.. He would have given anything to withdraw it,
for that name, proclaimed in the stillness of the night, had acted as
though it were the preconcerted signal for a furious rush on the part
of the whole turn-out, which dashed past him before he could put into
execution his plan of leaping at the horses' heads. The carriage
window had been closed and the girl's face had disappeared. And the
brougham, behind which he was now running, was no more than a black
spot on the white road.

He called out again: "Christine!"

No reply. And he stopped in the midst of the silence.

With a lack-luster eye, he stared down that cold, desolate road and
into the pale, dead night. Nothing was colder than his heart, nothing
half so dead: he had loved an angel and now he despised a woman!

Raoul, how that little fairy of the North has trifled with you! Was it
really, was it really necessary to have so fresh and young a face, a
forehead so shy and always ready to cover itself with the pink blush of
modesty in order to pass in the lonely night, in a carriage and pair,
accompanied by a mysterious lover? Surely there should be some limit
to hypocrisy and lying! ...

She had passed without answering his cry ... And he was thinking of
dying; and he was twenty years old! ...

His valet found him in the morning sitting on his bed. He had not
undressed and the servant feared, at the sight of his face, that some
disaster had occurred. Raoul snatched his letters from the man's
hands. He had recognized Christine's paper and hand-writing. She said:

DEAR:

Go to the masked ball at the Opera on the night after to-morrow. At
twelve o'clock, be in the little room behind the chimney-place of the
big crush-room. Stand near the door that leads to the Rotunda. Don't
mention this appointment to any one on earth. Wear a white domino and
be carefully masked. As you love me, do not let yourself be
recognized. CHRISTINE.

Chapter IX At the Masked Ball

The envelope was covered with mud and unstamped. It bore the words "To
be handed to M. le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny," with the address in
pencil. It must have been flung out in the hope that a passer-by would
pick up the note and deliver it, which was what happened. The note had
been picked up on the pavement of the Place de l'Opera.

Raoul read it over again with fevered eyes. No more was needed to
revive his hope. The somber picture which he had for a moment imagined
of a Chri