w evening and that we ought to fly at once."

"I tell you that, if he does not hear me sing tomorrow, it will cause
him infinite pain."

"It is difficult not to cause him pain and yet to escape from him for
good."

"You are right in that, Raoul, for certainly he will die of my flight."
And she added in a dull voice, "But then it counts both ways ... for
we risk his killing us."

"Does he love you so much?"

"He would commit murder for me."

"But one can find out where he lives. One can go in search of him.
Now that we know that Erik is not a ghost, one can speak to him and
force him to answer!"

Christine shook her head.

"No, no! There is nothing to be done with Erik except to run away!"

"Then why, when you were able to run away, did you go back to him?"

"Because I had to. And you will understand that when I tell you how I
left him."

"Oh, I hate him!" cried Raoul. "And you, Christine, tell me, do you
hate him too?"

"No," said Christine simply.

"No, of course not ... Why, you love him! Your fear, your terror, all
of that is just love and love of the most exquisite kind, the kind
which people do not admit even to themselves," said Raoul bitterly.
"The kind that gives you a thrill, when you think of it... Picture it:
a man who lives in a palace underground!" And he gave a leer.

"Then you want me to go back there?" said the young girl cruelly.
"Take care, Raoul; I have told you: I should never return!"

There was an appalling silence between the three of them: the two who
spoke and the shadow that listened, behind them.

"Before answering that," said Raoul, at last, speaking very slowly, "I
should like to know with what feeling he inspires you, since you do not
hate him."

"With horror!" she said. "That is the terrible thing about it. He
fills me with horror and I do not hate him. How can I hate him, Raoul?
Think of Erik at my feet, in the house on the lake, underground. He
accuses himself, he curses himself, he implores my forgiveness! ... He
confesses his cheat. He loves me! He lays at my feet an immense and
tragic love... He has carried me off for love! ... He has imprisoned
me with him, underground, for love! ... But he respects me: he crawls,
he moans, he weeps! ... And, when I stood up, Raoul, and told him that
I could only despise him if he did not, then and there, give me my
liberty ... he offered it ... he offered to show me the mysterious road
... Only ... only he ros