h the
monster's heart? Why, in a final access of pity, had she insisted on
flinging, as a last sop to that demon's soul, her divine song:

"Holy angel, in Heaven blessed,
My spirit longs with thee to rest!"

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. He pushed,
pressed, groped about, but the glass apparently obeyed no one but Erik
... Perhaps actions were not enough with a glass of the kind? Perhaps
he was expected to utter certain words? When he was a little boy, he
had heard that there were things that obeyed the spoken word!

Suddenly, Raoul remembered something about a gate opening into the Rue
Scribe, an underground passage running straight to the Rue Scribe from
the lake ... Yes, Christine had told him about that... And, when he
found that the key was no longer in the box, he nevertheless ran to the
Rue Scribe. Outside, in the street, he passed his trembling hands over
the huge stones, felt for outlets ... met with iron bars ... were those
they? ... Or these? ... Or could it be that air-hole? ... He plunged
his useless eyes through the bars ... How dark it was in there! ... He
listened ... All was silence! ... He went round the building ... and
came to bigger bars, immense gates! ... It was the entrance to the Cour
de l'Administration.

Raoul rushed into the doorkeeper's lodge.

"I beg your pardon, madame, could you tell me where to find a gate or
door, made of bars, iron bars, opening into the Rue Scribe ... and
leading to the lake? ... You know the lake I mean? ... Yes, the
underground lake ... under the Opera."

"Yes, sir, I know there is a lake under the Opera, but I don't know
which door leads to it. I have never been there!"

"And the Rue Scribe, madame, the Rue Scribe? Have you never been to
the Rue Scribe?"

The woman laughed, screamed with laughter! Raoul darted away, roaring
with anger, ran up-stairs, four stairs at a time, down-stairs, rushed
through the whole of the business side of the opera-house, found
himself once more in the light of the stage.

He stopped, with his heart thumping in his chest: suppose Christine
Daae had been found? He saw a group of men and asked:

"I beg your pardon, gentlemen. Could you tell me where Christine Daae
is?"

And somebody laughed.

At the same moment the stage buzzed