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

Raoul said a prayer for Daae and then, painfully impressed by all those
eternal smiles on the mouths of skulls, he climbed 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 Korrigans 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 Korrigans will come this evening?"

It was Christine. He tried to speak. She put her gloved hand on his
mouth.

"Listen, Raoul. I have 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 Vicomte de Chagny's 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 sang 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 have heard him; and I have 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.' Bu