Призрак Оперы
I Is It A Ghost?
"What’sthematter?"
Sheopenedthedoor.Arespectablelady,builtonthelinesofaPomeraniangrenadier,burstintothedressing-roomanddroppedgroaningintoavacantarm-chair.Hereyesrolledmadlyinherbrick-dustcoloredface.
"Howawful!"shesaid."Howawful!"
"What?What?"
"JosephBuquet!"
"Whatabouthim?"
"JosephBuquetisdead!"
Theroombecamefilledwithexclamations,withastonishedoutcries,withscaredrequestsforexplanations.
"Yes,hewasfoundhanginginthethird-floorcellar!"
"It’stheghost!"littleGiryblurted,asthoughinspiteofherself;butsheatoncecorrectedherself,withherhandspressedtohermouth:"No,no!—I,didn’tsayit!—Ididn’tsayit!——"
Allaroundher,herpanic-strickencompanionsrepeatedundertheirbreaths:
"Yes—itmustbetheghost!"
Sorelliwasverypale.
"Ishallneverbeabletorecitemyspeech,"shesaid.
MaJammesgaveheropinion,whilesheemptiedaglassofliqueurthathappenedtobestandingonatable;theghostmusthavesomethingtodowithit.
ThetruthisthatnooneeverknewhowJosephBuquetmethisdeath.Theverdictattheinquestwas"naturalsuicide."InhisMemoirsofManager,M.Moncharmin,oneofthejointmanagerswhosucceededMM.DebienneandPoligny,describestheincidentasfollows:
"AgrievousaccidentspoiledthelittlepartywhichMM.DebienneandPolignygavetocelebratetheirretirement.Iwasinthemanager’soffice,whenMercier,theacting-manager,suddenlycamedartingin
