to please.

When Valerius and his wife went to settle in France, they took Daet and Christine with them.

Mama Valerius treated Christine as her daughter.

As for DAIA, he began to pine away with homesickness.

He never went out of doors in Paris, but lived in a sort of dream which he kept up with his violin.

For hours at a time he remained locked in his bedroom with his daughter fiddling and singing very, very softly.

Sometimes Mama Valerius would come and listen behind the door, wipe away a tear and go downstairs again on tiptoe, sighing for her Scandinavian skies.

Daie seemed not to recover his strength until the summer, when the whole family went to stay at Peroskirak in a far away corner of Brittany, where the sea was of the same color as in his own country.

Often he would play his saddest tunes on the beach and pretend that the sea stopped its roaring to listen to them.

And then he induced Mama Valerius to indulge a queer whim of his.

At the time of the Pardons or Breton pilgrimages, the village festival in Dances, he went off with his fiddle, as in the old days, and was allowed to take his daughter with him for a week.

They gave the smallest hamlet's music to last them for a year and slept at night in a barn, refusing a bed at the inn.

Lying close together on the straw is when they were so poor in Sweden.

At the same time they were very neatly dressed, made no collection, refused the halfpence offered them, and that people around could not understand the conduct of this rustic fiddler who tramped the roads with that pretty child who sang like an angel from heaven.

They followed them from village to village.

One day a little boy who was out with his governess made her take a longer walk than he intended for he could not tear himself from the little girl whose purest, sweet voice seemed to bind him to her.

They came to the shore of an inlet which is still called Trestrao, but which now I believe harbors a casino or something of the sort.

At that time there was nothing but sky and sea and the stretch of golden beach.

Only there was also a high wind which blew Christine's scarf out to sea.

Christine gave a cry and put out her arms, but the scarf was already far on the waves.

Then she heard a voice say it's alright, I'll go and vet your scarf out of the sea.

And she saw a little boy running fast.

In spite of the outcrys and the indignant protests of a worthy lady in black, the little boy ran into the sea dressed as he was, and brought her back.

Her scarf boy and scarf were both soaked through.

The lady in black made a great fuss, but Christine laughed merrily and kissed the little boy who was none other than the vikampt Raul de Shemi, staying at Lanyan with his aunt during the season.

They saw each other and played together almost every day.

At the aunt's request, seconded by Professor Valerius Daie consented to give the young Vai Count some violin lessons.

In this way Raoul learned to love the same heirs that had charmed Christine's childhood.

They also both had the same calm and dreamy little cast of mind.

They delighted in stories in old Breton legends and their favorite sport was to go and ask for them at the cottage doors like Beggars ma'am or Kind gentlemen, have you a little story to tell us, please?

And it seldom happened that they did not have one given them, for nearly every old Breton grandm has at least once in her life seen the Corrigans dance by moonlight on the heather.

But their great treat was in the twilight, in the great silence of the evening after the sun had set in the sea, when Daie came and sat down by them on the roadside.

And in a low voice, as though fearing lest he should frighten the ghosts whom he evoked, told them the legends of the land of the north.

And the moment he stopped, the children would ask for more.

There was one story that began a king sat in a little boat on one of those deep still lakes that opened like a bright eye in the midst of the Norwegian mountains.

And another little Lottie thought of everything and nothing.

Her hair was golden as the sun's rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes.

She wheedled her mother was kind to her doll, took great care of her frock and her little red shoes and her fiddle.

But most of all when she went to sleep to hear the angel of Music while the old man told this story, raoul looked at Christine's blue eyes and golden hair and Christine thought that Lottie was very lucky to hear the angel of Music when she went to sleep.

The angel of Music played a part in all Daddy Daie's tales and he maintained that every great musician, every great artist received a visit from the angel at least once in his life.

Sometimes the angel leans over their cradle, as happens to Lottie.

And that is how there are little prodigies who play the fiddle at six better than minute 50, which you must admit is very wonderful.

Sometimes the angel comes much later because the children are naughty and won't learn their lessons or practice their scales.

And sometimes he does not come at all because the children have a bad heart or a bad conscience.

