Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the fifteenth chapter of The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux.
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Be continuing the Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Le Rowe.
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Chapter 15 christine christine.
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Raoul's first thought after Christine Diaz fantastic disappearance was to accuse Eric.
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He no longer doubted the almost supernatural powers of the angel of Music in this domain of the opera in which he had set up his empire.
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And Raul rushed on the stage in a mad fit of love and despair.
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Christine.
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Christine.
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He moaned, calling to her as he felt that she must be calling to him from the depths of the dark pit to which the monster had carried her.
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Christine.
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Christine.
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And he seemed to hear the girls screams through the frail boards that separated him from her.
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He bent forward.
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He listened.
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He wandered over the stage like a madman.
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Ah, to descend, to descend into that pit of darkness, every entrance to which was close to him.
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For the stairs that led below the stage were forbidden to one end.
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All that night.
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Christine.
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Christine.
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People pushed him aside, laughing.
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They made fun of him.
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They thought the poor lover's brain was gone.
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By what mad road through what passages of mystery and darkness known to him alone had Eric dragged that pure soul child to the awful haunt with the Louis Philippe room opening out on the lake.
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Christine, Christine, why don't you answer?
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Are you alive?
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Hideous thoughts flash through our rule's congested brain.
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Of course, Eric must have discovered their secret, must have known that Christine had played him false.
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But a vengeance would be his.
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And Raoul thought again of the yellow stars that had come the night before and roamed over his balcony.
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Why had he not put them out for good?
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There were some men's eyes that dilated in the darkness and shone like stars or like cat s eyes.
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Certainly Albinos, who seemed to have rabbit's eyes by day, had cat's eyes at night.
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Everybody knew that.
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Yes, yes, he had undoubtedly fired at Eric.
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Why had he not killed him?
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The monster had fled up the gutter spout like a cat or a convict who everybody knew that also would scale the very skies with the help of a gutter spout.
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No doubt Eric was at that time contemplating some decisive step against Raoul.
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But he had been wounded and had escaped to turn against poor Christine instead.
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Such were the cruel thoughts that haunted Raoul as he ran to the singer's dressing room.
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Christine.
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Christine.
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Bitter tears scorched the boy's eyelids as he saw scattered over the furniture the clothes which his beautiful bride was to have worn at the hour of their flight.
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Oh, why had she refused to leave earlier?
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Why had she toyed with the threatening catastrophe?
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Why toyed with the monster's heart?
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Why, in a final access of pity, had she insisted on flinging as a last sob to that demon soul her divine song?
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Holy angel in heaven blessed my spirit longs with thee to rest.
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Raoul, his throat filled with sobs, oaths and insults, fumbled awkwardly at the great mirror that had opened one night before his eyes to let Christine pass to the murky dwelling below.
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He pushed past, groped about, but the glass apparently obeyed no one but Eric.
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Perhaps actions were not enough with the glass of the kind.
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Perhaps he was expected to utter certain words.
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When he was a little boy, he had heard that there were things that obeyed the spoken word.
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Suddenly Raoul remembered something about a gate opening in the Rue Scribe, an underground passage running straight to the Rue Scribe from the lake.
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Yes, Christine had told him about that.
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And when he found that the key was no longer in the box, he nevertheless ran to the Ruse Scribe.
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Outside in the street, he passed his trembling hands over the huge stones, felt for outlets met with iron bars.
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Were those they?
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Or these?
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Or could it be that air hole?
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He plunged his youthless eyes through the bars.
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How dark it was in there.
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He listened all with silence.
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He went round the building and came to bigger bars amidst gates.
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It was the entrance to the Cordele administration.
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Raoul rushed into the doorkeeper's lodge.
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I beg your pardon, madame.
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Could you tell me where to find a gate or door made of bars?
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Iron bars opening into the Rus Scribe and leading to the lake?
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You know the lake, I mean?
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Yes, the underground lake under the Opera.
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Yes, sir, I know there's a lake.
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Under the Opera, but I don't know.
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Which door leads to it.
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I've never been there.
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And the ruse.
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Scribe madam.
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The Rue Scribe.
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Have you never been to the Rue Scribe?
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The woman laughed, screamed with laughter.
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Raoul darted away, roaring with anger, ran upstairs, four stairs at a time.
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Downstairs, rushed through the hole of the business side of the opera house, found.
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Himself once more in the light of the stage.
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He stopped with his heart thumping in his chest.
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Suppose Christine Dye had been found?
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He saw a group of men and.
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Asked I beg your pardon, gentlemen, could.
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You tell me where Christine Daie is?
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And somebody laughed.
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At the same moment, the stage buzzed with a new sound, and amid a crowd of men in evening dress, all talking and gesticulating together, appeared a man who seemed very calm and displayed a pleasant face, all pink and chubby cheeked, crowned with curly hair, and lit up.
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By a pair of wonderfully serene blue eyes.
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Mercier, the acting manager, called the vikaunt Daishagni's attention to him and said, this is the gentleman to whom you should put your question.
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Monsieur.
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Let me introduce my Freud.
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The Commissary of Police.
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Ah, monsieur Levi.
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Count de Chiang.
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Mi.
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Delighted to meet you, monsieur, said the Commissary.
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Would you mind coming with me?
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And now, where are the managers?
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Where are the managers?
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Mercier did not answer, and Remy, the secretary, volunteered the information that the managers.
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Were locked up in their office and.
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That they knew nothing as yet of what had happened.
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You don't mean to say so.
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Let us go up to the office.
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And Monsieur Myfroud, followed by an everincreasing crowd, turned toward the business side of the building.
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Mercier took advantage of the confusion to slip a key into Gabriel's hand.
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This is all going very badly, he whispered.
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You'd better let Mother jiree out.
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And Gabriel moved away.
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They soon came to the manager's door.
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Mercier stormed in vain.
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The door remained closed.
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Open in the name of the law.
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Commanded Monsieur My Freud in a loud and rather anxious voice.
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At last the door was opened.
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All rushed into the office on the commissary's heels.
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Raoul was the last to enter.
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As he was about to follow the rest into the room, a hand was laid on his shoulder, and he heard these words spoken in his ear.
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Eric's secrets concerned no one but himself.
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He turned around with a stifled exclamation.
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The hand that was laid on his shoulder was now placed on the lips of a person with an ebony skin, with eyes of jade, and with an astrocam cap on his head.
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The Persian.
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The stranger kept up the gesture that recommended discretion.
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And then, at the moment when the astonished VIKANT was about to ask the reason of his mysterious intervention, bowed and disappeared.
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Thank you for joining Byte at a Time Books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics.
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Again, my name is Brie Carlyle, and.
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I hope you come back tomorrow for.
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The next bite of The Phantom of the Opera.
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