第47章 A Master-Stroke of the Trap-Door Lover (4)

The regular frequenters of the Opera, who pretended to know the truth about the viscount's love-story, exchanged significant smiles at certain passages in Margarita's part; and they made a show of turning and looking at Philippe de Chagny's box when Christine sang:

"I wish I could but know who was he That addressed me, If he was noble, or, at least, what his name is."The count sat with his chin on his hand and seemed to pay no attention to these manifestations.He kept his eyes fixed on the stage;but his thoughts appeared to be far away.

Christine lost her self-assurance more and more.She trembled.

She felt on the verge of a breakdown....Carolus Fonta wondered if she was ill, if she could keep the stage until the end of the Garden Act.In the front of the house, people remembered the catastrophe that had befallen Carlotta at the end of that act and the historic "co-ack" which had momentarily interrupted her career in Paris.

Just then, Carlotta made her entrance in a box facing the stage, a sensational entrance.Poor Christine raised her eyes upon this fresh subject of excitement.She recognized her rival.She thought she saw a sneer on her lips.That saved her.She forgot everything, in order to triumph once more.

From that moment the prima donna sang with all her heart and soul.

She tried to surpass all that she had done till then; and she succeeded.

In the last act when she began the invocation to the angels, she made all the members of the audience feel as though they too had wings.

In the center of the amphitheater a man stood up and remained standing, facing the singer.It was Raoul.

"Holy angel, in Heaven blessed..."

And Christine, her arms outstretched, her throat filled with music, the glory of her hair falling over her bare shoulders, uttered the divine cry:

"My spirit longs with thee to rest!"

It was at that moment that the stage was suddenly plunged in darkness.

It happened so quickly that the spectators hardly had time to utter a sound of stupefaction, for the gas at once lit up the stage again.

But Christine Daae was no longer there!

What had become of her? What was that miracle? All exchanged glances without understanding, and the excitement at once reached its height.Nor was the tension any less great on the stage itself.

Men rushed from the wings to the spot where Christine had been singing that very instant.The performance was interrupted amid the greatest disorder.

Where had Christine gone? What witchcraft had snatched her, away before the eyes of thousands of enthusiastic onlookers and from the arms of Carolus Fonta himself? It was as though the angels had really carried her up "to rest."Raoul, still standing up in the amphitheater, had uttered a cry.

Count Philippe had sprung to his feet in his box.People looked at the stage, at the count, at Raoul, and wondered if this curious event was connected in any way with the paragraph in that morning's paper.But Raoul hurriedly left his seat, the count disappeared from his box and, while the curtain was lowered, the subscribers rushed to the door that led behind the scenes.

The rest of the audience waited amid an indescribable hubbub.

Every one spoke at once.Every one tried to suggest an explanation of the extraordinary incident.

At last, the curtain rose slowly and Carolus Fonta stepped to the conductor's desk and, in a sad and serious voice, said:

"Ladies and gentlemen, an unprecedented event has taken place and thrown us into a state of the greatest alarm.Our sister-artist, Christine Daae, has disappeared before our eyes and nobody can tell us how!"