No one ever sees the angel, but he is heard by those who are meant to hear him.

He often comes when they least expect him, when they are sad and disheartened.

Then their ears suddenly perceive celestial harmonies, a divine voice which they remember all their lives.

Persons who are visited by the angel quiver with a thrill unknown to the rest of mankind and they cannot touch an instrument or open their mouth to sing without producing sounds that put all other human sounds to shame then people who do not know that angel has visited those persons say that they have genius.

Little Christine asked her father if he had heard the angel of music but Daddy Daie shook his head sadly and then his eyes lit up as he said you will hear him one day, my child.

When I am in heaven, I will send him to you.

Daddy was beginning to cough at that time.

Three years later.

Raoul and Christine met again at Paris professor Valerius was dead but his widow remained in France with Daddy Daie and his daughter who continued to play the violin and sing rapping in their dream of harmony their kind patroness.

Who seemed henceforth to live on music alone the young man.

As he now was.

Had come to Peros on the chance of finding them and went straight to the house in which they used to stay he first saw the old man and then Christine entered.

Carrying the tea tray she flushed at the side of Raoul.

Who went up to her and kissed her she asked him a few questions.

Performed her duties as hostess prettily took up the tray again and left the room then she ran into the garden and took refuge on a bench a prey to feelings that stirred her young heart for the first time Raoul followed her and they talked till the evening very shyly they were quite changed.

Cautious as two diplomatists.

And told each other things that had nothing to do with their budding sentiments when they took leave of each other by the roadside raoul.

Pressing a kiss on Christine's trembling hand.

Said mademoiselle.

I shall never forget you.

And he went away.

Regretting his words.

For he knew that Christine could not be the wife of the vikount de Chiani as for Christine.

She tried not to think of him and devoted herself wholly to her art she made wonderful progress and those who heard her prophecy that she would be the greatest singer in the world meanwhile the father died and suddenly she seemed to have lost with him her voice.

Her soul and her genius she retained just.

But only just enough of this to enter the conservatory where she did not distinguish herself at all attending the classes without enthusiasm and taking a prize only to please old Mama Valerius with whom she continued to live the first time that Raul saw Christine at the opera he was charmed by the girl's beauty and by the sweet images of the past which it evoked but was rather surprised at the negative side of her art he returned to listen to her he followed her in the wings he waited for her behind a Jacob's ladder he tried to attract her attention.

More than once he walked after her to the door of her box, but she did not see him.

She seemed, for that matter, to see nobody.

She was all indifference Beaul suffered, for she was very beautiful and he was shy and dared not confess his love even to himself.

And then came the lightning flash of the Gala performance the heavens torn asunder, and an angel's voice heard upon earth for the delight of mankind and the utter capture of his heart.

And then and then there was that man's voice behind the door you must love me and no one in the room.

Why did she laugh when he reminded her of the incident of the scarf?

Why did she not recognize him?

And why had she written to him?

Paris was reached at last.

Raoul walked into the smoky sitting room of a setting sun and at once saw Christine standing before him, smiling and showing no astonishment.

So you have come, she said.

I felt that I should find you here when I came back from Mass.

Someone told me so at the church.

Who?

Asked Raoul, taking her little hand in his.

Why, my poor father, who is dead.

There was a silence, and then Raoul asked did your father tell you that I love you, Christine, and that I could not live without you?

Christine blushed to the eyes and turned away her head.

In a trembling voice she said me?

You are dreaming, my friend.

And she burst out laughing to put herself in countenance.

Don't laugh, Christine, I'm quite serious.

Raoul answered, and she replied gravely I did not make you come to tell me such things as that.

You made me come, Christine.

You knew that your letter would not leave me indignant and that I should hasten to parrots.

How can you have thought that if you did not think I loved you?

I thought that you would remember our games here as children in which my father so often joined.

I really don't know what I thought.

Perhaps I was wrong to write to you this anniversary and your sudden appearance in my room at the opera the other evening reminded me of a time long past and made me write to you as a little girl that I then was there was something in Christine's attitude that seemed to Raoul not natural.

