Призрак Оперы
XII Apollo's Lyre
Thefurniture,thehangings,thecandles,thevasesandtheveryflowersintheirbaskets,ofwhichIcouldalmosthavetoldwhencetheycameandwhattheycost,wereboundtoconfinemyimaginationtothelimitsofadrawing-roomquiteascommonplaceasanythat,atleast,hadtheexcuseofnotbeinginthecellarsoftheOpera.Ihad,nodoubt,todowithaterrible,eccentricperson,who,insomemysteriousfashion,hadsucceededintakinguphisabodethere,undertheOperahouse,fivestoriesbelowtheleveloftheground.Andthevoice,thevoicewhichIhadrecognizedunderthemask,wasonitskneesbeforeme,WASAMAN!AndIbegantocry...Theman,stillkneeling,musthaveunderstoodthecauseofmytears,forhesaid,’Itistrue,Christine!...IamnotanAngel,noragenius,noraghost...IamErik!’"
Christine’snarrativewasagaininterrupted.Anechobehindthemseemedtorepeatthewordafterher.
"Erik!"
Whatecho?...Theybothturnedroundandsawthatnighthadfallen.Raoulmadeamovementasthoughtorise,butChristinekepthimbesideher.
"Don’tgo,"shesaid."IwantyoutoknoweverythingHERE!"
"Butwhyhere,Christine?Iamafraidofyourcatchingcold."
"Wehavenothingtofearexceptthetrap-doors,dear,andherewearemilesawayfromthetrap-doors...andIamnotallowedtoseeyououtsidethetheater.Thisisnotthetimetoannoyhim.Wemustnotarousehissuspicion."
"Christine!Christine!Somethingtellsmethatwearewrongtowaittillto-morroweveningandthatweoughttoflyatonce.