He did not feel any hostility in her, far from it but his stressed affection shining in her eyes, told him that.

But why was this affection distressed?

That was what he wished to know.

And what was irritating him?

When you saw me in your dressing room, was that the first time you noticed me, Christine?

She was incapable of lying.

No, she said, I had seen you several times in your brother's box and also on the stage.

I thought so, said Raoul, compressing his lips.

But then why, when you saw me in your room at your feet, reminding you that I had rescued your scarf from the sea why did you answer as though you did not know me?

And also why did you laugh?

The tone of these questions was so rough that Christine stared at Raoul without replying the young man himself was aghast at the sudden quarrel which he had dared to raise at the very moment when he had resolved to speak words of gentleness love and submission to Christine a husband.

A lover with all rights would talk no differently to a wife a mistress who had offended him but he had gone too far and saw no other way out of the ridiculous position than to behave odiously you don't answer.

He said angrily and unhappily well.

I will answer for you it was because there was someone in the room who was in your way.

Christine someone that you did not wish to know that you could be interested in anyone else if anyone was in my way.

My friend Christine broke in coldly if anyone was in my way that evening it was yourself since I told you to leave the room yes.

So that you might remain with the other why are you saying so.

Monsieur?

Asked the girl excitedly and to what other do you refer?

To the man to whom you said I sing only for you tonight I gave you my soul and I am dead?

Christine seized Raoul's arm and clutched it with a strength which no one would have suspected and so frail a creature and you were listening behind the door?

Yes, because I love you everything and I heard everything you heard what?

And the young girl.

Becoming strangely calm.

Released Raoul's arm he said to you.

Christine.

You must love me at these words a deathly pallor spread over Christine's face dark rings formed round her eyes she staggered and seemed on the point of swooning raoul darted forward with arms outstretched but Christine had overcome her passing faintness and said in a low voice go on.

Go on tell me all you heard at an utter loss to understand.

Raoul answered I heard him reply when you said you'd given him your soul your soul is a beautiful thing.

Child and I thank you no emperor ever received so far a gift the angels wept tonight christine carried her hand to her heart a prey to indescribable emotion her eyes stared before her like a mad woman s raoul was terror stricken but suddenly Christine's eyes moistened and two great tears trickled like two pearls down her ivory cheeks christine raul.

The young man tried to take her in his arms but she escaped and fled in great disorder while Christine remained locked in her room raoul was at his wit's end what to do?

He refused to breakfast he was terribly concerned and bitterly grieved to see the hours which he had hoped to find so sweet slip past without the presence of the young Swedish girl why did she not come to Rome with him through the country where they had so many memories in common?

He heard that she had amassed that morning for the repose of her father's soul and spent a long time praying in the little church and on the fiddler's tomb.

Then she seemed to have nothing more to do at Paris and in fact was doing nothing there.

Why did she not go back to Paris at once?

Raoul walked away dejectedly to the graveyard in which the church stood and was indeed alone among the tombs reading the inscriptions.

But when he turned behind the apps, he was suddenly struck by the dazzling note of the flowers that straggled over the white ground.

They were marvelous red roses that had blossomed in the morning in the snow, giving a glimpse of life among the dead, for death was all around him.

It also like the flowers issued from the ground, which had flung back a number of its corpses.

Skeletons and skulls by the hundred were heaped against the wall of the church, held in position by a wire that left the whole gruesome stack visible dedman's bones arranged in rowslike, bricks to form the first course upon which the walls of the Sacru city had been built.

The door of the sacrosi opened in the middle of that bony structure, as is often seen in the old Breton churches.

Raoul said a prayer for Daie and then, painfully impressed by all those eternal smiles on the mountains of skulls, he climbed to the slope and sat down on the edge of the heath overlooking the sea.

The wind fell with the evening.

Raoul was surrounded by icy darkness, but he did not feel the cold.

It was here, he remembered, that he used to come with little Christine to see the Corrigans dance at the rising of the moon.

He had never seen any, though his eyes were good, whereas Christine, who was a little shortsighted, pretended that she had seen many.

He smiled at the thought and then suddenly gave a start.

A voice behind him said, do you think the Corrigans will come this evening?

It was Christine.

He tried to speak.

She put her gloved hand on his mouth.

Listen, Raoul, I've decided to tell you something serious, very serious.

Do you remember the legend of the angel of Music?

I do indeed, he said.

I believe it was here that your father first told it to us.

And it was here that he said, when I am in heaven, my child, I will send him to you.

Well, Raoul, my father is in heaven and I have been visited by the angel of Music.

I have no doubt of it, replied the young man gravely, for it seemed to him that his friend, in obedience to a pious thought, was connecting the memory of her father with the brilliancy of her last triumph.

Christine appeared astonished at the Vikt de Chinese coolness.

How do you understand it?

She asked, bringing her pale face so close to his that he might have thought that Christine was going to give him a kiss but she only wanted to read his eyes in spite of the dark.

I understand, he said, that no human being can sing as you saying the other evening, without the intervention of some miracle.

No professor on earth can teach you such accents as those you have heard the angel of Music, Christine?

Yes, she said solemnly.

In my dressing room.

That is where he comes to give me my lessons daily.

In your dressing room?

He echoed stupidly.

Yes, that is where I've heard him and I've not been the only one to hear him.

Who else heard him, Christine?

You, my friend.

I I heard the angel of Music?

Yes, the other evening it was he who was talking when you were listening behind the door.

It was he who said you must love me but I'd been thought that I was the only one to hear his voice.

Imagine my astonishment when you told me this morning that you could hear him too.

Raoul burst out laughing.

The first rays of the moon came and shrouded the two young people in their light.

Christine turned on Raoul with a hostile air.

Her eyes, usually so gentle, flashed fire.

What are you laughing at?

You think you heard a man's voice, I suppose?

Well, replied the young man, whose ideas began to grow confused in the face of Christine's determined attitude, it's you, Raoul, who say that you an old playthello of my own, a friend of my father's.

But you've changed since those days.

What are you thinking of?

I'm an honest girl, Monsieur Levi, Count Deshagni and I don't lock myself up in my dressing room with men's voices.

If you had opened the door, you would have seen that there was nobody in the room.

That's true.

I did open the door when you were gone and found no one in the room.

So you see, well Vika summoned up all his courage.

Well, Christine, I think that somebody is making game of you.

She gave a cry and ran away.

He ran after her, but in a tone of fierce anger she called out leave me, leave me.

She disappeared.

Raoul returned to the inn feeling very weary, very lowspirited and very sad.

He was told that Christine had gone to her bedroom, saying that she would not be down to dinner.

Raoul dined alone, in a very gloomy mood.

Then he went to his room and tried to read, went to bed and tried to sleep.

There was no sound in the next room.

The hours passed slowly.

It was about 11:30 when he distinctly heard someone moving with a light, stealthy step in the room next to his.

Then Christine had not gone to bed without troubling for a reason.

Raoul dressed, taking care not to make a sound, and waited.

Waited for what?

How could he tell, but his heart thumped in his chest when he heard Christine's door turn slowly on its hinges.

Where could she be going at this hour, when everyone was fast asleep at Paris?

Softly opening the door, he saw Christine's white form in the moonlight slipping along the passage.

She went down the stairs and he leaned over the baluster above her.

Suddenly he heard two voices in rapid conversation he caught one sentence don't lose the key.

It was the landlady's voice.

The door facing the sea was opened and locked again.

Then all was still.

Raoul ran back to his room and threw back the window.

Christine's white form stood on the deserted quay.

The first floor of the setting sun was at no great height, and a tree growing against the wall held out its branches to Raul's impatient arms and enabled him to climb down, unknown to the landlady.

Her amazement.

Therefore.

Was all the greater when the next morning the young man was brought back to her.

Halfrazen more dead than alive.

And when she learned that he had been found stretched at full length on the steps of the high altar of the little church.

She ran at once to tell Christine.

Who hurried down and with the help of the landlady did her best to revive him.

He soon opened his eyes and was not long in recovering when he saw his friend's charming face leaning over him.

A few weeks later, when the tragedy of the opera compelled the intervention of the public prosecutor, monsieur Myfroid, the counselor of police, examined the Vikon deshagni touching the events of the night at Paris.

I quote the questions and answers as given in the official report, page 150 at Sequel did Mademoiselle Dai not see you come down from your room by the curious road which you selected?

No, monsieur, no.

Although when walking behind her I took no pains to deaden the sound of my footsteps.

In fact, I was anxious that she should turn around and see me.

I realized that I had no excuse for following her and that this way of spying on her was unworthy of me.

But she seemed not to hear me and acted exactly as though I were not there.

She quietly left the quay and then suddenly walked quickly up the road.

The church clock had struck a quarter to twelve, and I thought that this must have made her hurry, for she began almost to run and continued hastening until she came to the church.

Question Was the gate open?

Response yes, Monsieur, and that surprised me, but did not seem to surprise Mademoiselle Dale.

Question Was there no one in the churchyard?

Response I did not see anyone, and if there had been, I must have seen him.

The moon was shining on the snow and made the night quite light.

Question was it possible for anyone to hide behind the tombstones?

No, Monsieur.

They were quite small, poor tombstones, partly hidden under.

The snow with their crosses just above the level of the ground.

The only shadows were those of the crosses and ourselves.

The church stood out quite brightly.

I never saw so clear a night.

It was very fine and very cold, and one could see everything.

Question are you at all superstitious?

Response.

No, monsieur.

I'm a practicing Catholic.

Question in what condition of mind were you?

Response very healthy and peaceful, I assure you.

Mademoiselle Daie's curious action in going out at that hour had worried me at first, but as soon as I saw her go to the churchyard I thought that she meant to fulfill some pious duty on her father's grave.

And I considered this so natural that I recovered all my calmness.

I was only surprised that she had not heard me walking behind her, for my footsteps were quite audible on the hard snow.

But she must have been taken up with her intentions and I resolved not to disturb her.

She knelt down by her father's grave, made the sign of the cross and began to pray.

At that moment it struck midnight.

At the last stroke I saw Madele Live sick her eyes to the sky and stretch out her arms as though in ecstasy.

I was wondering what the reason could be when I myself raised my head and everything within me seemed drawn toward the invisible which was playing the most perfect music.

Christine and I knew that music we had herded as children, but it had never been executed with such divine art, even by Monsieur Daet.

I remember all that Christine had told me of the angel of Music.

The heir was the resurrection of Lazarus, which old Monsieur Dale used to play to us in his hours of melancholy and of faith.

If Christine's angel had existed, he could not have played better that night on the late musician's violin, when the music stopped, I seemed to hear a noise from the skulls in the heap of bones.

It was as though they were chuckling, and I could not help shuddering.

Question did it not occur to you that the musician might be hiding behind that very heap of bones?

Response it was the one thought that did occur to me, monsieur.

So much so that I admitted to follow Madame as eldiah when she stood up and walked slowly to the gate.

She was so much absorbed just then that I'm not surprised that she did not see me.

Question then what happened that you were found in the morning lying half dead on the steps of the high altar?

Response first a skull rolled to my feet, then another, then another.

It was as if I were with the mark of that ghastly game of bulls.

And I had an idea that false step must have destroyed the balance of the structure behind which our musician was concealed.

This surmise seemed to be confirmed when I saw a shadow suddenly glide along the secretity wall I ran up.

The shadow had already pushed open the door and entered the church, but I was quicker than the shadow and caught hold of a corner of his cloak.

At that moment we were just in front of the high altar and the moonbeams fell straight upon us through the stained glass windows of the apps.

As I did not let go of the cloak, the shadow turned round and I saw a terrible death head which darted a look at me from a pair of scorching eyes.

I felt as if I were facetoface with Satan, and in the presence of this unearthly apparition, my heart gave way.

My courage failed me, and I remember nothing more until I recovered consciousness at the setting sun.

Thank you for joining Byte at a Time Books today while we read a byte of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Brie Carlyle and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of The Phantom of the Opera.

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Take a look at the Broken.

Let's see what we can find after my chapter one.